'For years, I thought I was burnt out, stressed. I didn't realise what was quietly happening inside me.'

I had the wakeup call of my life in 2025.

I had spent almost a year working with a client who was writing a book about her father's journey with dementia. Then six months ago, my life took a plot twist when I received an Alzheimer's diagnosis of my own.

There is an irony in the way things panned out — there I was, helping my client to become a published author, oblivious to the fact that I had a ticking time bomb inside of me for what could have been up to ten years. When that time bomb blew up, when it was given a name, it helped me make sense of so many of the things I had chosen to ignore.

You might be wondering how I could have had something like Alzheimer's Disease for that long and not realised that I had it. Well, the thing is, this is a sneaky condition that has a way of creeping up on us slowly, and in my own case, by the time I had the wherewithal to get out of my own way and recognise the signs, I was well and truly in the thick of things.

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To be honest, my life had started to go a bit wonky about ten years ago when I was made redundant at the age of 52. I have the author I mentioned above to thank for reminding me of what a great word 'wonky' is. Her dad used it often in his diaries, where the words he wrote were embedded in the images he drew on the pages that represented every day he lived after his diagnosis.

That's when the book I'd been writing about my experience of menopause was going into the publishing process. And to my surprise, people started approaching me for help with writing books of their own after I started getting stacks of publicity off the back of mine.

Therein, my transformation from being a public servant to being a businesswoman took shape.

The way wonkiness showed up was in the form of numerous less-than-wise micro decisions I was unconsciously making as the years passed. For a long time, I told myself I was just too busy. Distracted — doing too much, thinking too fast, and living at the pace I'd always done. In retrospect, that was the first lie Alzheimer's helped me to tell myself.

I dismissed and ignored the symptoms for years. Image: Supplied.

The early signs were small enough to excuse. I'd be working on a file, put it down, and minutes later tear the house apart looking for it, only to find it in the darned kitchen. I'd stand there thinking, How did it get here? My mind hadn't gone blank exactly; it had simply slipped away without asking for permission.

There were other moments when my husband would mention a film we'd watched together 18 months earlier, and I'd swear I'd never seen it. He'd talk about the plot and I'd nod along, knowing that he was right, while absolutely nothing in the way of a memory landes. I brushed it off as age, or menopause, or stress. And I told myself that my life would be easier if I just slowed down.

But my heart knew what it took longer for my head to take onboard.

Shortly before my diagnosis, I learnt about clinical trials for a new Alzheimer's drug aimed at people in the early stages of the disease. Something in me clicked. Without drama or panic, I told my husband that I felt like I really needed to find out what was going on with me. So off I went to get my suitability tested for the clinical trials, and so the journey of discovery began.

The testing took almost three hours of physical and cognitive tasks I had to do, and a bunch of questions I thought I was answering just fine. When they told me I wasn't eligible for the trial because of neurological disturbances that needed urgent investigation, I went completely silent. I knew what they were saying before they actually said it. I got into the car and told my husband I couldn't find words to describe how I felt.

What followed was a blur of referrals and all kinds of procedures. The most memorable of which were the CAT and MRI scans that were followed by a lumbar puncture to check my body for amyloid plaques. That's the test that confirmed it — Alzheimer's disease.

The neurologist told me plainly and clinically, "It's confirmed. Does that come as a surprise?"

I cried so hard I couldn't answer. There was no softening of the blow, no preface, no words like "I know this is difficult to hear." Thankfully, there was a social worker waiting outside, because I was stunned beyond words.

Life really does change on a dime.

Since my formal diagnosis last June, the progression of the disease has been undeniable, even if it hasn't been as dramatic as I thought it might have been.

My sleep is fractured — I wake early and often. My appetite has flipped completely. I get out of bed hungry now, something that never used to happen before. My hands shake sometimes. My energy levels have dropped. Where I once worked constantly, I now have a maximum of four productive hours a day that rarely manifest in the one stretch.

The progression of the disease has been undeniable since my diagnosis. Image: Supplied.

While finding muesli bars in the freezer like I did recently might not be that big of a deal, experiencing 20 minutes of serious disorientation after getting out of a taxi and not being able to find my own home the other night is.

Especially when my apartment was only about 300 steps away from where I was dropped off.

The biggest change I've experienced is in the way of effort. Everything takes more of it. Dropped balls are harder to retrieve, and the cost of pretending I can still do everything is simply too high these days.

Which brings me to the biggest, most unexpected lesson of all — the power of asking for help.

Not long after my diagnosis, I was organising a four-person book launch — the kind of thing I'd done a number of times before. But I could feel myself slipping up, missing details, and burning all my energy just keeping things afloat. One of the authors, who also happened to be my very first client from many years ago, stepped in and coordinated the entire event for me.

It was the best launch I've ever been part of.

That moment cracked something open in me. I realised how much of my life I'd spent proving that I could do it all without needing anyone's help, and how unnecessary that story had always been.

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Alzheimer's has forced me to slow down in ways I never would have imagined I would do. I'm even watching cricket these days. And strangely, within that slowing, I've discovered something I'd never experienced in my 63 years on this planet — presence.

One morning, as I was sitting in my local park with a coffee, I became transfixed by a small patch of grass. Not thinking about anything else - I was just fully there. It felt foreign and exquisite at the same time. As awful as this disease is — and I'm not pretending it isn't — this ability to be present has been a gift I'd would have acutally paid money for in the past if I even knew it was 'a thing'.

Strangely, I seem to have been relieved of the compulsive habit of worrying that I inherited from my beautiful father. It's a weird thing, but I love it. Who knows what else might happen as I move along my journey with Alzheimer's.

What I know is that I'm kinder to myself and the people I interact with now. I worry less. I appreciate more. I take things day by day, because that's all any of us ever really have if you think about it.

This is a life-limiting disease that I have. I know that. Who knows how many 'good' years I've got left in me. The thing is that I'm still here. I'm still writing. I'm still working with authors, and I'm open to wading through the plethora of alternate views about how best to maximise my chances of staying 'well' for as long as I can.

Let's just say — I'm not finished yet.

If there's one thing I want people like you to know, it's this; a diagnosis is not the end of the world. Don't go to pieces. There is still agency here. There is still power in how we care for ourselves, how we ask for help, and how we choose to live with what we're given.

And for now, I'm choosing to stay present while I still can.

Jane Turner is an author and author coach. She is currently finalising her sixth book, All the things we should worry about before we die, which is due out soon.

Feature image: Supplied.