2012
By Rachel Mead
Chapter Two- November 14th,
2001
I
married a rotten woman. She cursed me and now I’m dying because of it. Dying
and forgetting all at once.
The
doctor said, “You have Alzheimer’s Mr. Bockman.”
He
couldn’t look me in the eye, kept scribbling on some papers as I sat there with
my mouth wide open.
“You’re
a fool,” I said.
“Excuse
me?”
“Grandpa,
calm down,” said Avery.
“No.”
I turned and looked at her. “He’s a fool.”
“Sir,
please sit down. This is no way to act,” the doctor said.
That’s
how he spoke to me; like some child, some disruptive, brainless child. I was
poked and jabbed with needles by fat and stinky nurses and was forced to come
back and forth to the hospital for weeks and this is how this man, this boy,
treated me. Hmph.
I
stared him down, waiting for an excuse to punch him square in the face. Avery’s
hands were on my shoulder, trying to rub the anger out of me.
“This
is hard,” she said. “I understand, but we have to hear him out.”
I
sighed and flung my hand in the doctor’s direction.
He
began what sounded like a general speech, words he used with all his patients
who received the same diagnosis. It annoyed me. “It is necessary for you both
to understand the disease and its repercussions to the human body. First,
Alzheimer’s disease is essentially the degeneration of the cortical regions of
the brain. This means--”
“Listen
here Buddy,” I said, “I don’t care about any of this medical cock and bull.
Just tell me how long I got left and what we can do.”
“Alright,”
he said with a pause and shifted in his chair. “Every patient is different.
Some last eight years, some longer than that and some fewer than that. After
examining your tests, I have my own estimations, but I would like to ask you a
few questions first.”
“Like
what?” I said.
“When
was the first time you began noticing symptoms of dementia?”
“How
am I supposed to remember that Doc?”
“Please,
Grandpa,” Avery said, turning to the moron. “I’m with him a lot, maybe I could explain
the symptoms and changes I’ve seen?”
“Of
course, it’s understandable for the patient not to recall specific instances.”
So
there they went, the two of them, back and forth, gabbing on about what’d I’ve
forgotten to do here and there, the person that slipped my mind at one point or
another, the time I forgot my home address or how to get to the grocery store.
At the time I thought it all came with old age. Everyone forgets one thing or
another, but to my granddaughter and this doctor, the smallest bit of
information that I couldn’t remember was a big deal.
I
got angry. The doctor, sat there as if I didn’t exist, throwing out medical
terms that no one could understand and never addressed another question to me. As
Avery spoke more and more, his questions became more confusing and detached.
Then
he finally said, “It is with my expert opinion that I suggest you begin
researching nursing homes and other facilities which could care for your
grandfather in ways that you cannot.”
Avery’s
mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” she said.
I
could see it in her hands first. They started to shake and she balled them into
fists. Then a redness spread across her cheeks and forehead. It was nothing I
hadn’t seen before. Avery’s protective rage was in fact common. She tried her
hardest to never be separated from me.
The
doctor, silent, moved his attention to a wheel on his chair and tapped it with
his shoe. It was uncomfortable and Avery’s tension felt like heat blasting from
her body.
“You
think I won’t be able to take care of my own grandfather better than anyone
else?” she said.
In
a flash she got up and left the room. The doctor didn’t even look up at her. It was finally my chance to give it to this guy, to really
stick it to him. But all I said was, “You’re a dunce,” and left the room
to follow my granddaughter.
I
found her waiting by the car. She fumbled with one of those cell phones, jamming
the buttons with her thumbs.
“So,” she said when she saw me, “I guess we’ll
have to find another doctor.”
“I
think so.”
“It’s
alright.” She hugged me. “We’ll get through this just like everything else.”
For
a time after, I thought that it was just the idiot doctor’s mistake. I thought
it was one giant misunderstanding.
But
it wasn’t.
I
saw three more doctors after him and all said the same thing. Alzheimer’s
Disease.
I
know it’s all her fault. The former Mrs. Margery Bockman, who now goes by the name
Sunflower Wind, ran out on me ten years ago. After forty-three years of putting
up with each other, she decided to run away to some nudist colony in New
Mexico. She left ranting and cursing in a voodoo language, throwing her hands
up in the air. It wasn’t until the divorce papers were mailed to me did I
realize how much of an evil and crazy bat she really was. Attached to the
papers was a note in her hand writing:
“Arnold,
I thought I would let you know
how wonderfully happy I am. The scenery is magnificent and the people are
absolutely grand. I’ve even met some other women who have dabbled in the art of
magic…which leads me to the main purpose of my letter. Although I have
recovered quickly from the long wasted years of entrapment, I do hope that the remaining
years you have on Mother Nature’s blessed land is entirely miserable. I must
also let you know, Arnold, that I have damned you. When I left, those few
months ago, I chanted in a language you are not capable of understanding,
however, it was a very dark and ancient hex. To put it in a way for your simple
mind to understand, I made certain that you would die alone, die in a way that
would make you aware of what it feels like to be trapped without help, without
the ability to help yourself and be pushed into a most painful end.
Please give the rest of the
family my love.
-Sunflower Wind”
I
couldn’t believe after all that she still wanted alimony. Sixty- five years old
and I had to start paying alimony.
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