Alzheimer’s in Our Family: When Genetics Matter More Than Lifestyle

What we share isn’t always visible.

It’s no surprise that Alzheimer’s is a frequent topic of conversation in my family. I have an analytical relative who is always trying to figure out why three out of six people in the generation above have an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

They want a reason—preferably one they can control.

They wonder if it’s because one traveled too much, one drank too much, and another worked too much.

Those are interesting hypotheses.

But I once worked twenty-one consecutive twelve-hour night shifts without a day off. I almost always had two or three jobs at a time. I didn’t treat my body any better—or worse—than my siblings who have been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

One sibling without a diagnosis held two full-time jobs for more than thirty years. Another, also undiagnosed, has been a traveling nurse educator, living out of hotel rooms for eighteen years.

One trait we all share is that we’ve worked incredibly long hours since we were teenagers. Three stopped working because of early dementia diagnoses. The three of us without diagnoses are still working.

They looked at our diet. One parent with dementia, they say, had a terrible diet. Truthfully, we all did. We ate too much junk food and drank too much soda. Good nutrition has never been a family hallmark.

They considered religion. We were all raised Mormon. Two of the three with dementia remained active in their faith. Two of the three without a diagnosis left organized religion. No pattern there either.

They think one sibling drank too much. But four out of six of us drank alcohol or used recreational drugs at some point. One sibling never smoked, never used drugs, and still talks about the one time they tried beer and gagged—yet had the earliest onset.

As much as we want to find a reason, in our family the bottom line appears to be the luck of the genetic draw.

You either get it. Or you don’t.

It’s not because of something we did—or failed to do.

So no. It’s not drugs. It’s not alcohol. It’s not work hours. It’s not faith.

Sometimes, it’s just the cards you’re dealt.

In our family, it’s in our genes.

And for those of us who haven’t been diagnosed, there’s no certainty—no finish line where we get to relax. We don’t know if it’s coming for us until it does.

Or it doesn’t.

The next generation in our family may carry those same genes, which is reason enough for concern.