Page 28 of Home Changes
Dr. Carlisle, the same physician from the previous visit, greeted them with a nod and a soft smile. “Please, sit down,” she said, motioning toward the chairs across from her desk.
Seth and Chester did as she asked, and when they were settled, she said, “I’ve reviewed the scans and lab results.” Dr. Carlisle continued, getting straight to the point, “The imaging confirms what we suspected. There is entropy in the temporal and parietal lobes, consistent with Alzheimer’s disease. Your vitamin levels and thyroid levels are normal. There is no sign of a stroke or tumor, which is good news. You do have a UTI that we’ll take care of with some antibiotics.”
Seth sat up straighter. Somewhere in that brief explanation, tucked neatly between the tests and the reassurances, she’d confirmed it. His father had Alzheimer’s.
His gut dropped to the floor, and he could feel his hopes dying. He licked his dry lips and asked, “So … it’s official, then?”
Dr. Carlisle met his gaze without flinching. “Yes. The diagnosis is early to moderate Alzheimer’s.”
She glanced at Chester. Seth did, too. His father looked from the doctor to his son, his expression unreadable.
Seth leaned forward slightly. “So, what’s next?”
“I’ve started the paperwork for the Alzheimer’s registry,” Dr. Carlisle replied. “There are medication options. We can try donepezil and memantine. They won’t stop the disease, but they may help alleviate symptoms and delay the progression.”
Seth turned to look at his dad, who sat stiffly, staring at the doctor like she might be setting him up for a joke.
“What about side effects?” Seth asked.
“Mostly nausea, some dizziness,” she said. “But most patients tolerate the medication well. We’ll start at a low dose and monitor how he responds.”
Then she turned to Chester. “Chester, how are you feeling today?” Chester blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still part of the conversation. “I feel fine,” he said roughly. “I just forget stuff sometimes. That’s normal for my age.”
His voice had shifted. Defensive now. Dr. Carlisle’s smile was kind, patient. “Chester, some forgetfulnessisnormal. However, what we’re seeing in your scans and tests is more than that. That’s why it’s important we take action now. The medication can help you.”
Chester frowned. “I don’t need or want pills.” His father stiffened. Seth could see it happening. Theline had been drawn, and his father’s heels were already digging in. When Chester decided to become pigheaded, nothing would stop him. Seth wasn’t about to give him the chance.
He leaned in, his voice quiet. “Pops. This isn’t about needing them. It’s about making things easier. For both of us.”
The doctor nodded. “And it gives you more good time to spend with your son,” she added. That seemed to reach Chester. He looked down at his hands, shoulders still tense, but he gave a grudging nod.
“We’ll also connect you with a social worker and a care coordinator,” Dr. Carlisle said to Seth. “You don’t have to figure this out alone.”
Seth felt a lump rise in his throat. Maybe he didn’thaveto do it alone, but he sure as hellfeltlike the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders. The doctor told them she’d called in a prescription to the hospital pharmacy for pickup and talked about follow-ups before she stood.
“Thank you,” Seth said, voice hoarse as he reached to shake her hand. Dr. Carlisle returned the handshake and stood.
As they turned to leave, Chester glanced around the room with unfocused eyes, like he’d forgottenwhere he was. Seth gently placed a hand on his elbow. This time, Chester didn’t swat him away. He let him help.
Three days had passedsince they’d returned from Belle Fourche. The pill organizer sat on the kitchen counter like a small, quiet sentinel and a silent promise. But Seth wasn’t convinced that the promise could be kept.
Every morning’s square held the same tiny white tablet: donepezil. It looked harmless. The doctor had said it might help Chester hold onto pieces of himself a little longer. That was worth trying.
“All right, Pops,” Seth said, balancing the pills between two fingers as he approached the recliner. “Time to take your medication.”
Chester looked up from a crossword puzzle he hadn’t been able to finish all week. It used to take him an hour, max. “Already? Didn’t I just take that?”
“No, sir. It’s morning. Breakfast, meds, then your walk.”
Chester studied him for a beat too long before taking the pill. He dry-swallowed it with a grimace. “Tastes like a stick of chalk.”
“Ever eaten one of those?” Seth asked.
Chester narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes, on a dare, and it tasted better than that pill.”
Seth chuckled and returned to the kitchen to rinse out his father’s coffee mug, thinking grimly that chalky pills were still better than watching him slip further and further away. So, they built a routine. Wake. Eat. Meds. A short walk down the gravel lane. Then, there were puzzles or music, lunch, and a drive into town, so Chester could sit and whittle with Delbert while Seth ran errands or talked with Allison.
The structure helped. Chester, for the most part, knew what they were doing and when. The occasional slips were hard on both of them. The routine worked and anchored their days.
