by Vicki Green
“Miss Benton?”
My eyes flutter open and see a man wearing a doctor’s coat standing in front of me. He’s older, maybe in his late forties, his hair a light gray around his temples. I stand up, teetering from exhaustion. “Maybe we could step outside?” I nod and follow him out of the room. We’re standing in the hallway and I’m leaning back against the wall for support.
“Doctor…?”
He reaches out his hand and I shake it. “Dr. Weber.”
“Dr. Weber. I’m an RN so you can give it to me straight. What’s wrong with my dad?” I don’t think my heart can hammer against my chest any harder as I await the news. I’m numb as I hear words of multiple tests, memory loss, impaired communication, disorientation. Words I know the meaning of and what he’s alluding to.
“We suspect dementia.”
That’s when my world crumbles as well as my body.
My eyes flutter behind their lids. The smell of disinfectant makes me scrunch my nose. You’d think I’d be used to it in the profession I’m in but I still hate it. It only reminds me of a clinical stench. I sit up in alarm, grabbing my throbbing head with my hand. Turning slowly, I see Dad asleep in the other bed. What in the hell happened?
Tests.
Memory Loss.
Possible dementia.
Everything comes flooding back. The terror. The fear. The shock.
“Oh, I’m glad to see you’re awake.” I watch an older nurse walking into the room, stopping beside the bed I’m in. “You gave Dr. Weber a bit of a scare.” She takes my hand and checks my pulse. “You hit your head pretty hard when you collapsed.” Placing my hand down on the mattress, she cocks her hip and places hers there. “Tell me, when was the last time you’ve eaten or drank anything?” I scrunch my face, trying to remember. “Exactly. You’re a bit dehydrated and I’m sure weak from hunger as well.” My eyes follow her over to Dad, and I watch her check his vitals. She finishes and winks at me as she starts to walk past my bed. “I’ll go get you something, pronto.” And with that, she leaves the room. I am kinda thirsty but not hungry at all. I look over at Dad, sleeping peacefully. I should go home, check on things there, but I don’t want to leave him. Maybe later.
I’ve been lying back in the bed, my head still throbbing, and almost dozing off when the nurse comes back with a tray. She sets it on the table and pushes it over my bed like I’m a patient here. I almost snort out loud. “I brought you some ibuprofen for your head. If you need anything stronger I’m afraid we’ll have to officially check you in here.” She smiles.
I sit up then push the button to raise the back of the bed. “Thank you. I won’t be staying that long.”
She gives me a wink then gives me a concerned look. “Hey, I know you don’t know me but…” She looks over at Dad and then at me. “My father had dementia.” My brows raise. “I know it’s a terrible shock to find out. I’ve been there.” She pats my shoulder. “There’s new medicine out that helps some, not able to cure it but it will help for a while. Delay the inevitable for a bit. They didn’t have anything like that when my father was diagnosed.” She turns to walk away and looks at me from over her shoulder. “Just wanted you to know there are things that will help give a little more time so you can add more memories to your lives.”
I open my mouth to thank her but nothing comes out. She smiles and leaves the room. Picking up the water jug, I drain it, then set it down. I lean back in bed and look up at the ceiling. I’m so not ready for all this.
5
I left the hospital at midnight, making sure Dad was okay before I did. I gave my cell number to the nurse’s station and asked if they would call me immediately if he awoke or anything changed. I drive home in a daze, my head a dull ache. It only took fifteen minutes and as I drove down our street and my childhood house appeared in the moonlight, I started crying. Not just silent tears either. I find it hard to see the driveway with my sobbing. Finally, I managed to pull into the driveway but I don’t raise the garage door. I just sit here and continue to bawl and cry and sob and hit the steering wheel in anger and then cry some more. I finally stop, only because I can’t breathe since it clogged up my nose, and push the button on my visor to open the garage door. Once I pull my car inside, I get out and walk to the door leading inside my house, like I’ve done so many times, and hit the button to lower the garage door. I walk through the house without turning on any lights, through the living room and down the hallway, only I didn’t stop at my room. I went to the last bedroom, walked to the bed, kicked off my tennis shoes, and crawled into the bed. Dad’s bed. I breathe in his scent on the pillow, curl my arms underneath it and close my eyes.
The next morning, I awoke to my phone ringing in the back pocket of my jeans. I’d forgotten to take it out. Actually, I left my bag in my car too. I didn’t sleep well either, tossed and turned all night. I answer my phone and it’s the hospital telling me Dad’s awake and eating breakfast. The nurse said he was acting fine. Huh. I told her I’d be there soon. I go out to the garage and get my bag then take it to Dad’s bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth and hair, and tie my hair up into a high ponytail. I still don’t feel like eating so I grab my phone and head back towards the garage door. I would have made it too except the doorbell rings. Silently saying a prayer that it’s the mailman coming early to drop off a package, I walk to the door and open it. No such luck.
“I wanted to give you a little time so I waited until this morning to come see you.” Pamela Sue walks in and throws her arms around me. I stiffen. “I heard about what happened.” Of course she did. I’m sure the whole town knows by now. “I’m so sorry about your dad. Is he going to be okay?”
I like Pamela Sue. We grew up together, well, in the same town. She was a cheerleader in high school, pretty much friends with everyone. We weren’t close but we’d all go out as a group sometimes. Brooke hates her. Like really hates her. I think it’s because she has such a bubbly personality. Brooke I mean. But I don’t want to talk about my dad to Pamela Sue. In fact, I don’t want to talk about him to anyone. Right now, I just need to get to the hospital.
“Thank you,” I say through a very fake smile. “I’m just on my way to go see him. I appreciate you stopping by.” I walk to the door, almost pushing her outside.
“Okay. Maybe we can go out to eat…” No. “Or have a drink at Malloy’s later?” No.
“Maybe. Bye.” I shut the door and lock it, letting out a big sigh. Leaning my back against the door, I wait for a few minutes until I hear the engine of her car and then she backs out of my driveway. I walk to my car, pull out of the garage, and head for the hospital. The nurse had said he was acting okay, but she doesn’t know him either. I think tonight I need to sit down and read up on dementia. I mean, I know the basics but not everything. I don’t want any surprises.
Walking into his room feels different this morning. He looks up at me and his mouth turns into the biggest smile, lighting up his face. “Saige! I didn’t know you were coming early! What a wonderful surprise.” Coming early. He knows I wasn’t coming until next week. A small ray of hope flows through me as I walk over and lean down into his open arms.
“Hi, Daddy.” I smile into his shoulder.
He grasps my arms and pushes me back a little. “What’s wrong? You don’t call me Daddy unless something is troubling you.” Is he kidding?
I look into his eyes, wondering if he knows what’s happening? “I was worried when I found out you were in the hospital.” He pats my arm and then motions for me to sit down on the chair across from his bed. I comply on shaky legs. “So, how are you feeling?”
He leans back into the mattress and turns his head, looking out the window. I can’t help my eyes moving there to see what he could be looking at. “Oh, I’m good.” He sighs. “I just wish they’d hurry up with the construction at the Mini Mart. It’s hard to get in and out of the parking lot with all that going on.” I raise up in my seat and look across the street, swallowing hard. The Mini Mart was repla
ced by the Super Store back when I was in junior high, and it’s been several things since then. Now, it’s a Quick Trip. I look back over at Dad and see he’s looking at me, so I just shrug and smile. Yeah, sure he’s acting fine.
I stayed with Dad until after lunch when he fell asleep. I kissed his forehead and told him I’d be back later. He mumbled to come back tomorrow, told me I needed to get some rest because I looked really tired. Well, he’s right about that. After speaking with the nurses to call me if I’m needed, I went home and instead of being productive, I sat on the couch and watched Friends reruns. More like stared at the screen. I have no energy to do anything. I stayed like this for hours, hearing the sound of my phone vibrating on the coffee table so much that I reached over, texted Brooke that I’m fine and I’ll call her later and turned the damn thing off. I know she’s just concerned. I’ll update her soon – I promise to myself. I also know that her mom told her what’s going on. I just want to be alone. Think about everything and nothing.
I’ve dedicated my life to heal the injured, help the hurting. I’ve seen people die, been there when families and loved ones receive the news of a fatal disease or of a death. I’ve experienced the death of my mom and my sweet brother Bobby. Lived through it, cried for days, and still miss them every single minute of each and every day. I know I need to be strong for Dad but he’s all I have left. It’s not just the fact that I’ll be alone – okay, a big part is that, but I love him so much, and I don’t want him to go.
Reaching up, I touch my wet cheek, not realizing I’d been crying. “Oh, enough of this shit!” Turning off the TV, I get up and start cleaning. The house really isn’t a mess but I dust, sweep, clean the bathrooms, the counters in the kitchen and even mop the kitchen floor. I’m sweaty, exhausted, and my head is pounding by the time I’m done. I go take a shower in Dad’s bathroom, throw my hair up into a messy bun, and drive back to the hospital.
For the next few days, Dad’s in the present one minute and in the past the next. I can barely keep up with him. Every time he thinks he’s living a memory, I just nod and agree. What else can I do? I’ve barely eaten. My stomach is always filled with knots, my body ridden with anxiety. But I try to stay strong. For him.
I’m home, eating some soup for dinner, about the only thing I can stomach, when my phone rings. I see it’s Brooke and guilt overtakes me. “Hey, bestie,” I answer, no longer hungry.
“Oh, thank God! Saige. How are you holding up? I’m so sorry about your dad.”
That. That’s what I didn’t want to hear. I know she means well, truly, but I don’t want to hear it. It’s hard enough living it. It just makes it that much more real.
“Thanks. I’m good.” I lie.
“Whatever, Saige. No, you’re not. You can’t lie to me.” She’s right. I’m a terrible liar, especially to her. “And to think it all happened right before your birthday. Happy Birthday, sweetie. I know it’s not the best one you’ve had. I wish I was there to give you a big hug and help you through all this.”
My birthday. I’d forgotten all about it. This is the reason I was coming here in the first place. To celebrate my birthday with Dad. Covering my mouth, I let out a sigh so she doesn’t hear.
“Thanks. I wish you were here too.” I lie, again. I really don’t want her here right now. I know I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t want to have to be around anyone. I look and feel like shit and I’m hanging on by a thread. All I’d need is for someone to be around that I’d feel like I’d have to pretend how strong I’m really not. My eyes fill with tears. “Look. I need to go back to the hospital. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I manage to get out before I lose it.
“Okay, girl. But please call me. It’s hard enough that I’m not there with you.” She’s so good to me and here I am being a selfish bitch.
“I promise.” I’ll at least try to keep her updated via text. It’s the least I can do.
“Bye. Love you.”
I choke back my tears. “Love you too.” I end the call, lay my forehead down on the table and sob.
After cleaning up my soup mess that I barely touched, I wash my face, try to get into a better mood, and go to the hospital. After only being there about a half an hour, Dr. Morgan walks in. He’d informed me a couple of days ago he’s the one who admitted Dad and did all his tests. We walk out into the hallway to talk as Dad sleeps. I feel kinda like I’m having a déjà vu here, leaning against the wall. Please don’t let me collapse and hit my head again, it’s still a bit sore.
“I know you’re an RN so you may already know some of this. With dementia, not only can it cause memory loss but it also can effect coordination. As it progresses, it can cause the inability of normal daily things such as remembering to take a shower, combing hair, and it also leads to simple things like walking and eating. As you know, the brain is a powerful thing. Sending its currents to other parts of the body to tell it how to walk or know they have to use the restroom becomes less and less, causing much needed care for the patient.” I only keep nodding, starting to feel like a bobblehead doll. Over the last week, I’ve researched and researched dementia, what’s happening now to Dad and what’s to come. “I feel that moving him over to Saint Mary’s nursing home for physical therapy will help him to walk again, be somewhat normal as his illness progresses.” I keep nodding. “They are wonderful people over there and eventually they would likely move him to their permanent hall.” He stops talking so I stop nodding, mechanically. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“When will you move him?”
He smiles. “Since it’s so late in the day, transportation will take him over there in the morning. I’ll have nurse Betsy arrange it and then let you know a time. I’m starting him out on Memantine. I’m sure you know it’s normally used on Alzheimer patients but does rather well with those with dementia. I’m hoping that he’s in the very early stage. I will be recommending they continue using it or one of the other suggested medications at St. Mary’s.” No, I don’t know. I need to spend more time with my laptop and read up on all things dementia.
“Thank you, Dr. Morgan. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
He reaches out his hand, and I shake it, feeling numb all over again. I still can’t believe this is happening.
After going back into Dad’s room, I sit there and stare out of his window while he continues to sleep. He does that a lot. I guess it’s better for him, not being awake and so disoriented one minute then confused why he’s in the hospital, the next. By six o’clock, they bring in his dinner. I make sure he’s comfortable and watch him eat, turning on Jeopardy for him. Like old times, we sit there and try to guess the answers, laughing. It feels normal and weird at the same time. He’s himself right now, and I’ll cherish this time.
A nurse walks in smiling, or trying to, and asks to speak to me privately. I give Dad a kiss on his cheek and walk out into the infamous hallway, again. I’m starting to hate this hallway. Instead of leaning back against the wall, I decide to change this habit and sit down in the chair next to the door of Dad’s room.
“I’m Betsy.” She smiles. “The shuttle will take your dad over to St. Mary’s at ten o’clock in the morning.” I give her a nod and hold in my sigh. She reaches down and places her hand on my shoulder, making me cringe internally. I know she’s just being compassionate, but I hate that she has a reason to be. “Are you holding up okay?” That’s one of the stupidest questions anyone could ask. I know she’s just trying to be kind. “Okay, that was a dumb question. I know you’re not.” She’s right. She sits down in the chair next to me and smiles sadly. “I’ve been through this. Lost my husband to Alzheimer’s. It’s one of the worst things, watching a loved one lose themselves. At one point, it’s like they aren’t them anymore.”
I perk up inside. Someone who actually knows what I’m going through. What Dad is facing. She places her hand over mine and squeezes. “But you don’t have to go through this alone. There are people who have already lived through it that can
help support you. I know right now you don’t think you need it or maybe you’re in the phase where it’s still new and unreal.” She knows. “Look, I volunteer over at St. Mary’s on my off time so I’ll be around there if and when you ever would like to chat.” She squeezes my hand again. I look at her in disbelief. How does she have time to be a nurse and a volunteer? She looks to be in her late fifties maybe even early sixties. How does she have the energy? She lets out a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.” Oops. “After losing my sweet husband, Charles, I have nothing but time. You know as well as I do what we signed up for being a nurse.” I raise my eyebrows. “Dr. Morgan told me you’re an RN.” I finally let out the sigh I’d been holding in. “But really? After losing Charles, I couldn’t stand having any idle time on my hands or I would have gone crazy so I started volunteering at St. Mary’s. It’s where he had been for the last two years of his life. I wanted to give back to them for everything they did for him and me.”
I put my free hand on top of hers. “I’m so sorry.”
She smiles sweetly. “Thank you but don’t be. All of my happiest moments were with Charles and even though he got to the point where he didn’t know who I was, he still liked me as I took care of him.” She leans closer. “I was the only one he was nice to when he got angry and irritable.” She leans back and laughs. “All the nurses and doctors there thought I had some kind of magical powers with him but really, I just didn’t take any of his shit.” I let out a laugh, and it feels so good. She quiets and gets a somber look. “Support is everything at one point during this. You’ll need it. Take it as how it’s given. Cherish it and the time you have with your dad.”
I nod. “I will.”
She stands, patting my shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then her sweet demeanor changes. “I know it feels selfish not to take care of yourself right now, but do it anyway. Your dad will need to know that you are. When he is himself, he’ll worry about you. Remember that. Don’t stop living because of this.” She gives me a wink, and I watch her walk off. What a wise and sweet lady.
