Jon arrived home to a dark apartment. He was glad for the quiet. The day had been long and loud. He felt ashamed that his first thought was to take another shower. He had already changed out of his shirt, tie and trousers after his initial shower and a long run. Usually a good run would clear his head. But, nothing. He decided to take another shower. He needed a very hot shower and a long talk with Sansa.
When he got out of the shower 15 minutes later, after he had literally scrubbed himself raw, he smelled pizza. The lights in the rest of the apartment were on and he heard her in the kitchen. He needed conversation. He needed strength. He needed her. He needed pizza and a beer. When he got to the small kitchen, Sansa was standing there holding a cold beer out to him. She reached for him and his arms curved around her. He pressed his face into her hair, wishing she could read his thoughts. He finally took a deep breath, catching the lemon and rose water scent of her shampoo.
“I thought you’d need this.” she said into his wet hair.
“What the beer or the hug?”
“Both, of course.”
“Why are you always so right?”
“Just because I am. And I know you. It was the smell wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that and Dr. Martell arrived two and a half hours late and…..”
“Come on. Sit down. Eat. I picked up your favorite on my way home from study group.”
Sansa pulled Jon to their kitchen table and pushed a plate with a gigantic slice of pizza laying across it and a big paper towel over to him as he sat down defeated. She sat down next to him and looked directly at him.
“So tell me.” she demanded and bit the tip of the pizza off. “Always the tip first.”
“Get your own piece!”
“I will as soon as you talk to me, honestly.“
“Honestly? You know I can only admit this to you. I’m scared.”
“Scared of old people. What are you going to do when we’re old? Go running and screaming through the streets?”
“That’s not it. Of all of the diseases, conditions and injuries I’ve seen, this is the worst. It robs people of their lives.”
“Well, not exactly in a technical sense. Their quality of life is diminished considerably, to say the least.”
“I can’t look at it from an aloof medical, just solve the problem, textbook point of view.”
“Explain it then. I need to understand.”
“I don’t know. I just keep thinking about the things they told me. One lady kept asking for her car keys, another one told me that she had to finish checking her classes’ math papers. Then she kept trying to teach me the Pythagorean theorem when I convinced her that she was caught up. That lasted for about five minutes. Then she cycled back to her unfinished math papers. One elderly man kept reciting a list of building materials to build a bridge. The CNA on duty explained that he had been a civil engineer. Another man, kept trying to ask the ladies to come and take a nap with him.”
“That’s known as Sundowning, right? Where peoples’ confusion increases and delusions become more pronounced later in the afternoon. I have read about that behavior.”
“It’s just that it was more than confused behaviors or thoughts. These people really seem to believe these things at that point in time. It’s coming from so deep in the brain that it seems true to them.”
“If that ever happens to me, just shoot me.”
“No, Sansa, it's not even a joke. I don't know where to put it in my head. The worst was early this morning. I had to examine a new admission. This lady wasn’t that old. She was just 55 and had early onset Alzheimer’s. She had scars from what looked like a chemical fire. She was so happy. She told me that she was waiting for her husband. He was bringing their baby and they could finally be a family. All she was worried about was having room for a crib.”
“Reliving a happy moment in her past. Is that so terrible? You said she was happy.”
“Happy all day long, waiting for her husband and child. Mrs. Gary, the records showed no husband and no baby. All the records showed was that she was a foreign language translator who had worked and traveled in the Middle East, Essos, and then Bravos, where she started to act strangely at her job a couple of years ago. Her employers assumed she had brain trauma from what ever accident gave her the terrible burns. She even wore a Burka to cover them at times. She was nobody. She had nobody. So she was put in a mental institution until Dr. Martell found her a month ago and brought her here.”
“How did he find her?”
"Dr. Martell is researching early onset Alzheimer's and he has collected a data base of cases and suspected cases. He was examining potential candidates for his study. He determined that she didn’t have a traumatic brain injury and since she was Westerosi he would include her, to return her to Westeros and get her out of the mental institution.”
“That’s an amazing story. But how did he realize that she was actually Westerosi?”
“Even weirder. He said it was her eyes. Grey eyes.”
“True, it’s a very small percentage of people that have grey eyes. Doesn’t sound data driven to me.”
“He didn’t elaborate. Perhaps, he’s looking at a genetic sequence that displays similar to dominant/recessive eye colors. Although I don’t think that’s complex enough. I don’t know. All I know, is that she waited all day long for her husband and baby and I know they will never come. And she will be waiting again tomorrow.”
“Unless she has a different delusion that she perseverates on tomorrow. Honey, this is really upsetting you. Let’s just eat our pizza and snuggle on the couch and watch something mindlessly entertaining like South Park.”
Their conversation worried Sansa. She had never seen Jon so unnerved. He was always her rock. She was trying to meet his emotions with clean and clinical observations. But, he was right. It sounded sad, scary, and pathetic because there was no cure. No solution.
Jon fell asleep on the couch with his arms around her waist and head on her shoulder. She had an 8 AM class and he had to meet Dr. Martell at the Alzheimer's wing by 7:30 tomorrow morning. She hoped he would be there on time for Jon’s sake. Sansa tousled his hair to drag him off to bed. For propriety, they each had separate bedrooms, but they usually slept in his big comfy bed.
“Jon, let's go to bed,” Sansa whispered as she attempted to rouse him.
After a few seconds of rubbing his eyes, he yawned in reply and began to get up. He caught her hand and allowed Sansa to lead him into the bedroom. They crawled into bed together in their tee shirts and sweats.
“Spoon with me.” he pleaded pulling her close into him.
“Every night of my life, Jon. Every night.”
No comments:
Post a Comment