The first thing I saw as I walked through the door of the The Littleton Clinic? Pills. Row on row of bottles of what I knew were inevitably going to be vitamins and supplements. They were neatly arranged on shelves beneath the chest high window on the far side of the waiting room. “Great,” I thought, “a snake oil salesman.” Or, more precisely, a snake oil sales woman. “Just what I need. More pills.”

I’d gotten an early start for the 9:45 appointment. Between the snow storm that was predicted for that morning, which would have hopelessly snarled traffic during rush hour on the miles long drive (us retired folk don’t commute), I didn’t want to be late. But I caught a break; I beat the storm and traffic was light. The only fly in the ointment? I nearly changed lanes right into a small car just before making the right turn into the clinic parking lot. A wreck would’ve really done me in.

The Lame And The Halt

“I have a 9:45 appointment,” I said to the receptionist as she looked up from behind the half wall that separated her from the small lobby. “I’m Spencer Swalm. I think I filled out all my new patient forms on line. I’m early.” “That’s fine,” she smiled, “have a seat. Dr. Hopp will be with you soon.” “Well,” I said to myself with a skeptical look around the busy waiting room, “we’ll see about that.”

I found a chair next to the shelves of vitamins, minerals, and supplements. Bottles of them were perched over my left shoulder, rank on rank, three and four deep. I took my copy of The End of Alzheimer’s Program out of my lap and propped it up against the leg of my chair. I’d given up reading it; way above my pay grade. But it wasn’t long before an elderly woman saw the title, stepped up, and asked from behind her mask, “I’ve heard about that book. What do you think about it?” “Well,” I said, “it’s pretty complicated. But you can take a look at it if you’d like.” “Thanks,” she replied, “but probably not. That’s not why we’re here.” With that, she tottered back to her husband’s side, whose slicked over gray hair looked like it was falling out in clumps.

The woman and her husband looked like they pretty much fit right in with most of the rest of the patients in the room. I couldn’t help wondering, “Do I?” I hoped not.

To my surprise, I didn’t have much longer to wait. The receptionist craned up her head, peered over the half wall, and said, “Mr Swalm? This way,” gesturing toward the door that led to the back. A man and a woman met me; turned out that the man was new, shadowing the intake nurse. Taking me to an exam room, they went through the usual routine: height, weight, a few questions. “We see that you filled out the online new patient questionnaire; we appreciate that. Do you have anything to add?” “No,” I replied, “except my wife didn’t get the chance to fill out the form asking about how she thinks my Alzheimer’s is progressing. She’s got her hands full with some conditions of her own.” “That’s not a problem,” the nurse replied, “if we need it we can always get it later. Dr. Hopp will be with you shortly.” And the two of them left.

The Doctor And Her Scribe

Maria Hopp, M.D. soon walked in followed by yet another assistant. The assistant sat down at a small desk in the corner of the exam room and opened her laptop. As I recall, the assistant never opened her mouth; instead, she was constantly typing, a sort of court reporter. On in my lap, cover up, sat my copy of The End of Alzheimer’s. Dr. Hopp describes herself online as being a “certified practitioner” of the protocol described in the book.

Dr. Hopp sat slightly to my left. Above what might have been a homemade mask, there were dark circles beneath her bright, alert eyes. “Well, Mr Swalm,” she began, “tell me what’s going on.”

“Well,” I started, not very originally, “it’s complicated. My family thinks my memory is failing. My Kaiser doctor has prescribed Donepezil to treat Alzheimer’s. One of your patients is a 90 year old friend of a friend at church. I understand he’s seeing you for Alzheimer’s.” Dr. Hopp nodded, indicating that the name I’d mentioned was familiar. “Anyway, the friend who saw the post I wrote about being prescribed Donepezil suggested I give you a call. I looked at your website and saw that you follow the Bredesen protocol,” gesturing towards the book. “So, I got it, called, and set this appointment.”

“Okay,” she responded, “but that’s not the end of it, is it? I’ve seen the online forms you gave us. You also have Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus.”

“Yes,” I replied, “and that’s where it gets complicated. You can see,” I said, twisting my head and showing her the back, “that I’ve got a brain shunt for the NPH. The outline of the tube shows because I got a hair cut the other day. And,” I went on, “even that’s not the end of my brain problems. I’m also bipolar, for which I take a couple of medications every day. So, like I said, it’s complicated. How do you unpick it all?”

You Are What You Eat

“I’ve started reading the book,” I continued, “but, as you know, for a layperson like me, it’s complex.” She nodded. “However, I’ve begun making some changes in my diet based on what I read. I’ve cut out a lot of the carbs, bread and cereal. I’ve already seen my weight go down some. Trying to eat more veggies, which isn’t too tough since my wife is supportive of that for both our sakes. But I’ve struggled with breakfast since giving up cereal. I eat more eggs, but I also wonder about that.”

With that, the doctor rushed out the door and came back bearing a small plastic bowl and a handout. “Here,” she said, “this might be a good breakfast option,” allowing me to peer into the bowl’s contents and giving me the recipe for “Dr. Hopp’s Breakfast Porridge.” To be honest, the brief glimpse into the bowl left me with the impression of a couple of raspberries floating on a puddle of used engine oil. But, I’ve since enjoyed her breakfast concoction of chia, hemp, and flax seeds, cinnamon, stirred into almond milk and almond butter. All topped with a couple of berries. And, although I’ve never tried SAE 30, I’m confident Dr. Hopp’s porridge doesn’t taste a bit like used motor oil.

Enough, Already!

By now, you’ve probably had more than your fill of this post. I know I have. And is the “Bredesen Protocol” going to ward off my Alzheimer’s? Don’t ask me; I’m clueless. But I figure it’s basic tenants of a largely plant based, organic diet, exercise, adequate sleep, stress reduction, mental stimulation, and good oral health make sense under almost any circumstance. (Although the book’s cutsie chapter titles are, at best, annoying and off-putting, and, at worst, nearly useless in finding what you’re looking for.)

And, yes, does the implementation of the protocol require a significant commitment? Definitely: “coaching” for 30 minutes a week for six months. And several thousand dollars. But “significant” compared to what? I have 5 young grandkids. And another on the way this August. Compared to being sufficiently sentient to see at least some of those kids graduate from high school? College? Maybe even get married?

No, for my time and money, to be granted the blessing to be around to witness and enjoy even a fraction of those landmark events would be a bargain.