Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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The Silent Killer
"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, there is just nothing more we can do. Your father is in the late-stage of this disease, we have exhausted all avenues of medication. My suggestion to you at this point, would be to look into a skilled nursing facility. He needs twenty-four hour care that they can provide for him."
The pity in the nurse's eyes had me wanting to vomit. The pain and devastation I was feeling, had me wanting to curl in and around myself. I felt like a failure to not only my father but myself as well. I had let him down as a daughter and protector.
I have been taking care of my father, Charlie and younger sister, Bree, since I was ten years old. My mother, Renee, decided she didn't want to be tied down with a family and left us for Sin City. I had made a promise to my father and Bree I would take care of them and never let them down, but here I was doing the complete opposite.
I sat in stunned silence, staring at the very man who had raised and provided for me most of my life. I was still holding out some hope that Dr. Hale could give us a trial medication to try.
Dad had a blank stare in his hazel orbs, as he had carried for the last six months.
Seven years ago, while on the job as a SWAT officer, Charlie entered a house when a perpetrator threw a stun grenade into the room where Charlie had entered so that the perpetrator would have a chance to escape. At first, the only affects my dad suffered were disorientation and temporary blindness. It also threw his balance and function off. As time went on, he started having problems sleeping, he became depressed, and was misplacing items around the house. The most significant item being his sniper rifle.
Dad had always been strong-willed, stubborn, and independent. He was the strong one, the teacher, the preacher, the disciplinarian of our small family. He came off as a hardened and adamant man, who talked roughly and had a hard hand. So, it came as no surprise that he put up a fight when I insisted one day he go see his doctor.
"I don't need to see that man! All he wants is my money. I'm fine," he screamed, storming out of the house and slamming the screen door.
Instead of fighting him, I made the appointment anyway. On the day of the appointment, I made the excuse of needing help with grocery shopping. Bree was away at summer camp as a counselor so he couldn't get out of it.
I drove because his vertigo was so severe. When we pulled into the parking lot, he knew I had lied to him. I don't regret it though.
He yelled and cussed, but finally relented after seeing me break down.
I had told him I couldn't lose him. Him and Bree were my only family. What would I do if I lost him?
At the appointment, his doctor did a full physical examination, blood work and several memory and counting tests. As I sat there listening to my dad fail test after test, I wanted to grab him and tell him it would be alright. We have been through worse and we would get through this.
The doctor gave dad his first round of medication. He told us he surmised that dad had Dementia, but didn't think it had anything to do with the incident at work. He told us he would let us know the results of the blood work, but in the mean time he wanted to get an MRI of dad's brain. They scheduled it and sent us on our way.
As kids, our parents always preach to us that one day when we grow up we will be faced with one of life's most challenging. I always thought they were talking about choosing a college or having a family of our own, I couldn't have been more wrong.
I was being faced and handed that very challenge.
As the weeks started to turn into months, I noticed rapid changes in dad. He would repeat questions more frequently, have mood swings so severe that he became violent, and talk constantly about suicide. It was a rare moment that I was not at his side.
One day, after he had kept me up all night, I laid down for a nap. I was exhausted, but it didn't stop dad from stealing my keys driving to Port Angeles. By what the police and witness reports say, he drove into oncoming traffic. I knew then that something was drastically wrong…something wasn't right. This was not Dementia.
When I sat and thought about it, his doctor's office had never called back and I had never called them. I had been constantly busy trying to keep up with dad that it had slipped my mind.
I scheduled another appointment with his doctor the following morning.
As we sat in the waiting room, dad held tightly to my hand, watching people and commenting here and there. When we finally made it in to see the doctor, we talked about his most recent symptoms.
The doctor performed a battery of neurological, physical, and mental tests. He again told us to call in for the results in three days time.
Three days later, at nine in the morning, my dad's fate was sealed.
Late-stage Alzheimer's Disease.
I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to breathe. My entire world was spinning out of control. My hero, the man that I thought was invisible, was in the final stage of Alzheimer's Disease.
His Alzheimer's had skipped the middle phase and gone directly into the last phase, but I remained strong. I wiped the tears and blew my nose, before returning to my father's side.
According to Charlie's doctor, he had been suffering for some time with Dementia and Parkinson's Disease, but Alzheimer's had taken over.
Day by day, month by month, his memory became worse. He started losing his way even more. The names of people that should have been familiar to him, were becoming a distant memory; out of his reach. He no longer recognized faces he used to call friend.
My dad is going away in his mind more and more.
Alzheimer's, Dementia and Parkinson's have now taken over dad's health. He no longer tries to make it to the restroom, instead chooses to have bowel movements in his pants leaving the mess for me to clean. I feel as though I'm changing a baby. He refuses to change clothes, refuses to wash up, and refuses to eat.
I am now taking care of a toddler in a grown man's body who cannot figure out what is happening to him and why. He thinks he's being punished for things he did as a child. It's sad when you have to reassure your own dad that he's not in trouble; he's not being punished for something he did wrong.
He raised me, taught me right from wrong, kissed my scrapes and bruises and mended my heartbreaks. It's my turn to take care of him.
Alzheimer's is like cancer, it eats away at an innocent life until it leaves nothing behind. It's cruel and unforgiving. It knows no race, color, or religion.
Dad has not met the Heavenly Father yet, but daddy has still gone away in his mind.
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This is based on true-life events. Please do not leave hateful comments.
Thank you!