C-26

by D. D. Lorenzo

  After seven days of speculation, numerous doctors, and a multitude of tests, they’d been promised answers. In that week, the tremors and muscle spasms had gotten worse. Skylar had noted a few episodes where he’d "disappeared," but they’d been brief. Fear ran icy fingers down his spine, given this latest development: slurred speech.

  While he and Sky were talking, he felt a heavy weight fall on him. When she asked him what was wrong, he answered with a thick tongue. It was an effort to pronounce words clearly. Syllables stuck to his teeth, making his speech lazy. He wasn't the same person he’d been a month ago, and he hated it; he hated being so fucking helpless.

  "We've got this." Skylar came up behind him and placed a reassuring hand around his waist. He turned around to face her, concern furrowing his brow.

  "What if we don't? What if we can't? What if the thing that’s wrong, can’t be fixed?" The questions tumbled from his lips, betraying his composure and exposing his fear.

  A tender smile filled her lips, her words hushed and comforting. "Then we'll deal with it together."

  "I don't want you to deal with it. This is one hell of a wedding present."

  "You were my wedding present, and I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Let's wait and see what the doctor has to say. It may be something, and it may be nothing."

  Dash nodded. He pulled the hoodie up over his head like he was a kid hiding inside a blanket fort. He could take Skylar with him and disappear from the world. He wrapped his arms around her and huffed out a breath as he held her tightly. If only it were that easy.

  From the moment Dr. O'Hara entered the room, Dash and Sky gave him their full attention. He was the man who held all the answers, as well as their future, in his hands. He was kindhearted, tall and good looking with a sprinkling of gray at the temples of his ebony hair. He looked more like someone who should be modeling for the over forty set of GQ. He had soft eyes. He also had a great bedside manner. Not someone with a God complex. Thankfully, he was able to strike a balance between clinical and kindness. As long as he knew what he was talking about, Dash didn't care about anything else. Skylar squeezed his hand, distracting him with her reassuring way.

  "Good morning, Mr. Barrows. Mrs. Barrows." His voice was deep. Not as deep as Dash's, but the tone was rich, robust, and confident.

  With a jutted chin, Dash returned the greeting. "Hey, Doc. You all have tested me from asshole to appetite. I don't think there's anything left inside of me you guys haven't poked, prodded, or x-rayed. I'm hoping you have some news."

  The man nodded. Dash paid attention to his body language. He noted the corners of the doctor's eyes pinched. Noting the firm set of his jaw and seriousness of his expression, Dash wasn't expecting good news. Skylar unconsciously tightened her grip. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, tugging just a little. It got her attention long enough for a quick, reassuring glance.

  Dr. O'Hara scanned the room. "May I sit?" The man didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he wrapped a hand around the arm of one of the visitor’s chairs and dragged it closer to both of them. "I do have news, Mr. Barrows. After all the tests and reviewing your family history, we looked for several things. We combined the results of the tests and your symptoms. I’m afraid it isn’t good news. You have Alzheimer's disease.”

  Every muscle tightened. His breath had left his body with the sucker-punch. He looked at Skylar and then back to the doctor, his mouth suddenly gone dry. "Alzheimer's? That's crazy. It's an old person's disease. I'm only thirty-three."

  Nodding, Dr. O'Hara continued. "That's true. In most cases, the patients are older than you, but Alzheimer's is no respecter of age. Your symptoms were our first clue. Once we learned your family history, and that your grandfather had passed from complications of dementia, it wasn’t hard to reach the conclusion.

  “It helped that your grandfather was seen in this hospital. Though hospital records from nineteen fifty-one to current day don't use the same terminology, we were able to use them as a basis for testing. You filled in the rest, and the medical tests support the diagnosis. When patients give us a history of odd occurrences, doctors have to play a guessing game. Still, there are certain medical parameters that we add to our equations. There are no signs that you've had a stroke, Mr. Barrows, which was the first thing we checked. When that possibility was eliminated, we searched for other clues to support a hypothesis. One area was strongly consistent with those in patients suffering from dementia. Your physical symptoms came into play. Am I correct that you reported to my staff that you’d experienced some of the symptoms more than three months ago?"

  Dash's eyes averted to the side as he scanned his memory. "I guess." He gave a slight shrug. "I don't know. I've never had insomnia before, but I started having trouble sleeping about then. That's when the muscle spasms started too, but I just figured they were normal. They were twitches in my leg. Around then, too, I had some twitches in my face. My eyes. The corner of my mouth. I had them there, but I had them in my arms and legs too."

  He looked at Skylar. He could tell she was nervous. With her head canted, she’d hung on the doctor's every word as she raked her fingers through her soft brown hair. "What about the one in your hand? That’s the one that seems to bother you the most."

  Apparently, Sky had been running through a mental checklist, repeating anything unusual that he’d mentioned to her.

  "Right." It was the symptom that had affected him the most, the cramping in his hand. How could he have forgotten to mention it? "I have them in my hand. I'll be rehearsing, and suddenly, my hand jerks, then cramps. I can't control it or knead it out. But it's a muscle thing. Not a brain thing. At least, that's what I thought. I wouldn't think there was a connection."

  Dr. O'Hara acknowledged the information with a nod. "There are so many things that we don't know, but for those that we do, we try to give you the best information that we can. You're correct; you are not the normal patient that we see for Alzheimer's. Even early-onset Alzheimer's patients are, typically, older than you, but it isn't unheard of for someone in your age group to be afflicted. Unfortunately, from your history of symptoms, it appears that the progression is more rapid than most."

  Dash's insides shook, suddenly making him nauseous. His hair stood on edge from the back of his neck to the top of his head. If what the doctor said was right, he didn't know where to go from there. Alzheimer's was a death sentence.

  Whipping thoughts tortured him with the precision of a metal-tipped cat-o-nine tails. This disease had no cure. His promising future in music and the life he looked forward to with Skylar had just gone up in smoke. All their hopes and dreams had burned to ash in ten minutes, leaving nothing. The quality of his life would deteriorate and, according to the doctor, much faster than Dash was prepared for. Nothing was certain. People thought money could buy anything, but no one could buy their way out of a death sentence.

  Dash splayed his hands on his knees, gripping tightly to settle his trembling. "So, what do I do now? Just wait for the inevitable?"

  "No. There are things that you can do. We’ll go over your treatment plan. We can discuss how it’s working at your appointments and make adjustments, if necessary. For now, why don't we get you out of here and back home? I'm sure you'd feel much better sleeping in your own bed. I'll send in your nurse. She can go over your discharge instructions. She'll also give you a date for a follow-up visit with me at my office." The chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood. "We'll do everything we can, Mr. Barrows. For now, go home and enjoy your life. Enjoy your wife. You're newlyweds, right?"

  Dash looked over at Skylar. She wore a weak smile. "Yes. A little more than a month."

  "Congratulations." He extended his hand for a friendly shake. When Dash returned the gesture, the shaking in his hand was evident. The doctor closed his other hand over Dash’s to steady the tremble. "We'll talk soon."

  Though Dr. O'Hara had tried to deliver the news as gently as possible, nothing had prepared Dash for the brick wall
that had just come crashing down on him. The diagnosis was crushing.

  Once the doctor crossed the threshold, Dash lost it. He dropped Skylar's hand, covered his face, and let his head fall to his chest as he choked back a sob. Questions plagued him. How long before he forgot how to play his music? When would he forget the names of the guys he'd worked with for so long? Would he wake up one morning and suddenly forget everything? What about Skylar? Would he forget her too? The thoughts were unbearable.

  Though he tried, he couldn't hold back the dam of emotion threatening to break through the walls of his inner strength. Sorrow breached his control and, though he felt like he was drowning, he had to hold on. There were things he had to do. Details to work out. Though he didn't understand all that was ahead of him, he had to make plans for after he was gone. Though he had dreamed of growing old with his wife, he had to face the fact that the life he wanted would never come to pass. He had to man up, get his shit together, and get on the phone with his attorney. It was important to him that Skylar be taken care of after he was gone, even if she was successful on her own. There was so much he’d planned to do with her. This news meant . . . what? He was fucked. Fucked.

  Chapter 35

  Skylar wrapped her arms around Dash, swallowing the flood of emotions that threatened to take her under. "It's okay. It's okay." Her voice was hushed. The words that used to console were completely hollow because it would never again be okay.

  She shook off her feelings. She had to be strong for Dash and could only hope she could mask her anguish, for his sake—and hers.

  Dash tried to get ahold of himself and hide his momentary breakdown. Skylar watched as he swallowed the impending threat of tears. Suddenly, he straightened. He lifted his chin, cleared his throat, and sniffed back fear. All he could muster was a weak smile. "I'm good. I just need some time to wrap my head around this."

  She patted his hand. "How about I leave you alone for a few minutes. I forgot to ask the doctor a question about your appointment." Though she’d lied about the content, she did have one thing that she needed to clarify.

  "Yeah." The sadness in his eyes almost rooted her to the spot. "I'm just gonna wait for someone to come in and tell me I can get out of here."

  She kissed him, a tender smile pinking her lips. "I'll be right back."

  Though leaving Dash by himself tore at her heart, there was one thing that nagged at her. Looking down the empty hallway, she walked to the nurses' station. A tremendous amount of activity was taking place at the central hub of C-wing, but one woman sat quietly behind the desk.

  Dressed in a blue shirt and a matching jacket, her eyes lifted from her computer screen to Skylar. "May I help you?"

  "Yes. Is Dr. O'Hara still around? I have a question to ask him about my husband."

  "Yes." The woman swiveled in the office chair, craned her neck, and pointed down the hallway. "There's a small office down there. He's finished his rounds and is in there updating patient charts. I'm sure he won't mind the interruption."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. A nurse will be in to see your husband in a few minutes with discharge instructions. Is there anything else?

  "No," Sky answered. "I just need to see the doctor. Thanks again." She took off in the direction of the office, her legs still wobbly noodles from the avalanche that had just knocked her down. She stuck her head in the doorway of the room where Dr. O'Hara was dictating. "May I interrupt you?"

  "Sure. What can I help you with?" The doctor placed the portable Dictaphone down on the desktop.

  Sky took a seat in the one lonely chair. "My husband has been calling me by someone else's name. It's not an affair, it's something else. I mean, he actually looks at me like I'm me, but the name mix-up . . ." She paused, giving her stomach a moment to cease its flip-flops. She took a deep breath and swallowed a clog of fear. "Could this be related to his diagnosis?"

  Dr. O'Hara nodded. "Yes. Certain things are everyday occurrences in patients with Alzheimer's. Mixed up words and names are one of them.” As the doctor leaned back in his chair, it squeaked, protesting his large stature.

  Skylar’s life with Dash had been both good and bad, but she had tried to find a balance. When Dash was himself their relationship was magic. At one time she thought that Abigail was a rival. But now she wondered if she was a memory or a figment of his imagination? What she realized was that Dash was losing his grip on reality. "Could he be hallucinating?"

  Dr. O'Hara studied her for a moment, paused, and then pressed his lips together. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. "I know this was the last thing you were expecting, and I'm sorry about that. There are two types of Alzheimer's that we believe could be the culprit in your husband's case, and neither of them are good. But then, a diagnosis of Alzheimer's is never good. All we can do is provide you both with the tools for the best quality of life, however long that might be. I think there's a difference between mixing up someone's name and believing that you are someone else. Which one do you think it is?"

  Skylar reflected a moment. No, it wasn't a slip of the tongue. The way Dash looked at her. The way he smiled. He was wholly convinced she was someone other than who she was.

  "There was no confusion in his eyes, Dr. O'Hara. He saw me as someone else. When he is completely lucid, Abigail is someone he insists he doesn’t know. And I’m not the only one disturbed by this mix-up. Dash is too. When he is addressing me as Abigail, he responds differently. His tone is different. He talks like Abigail is someone familiar but that she is me. He isn't apprehensive or startled at all when he approaches me as her. In fact, he looks relieved to see me—except he sees me as her."

  Surprise made Dr. O'Hara lean back. As he nodded, a look somewhat like pity crossed his eyes for a brief moment. Though he tried to hide it, Sky felt it was confirmation that Dash's condition might be further along than initially thought.

  "Mrs. Barrows, there are delusions, and then there are hallucinations. What you're describing sounds like more of a delusion. A delusion is, more or less, a false belief, Dash believing that you are someone else. A hallucination would be seeing something that wasn't there, like a chair or a person, that no one else could see."

  Worry made an ant-like sensation crawl over her skin. "Will it get worse? Will he really forget who I am? I've never known anyone with Alzheimer's, but I've heard the stories."

  Dr. O'Hara's brows tugged together. "Although no two patients are the same, the one thing they have in common is that they forget the people they love. I know that news is hard to hear. If your husband believes you are someone else, he may communicate that way." He threaded his fingers together as he folded his hands and rested them against the desk. "I'm going to be honest with you, Mrs. Barrows. Although there is no concrete evidence until biopsy or autopsy, I believe your husband is suffering from a form of Alzheimer’s known as Cruetzfeld-Jakob disease. His rapid deterioration is consistent with the progression of symptoms your husband is suffering. If we are correct, he has a few months at best. If the two of you have plans to do something, now would be the time. It might be helpful for us to treat him if you would keep a journal and note anything concerning. I'll see him for appointments, but you'll be with him all the time. We can go over things that you note, changes that will help us to stay apprised of his condition. But, as far as everyday life with just the two of you, enjoy each other. There's a reason for the saying, 'there's no time like the present.'"

  Tears stung her eyes as she looked away. "We were going to move to the Eastern Shore. Make a home. Grow old together." Skylar's voice trailed off. She couldn't look at the man until the threat of tears passed.

  "Then do it, Mrs. Barrows. Your husband said in his medical history he has no other living relatives. He will have to trust you to make decisions for him once he's unable to do so for himself. I know that it's hard to hear, but now’s the time for the two of you to be talking about things that don't get talked about. It's never easy, especially
in a case like this. Death is the one thing that is certain in this life, yet it's the one thing we all are least prepared for."

  Skylar looked down at the floor. Dr. O'Hara had just handed her an ominous weight, and she felt the heavy mantle of Dash's care fall on her shoulders. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't dementia. Though she knew the doctor was trying to be helpful, at that moment, it was hard to accept. The word "death" had a way of shaking the core of even the strongest person.

  When Skylar reentered the room, she found Dash sitting in a chair. His eyes were red-rimmed, his neck mildly flushed. He’d broken down in her absence, of that she was sure. She approached him with an understanding glint in her eye. As she placed a kiss to the top of his head, her nose was tickled by errant strands of hair.

  "I don't know what to do." Dash lifted his gaze to meet her eyes, and she saw the evidence of his despair. His brown eyes were nearly black beneath the tragedy, and the rims were a darker red than she’d first noticed. He was utterly lost. Crushed. Grief-stricken. He took her hand in his. "I don't know if I want you here for this, Sky."

  Instantly offended, indignation sent a rod down her spine. Did he think he could just send her away? That wasn't going to happen. She'd never even considered it an option. Her words were clipped. "While I appreciate you saying that, I don't need you to make my decisions for me."

  He shook his head back and forth, a rogue teardrop escaping to dot his jeans.

  He rubbed it away with an open hand. "Don't you get it? We're married, but I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to do anything. I'll make arrangements to go into one of those homes. You don't have to go through any of this. It's your easy out."