The Writing is On The Wall

 July 20th, 2024

“I’m not asking for an official diagnosis.” I say, choosing my words carefully, trying to control my tears. “But in your opinion, what do you think is going on with him?” I can feel the doctor summoning himself to answer me.

Suddenly my mind floods with recent interactions I’ve had with my Dad.

I’m preparing to leave Colorado, where I’ve been staying with my sister and brother in law for the past 5 years. They’re putting their house up for sale, and it’s time for me to go. Without any other viable options, heading north to Wyoming to stay with my Dad has become the default choice. I don’t want to go, but it’s clear that’s what’s happening. I’ve been shown time and time again that Spirit doesn’t always make what I want a priority. Sometimes, in fact most times over the past 7 years, it’s been about what I need. 

I flash back to a conversation just a few days prior. It was a Friday. Dad called me in a panic thinking it was the day we were supposed to meet in Douglas. Douglas is a small town in Wyoming about 5 hours north of Colorado. It’s halfway between Hudson, where I’ve been; and Cody, which is where I am going. Actually, Cody is where I am returning. Cody is where I grew up, and where I vowed I would never return. 

My sister and brother in law are taking me to Douglas to meet Dad. We’ll rendezvous there. He’ll pick me up, and we’ll make the trek back to Cody together. That morning, on the phone with my Dad, I remind him that we’re meeting next Friday, not today. He’s relieved and tries to laugh off his forgetfulness. I chuckle in response, but I’m concerned.

The next day, Saturday, he calls again wanting to be sure we’re still meeting in Douglas. I reminded him once more that we’re meeting on the upcoming Friday. “Well, my mind isn’t what it used to be, so I guess I should write it down.” he replies.  He doesn’t recall the conversation we had not even 24 hours ago. Now I’m starting to worry. 

Increasingly, over the past few years, my Dad’s memory has begun to betray him. Last year he got my birthday mixed up with my sister’s. This year, he forgot hers altogether. One day he called saying it took him quite a while to remember how to use his phone. I remarked that he could always text me. His response was “Well, I don’t really know how to do that.” He was surprised to learn that we’d texted previously. His relationship with technology has always been tenuous at best, but this is ringing some alarm bells. I recall another conversation my sister shared about 9 months ago. His garbage service had been cut off. He said everything was fine, he’d simply forgotten to pay the bill. 

I start to connect the dots, and fear creeps into the room.

There have been a handful of moments in recent years where my sister and I have commented on his memory. We’d share our concerns with each other, but then the next conversation with him would be perfectly normal. We chalked it up to the natural aging process and tucked our worries away. It was hard to tell because we usually only spoke with him about once a month. Neither one of us had a consistent picture of what his day to day memory function looked like. 

There’s always been a bit of distance between Dad and everyone else in the family. He’s always been a loner. He’s a total Leo. It’s his show, and he’s the star. Everyone else is a supporting player. It’s seldom been about what anyone else wants. He’s kind and loving but it often seems like the thought of including anyone else in his plans is foreign to him. My mother shared once that this is one of the reasons she divorced him. She always felt like an afterthought. He never seemed to give much consideration to the fact that she just wanted to spend time with him. He is 100% comfortable doing whatever he wants on his own and assumes everyone else operates by the same principle.

The doctor clears his throat and brings me back to our conversation. 

“Your father came into the walk in clinic today saying he wanted to have someone take his vitals. We asked him if anything was wrong, and he seemed confused. He said he just wanted us to have a baseline so that if anything happened we’d know what his normal levels are. We questioned him further and he was unable to tell us what year it is, and he couldn’t say who is currently President. I asked him if he had any family close by, and he said he had a son named Andrew. I found your number in his phone. I am curious if you’ve noticed any changes in his cognitive function recently.”

“Yeah, there have been a few red flags over the years. Most recently in the past few weeks as we’ve been planning my trip up North to come stay with him.” I am feeling disconnected from my body as I relay this to the doctor. There’s a sense of dread spreading through me and I’m a bit numb.

“I’m concerned that he’s not eating properly and I’m not sure he should be driving.” The doctor continues. “Can you verify a bit of personal information so we can question him further? I want to see how clear his ability to recall details is.” The doctor is kind and soft-spoken. His concern is genuine. 

I share some personal tidbits about our family and dad’s life. He tells me he’ll call me back in just a few minutes.  

I hang up the phone and stare blankly out the window. I am scanning internally for an emotional response, but my system is overwhelmed. It’s shocking, but not surprising. I walk into the dining room where my sister is having breakfast. I fill her in on what the doctor just said. She doesn’t say much, but I can tell she’s worried too. I sit across the table from her and we begin to recall the concerns we’ve both had over the past few years.

My phone rings again, and I pick up. The doctor says that my Dad was able to confirm the details I shared with him. He was even able to tell him who the current President is. A sense of false hope begins to rise. My inner Pollyanna is ready to cheer me back to blissful denial. The doctor asks me a few more questions about dad. He fills me in on his recent medical history. He hasn’t seen his primary doctor in over a year. He asks if dad is taking his diabetes medication and if he’s still using his C-pap. I have no way of knowing this. It’s been about 4 years since I’ve seen him. 

I share that ever since Covid, dad has become increasingly solitary. His mother was a hypochondriac and those tendencies have begun to surface in his behavior too. He seems hyper focused on the fear of getting sick so he’s curtailed most of his social activities. He used to volunteer at the Historical Center, and made monthly trips to Yellowstone just to drive around and enjoy the scenery. He loves living in the mountains. He used to play in a couple of local jazz ensembles too, but all of that seems to have stopped. I share with him that dad used to be a music teacher before retiring. The doctor tells me that dad was actually his middle school band teacher. For some reason, this opens the emotional floodgates. Choking back tears, I ask the doctor what he thinks the next steps should be. As he replies, I mute my phone so he can’t hear my sobs.

“There’s a local neurologist I want him to see. I’ve already sent over a referral. I also think your dad should come in for a check up with his primary physician.” 

The doctor clearly has an idea of what’s going on. I’m impressed by how proactive he is.

“I’m not asking for an official diagnosis.” I say, choosing my words carefully, trying to control my tears. “But in your opinion, what do you think is going on with him?” I can feel the doctor summoning himself to answer me.

“It looks to me like the early stages of Alzheimer’s or dementia.” He says tenderly.

All I can muster is a feeble “Yeah. I thought so.”

I scribble down a few numbers on a near by post-it and wrap up the call with the doctor. I step outside on the back porch to share the details with my sister and retreat to my room. In my overwhelm, I decide to keep packing. I’m a total Virgo. Menial tasks soothe and ground me. I reach down to pick up a pair of mustard yellow sneakers, and suddenly I am reminded of Dad’s unique and colorful style. I lose it. Tears flow freely and I start to sob. I drop to my knees and cover my face. 

I knew there was a bigger reason that I was being called back to Cody. I’d tried to find other living arrangements, but one after another they all fell through. Cody was my contingency plan, and now it’s the only option. 

“Fuck. I really don’t want to do this.” I say to the closet full of clothes. The mustard yellow shoes stare silently back at me. 

It’s clear I am going whether I want to or not.