I had what was supposed to be a dinner-and-movie outing with an old lover the other night. Or at least that was the plan. This old—in the sense of both “former” and chronological age—lover was not where he was supposed to be at 7 p.m. Nor was he at location B (where I suggested we go for dinner), or C (where I originally said I would meet him) or D (the movie theatre). I walked to locations A, B, C and D several times. Finally, I located him at A. After a confusing back and forth about where he had been while I had been at A, B, C and D, I concluded that he had been at B, C, D and A. We went to the restaurant. I resigned myself to the fact that we were not going to have time to both eat and go to the movie.
As we were perusing the menu, he mentioned that he wasn’t very hungry, as he had already eaten dinner. Then he started pulling out the condiments from the hanging shelf by the table and inspected them bottle by bottle, turning each one over and over in his hands. I tried to engage him in a conversation about what he had actually eaten that day, but I could not get him to elaborate beyond “vegetables.”
The first instance when I remember feeling alarmed about his cognition was one morning some years ago now when I woke up, put the kettle on to boil water for my ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL morning coffee, and noticed a sticky note stuck to the exterior of the back door. I went out and read this: “Sorry I missed dinner last night. <name>”
I hadn’t had dinner plans with him the previous night. I noticed his car parked on the road near the end of my driveway. I got dressed, still without having had a sip of my ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL morning coffee, and went over to the car. He was asleep inside it. I knocked on the window. He woke up and seemed utterly confused about our lack of dinner plans the previous night, the note, and why he was parked on the street and sleeping in his car. This may partly have been because he hadn’t yet had any ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL morning coffee, but only partly.
In the years since, I have myself become confused when I try to sort out what is real and what is not. He has (or maybe not) been arrested at the liquor store because he forget to pay for a bottle of wine. He has (or maybe not) caused a flood in his condo because he turned on the shower and forgot to turn it off, and is now liable for tens of thousands of dollars in damage to the units on the floor below him. He has (or maybe not) been banned from at least one restaurant because of inappropriate behaviour. He is (or maybe not) fine to drive and live on his own.
If there is one thing to be thankful for, it is this: the personality changes that I assume are the result of Alzheimer’s—he was diagnosed a couple of years ago—have made him a nicer person. At his cognitive peak, he was often sardonic and disparaging of others. Now he is child-like and curious, and smiles a lot. In contrast, a friend’s father has just been kicked out of the nursing home where he resided because he physically attacked his roommate. He used to be so gentle, she said.
There will be no neat and tidy ending for my old lover or my friend or her father, so I won’t attempt one here.
Oh no.
ReplyDeleteMy aunt's husband died of dementia (probably lewy body dementia in his case) and it was horrible to witness. But then one night I was over there with another cousin and my aunt said, "He loves to watch the Cardinals [St. Louis' baseball team] so I recorded a game when they won earlier this season and we play it every night. The Cardinals always win. And he's always happy."
There is always humour to be had. A friend's partner's mother has dementia and apparently has wild sex every night with a Jamaican man. The family finds this a tad disturbing, but she seems happy.
DeleteBridgett, that's a sweet story. Hmmmm. Wild sex every night with a Jamaican man? I'm impressed.
DeleteSo sad. I hope locations A, B, C and D weren't very far apart. If they were, I hope you had your step-counter with you.
ReplyDeleteHa! I'm sorry to say that was another semi-expensive device that is now buried in a drawer somewhere, resigned to recording the number of times the drawer opens and closes each day.
DeleteThat's my step counter's job too!
DeleteI know it's my own age, but everywhere I turn, everything I read, leads back to dementia.
ReplyDeleteThis stuff is tough.
As always, you are an amazing writer, H.
For some reason as I read this I kept seeing your old lover as played by Stephen Fry - which I guess means that a) your brilliant writing inspired my brain to see this man in full character and b) there is something in your ability to touch on scary stuff with humor that brings to mind Fry. And no, there will be no neat and tidy ending for any of us, I fear.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Indigo and Kim. And I am a huge Stephen Fry fan.
DeleteI fear the Alzheimer’s that runs in my family more than I fear the cancer. (or the being hit by buses and trains)
ReplyDeleteOh Helen, this is so well told even if it is so sad.
ReplyDeleteI'm with Dona. Every time I look for a word or name and can't find it, I fear the Alzheimer's my mother had (and her brother) and that has now taken her sister's mind completely. There are always funny little stories we can find, and I'm glad your friend has become nicer (apparently not common in men who usually become more aggressive). But the whole thing is very cruel - to all involved.
And sadly, yes to Kim's last sentence.