categories.

I'm not sure why no one has ever described Jeff's particular condition as Posterior Cortical Atrophy. Probably because virtually all of the scrutiny he's received, post-diagnosis, has been under the auspices of the Georgetown University Hospital clinical study, and the requirement for participation was Alzheimer's, but whether a variant under the AD umbrella could be identified was irrelevant.

I'm not sure why I care. But I seem to. I suppose it's that since I live with this syndrome, I am apt (as I am with anything else in my purview,) to turn it upside down and inside out, and just see how much sense I can make of it. (Not much sense, as it turns out, but I can name and categorize, and that gives me a useful tool for holding everything at arm's length.)

Here are a few of my discoveries:
Patients with PCA (as opposed to classic AD) tend to be younger. (check.) Marked impairment in visuospatial tasks, reading, and writing. (check.) Relative preservation of memory compared to typical Alzheimer's. (check.)

But that's not all you get when you know not only the beast's first name, but its second name as well. Suddenly I have a whole quiver full of nameables. Can't open the car door? Apraxia. (ping!) Can't look where I'm pointing? Oculomotor apraxia. (ping!) Can't see that you just poured yourself two glasses of oj? Simultanagnosia. (ping!) Completely unable to grasp what I'm telling you? Transcortical Sensory Aphasia. (ping, ping, ping.)

I think I'll help out the neurologist (or Nurse Practitioner, as the case may be,) next time we head to G-town for a status update, by pointing out that according to my research (cue voice of Dorothy Ann from The Magic Schoolbus,) Jeff's AD pattern seems to most closely resemble that of Posterior Cortical Atrophy syndrome. I'm sure he or she will thank me very much.