Remember me: Alzheimer's disease may slow him down, but Les Dennis isn't ready to be forgotten.

There once was a time when Les Dennis stood in front of a room of college students and confidently imparted his knowledge to their willing minds.

Now, the retired University of Loyola professor quietly watches his mind come apart as Alzheimer's makes its slow but steady assault on his brain. But, if he has his way, it will be a very long time before he bows to the neuron killer.

After all, it is all about dignity.

It didn't start out that way. Dennis admits he was "pretty suicidal" after being diagnosed with the disease in January 2000--just two years after he retired from Loyola after receiving a Ph.D. at age 61. Adding to his depression was the death of his 15-year-old granddaughter four months after his diagnosis, and medication that seemed to make him feel worse instead of better. In addition, he began to slowly lose his vision to diabetes and can no longer drive a car.

But despite his losses, the 66-year-old Chicago resident refuses to fade away. His effort in recent years has been to avoid being "marginalized" due his crippling disease. "As you slowly slide down the road with Alzheimer's, not being able to grasp things, people start ignoring you.... They don't listen to you anymore," Dennis says. "I'm trying very hard to keep from being marginalized out, and it seems to work."

A prime example occurs when Dennis and his wife, Barbara, visit his doctor. In the beginning, the doctor would ask Barbara how Les was doing, despite the fact that Les was in the room with them. And, as he explained various medical matters, "he'd ask her if she understood what he was talking about," Dennis says. "And I'd say, 'No, I don't. And I'd make the doctor start over and explain it so I could understand it."

Similarly, caregivers for Alzheimer's patients should verbally remind the doctor to speak to the patient and caregiver, or position themselves in such a way that the physician has to speak to both people. "Too often, the caregiver is addressed and the patient is ignored," Barbara Dennis says. "That's very demeaning."

She notes that participation in everyday life should be kept as normal as possible. Alzheimer's patients are, after all, still people.

The couple's friends still regularly invite Les and Barbara over for visits, and Les is encouraged to participate in discussions. "[For example], Les watches the news. He may not know what day it is, but he sure the heck knows what's going on in Iraq, the Middle East and everywhere else," she says. "There's a real sense of still asking Les' opinion, which is wonderful."

Family and friends have helped Dennis persevere and enjoy life. Since his diagnosis, he and Barbara--to whom he's been married for 46 years--have traveled to Costa Rica, Portugal and Cancun. They've visited family. Dennis has joined a local Alzheimer's support group, taken up gardening and constructing jigsaw puzzles, and acquired an Australian Shepherd. In June, he participated in a Webcast about Alzheimer's (courtesy of Mather LifeWays and the American Society of Aging at www.asaging.org) and also writes articles about his condition for medical newsletters, despite the fact that it can take him hours to compose multiple-sentence paragraphs.

"This is what life is," Dennis says. "I do simply keep going. I got [that attitude] from my father and have had it all my life."

Still, he knows that his body will eventually force him to stop. Even then, Dennis plans one last fight. Should he reach the day when he's little more than a breathing body, arrangements have already been made for his wife and sons to assist him in dying. "Ronald Reagan is still alive, but I don't want to be like that," says Dennis of the afflicted former President. "If I ever reach the point where I can't communicate, I figure I'm not worth anything.... I want to remain in a reasonably active life, a life where I can be myself rather than being taken care of."

After all, it is all about dignity.