I am so I'm very that I took so long on publishing an updated. Personal things do get the worst of me. And I divided again another long chapter. And it was worth it.
So for this chapter I did so much research. But I don't think I was going to be able to write it decently.
Some parts of the doctor explaining the disease it made with AI. I'm not a doctor so I thought it was going to really best option to have a better result. If you have anything against that tell me. Although I think I will not use AI again.
So there's some things I want to say about the translation of last chapter.
1. I wanted to finish chapter so, so badly that I actually didn't check it properly. That explains some pronoun errors.
2. So someone told me about an error of "walking her dog". As if she is walking a dog like a pet. As I said once, on Spanish we refer the characters more as Dog. The correct translation was " she was walking with her son". Yeah, I was so desperate on doing weekly the update. XD ( Don't ship Sara with Bandit. She already has a family ). Hahaha
3. Always report a error. I don't get offended and it helps me get better on writing.
4. To maintain the English and Spanish version updates will come every 2 weeks. At least that is my goal.
Bandit and Chilli exited the elevator and headed toward the waiting room of Dr. Thompson's office. The atmosphere in the hospital was calm but charged with a quiet tension only found in places where people are waiting for life-changing news.
As they entered the waiting room, the first thing they noticed was the variety of people occupying the chairs. There were elderly people with blank stares, middle-aged adults with worried expressions, and even some young people who looked out of place in such an environment. Bandit and Chilli found two free seats and sat down, their hands still clasped together like an anchor amidst a sea of uncertainty.
As they waited, Bandit couldn't help but notice the people around them. One old man in particular caught his attention. The man, with white hair and a wrinkled face, was staring at the wall in front of him, his eyes unfocused and his mouth moving silently as if he were having a conversation with himself.
Bandit couldn't help but wonder what the old man's story might be - was he one of those cases where life had decided to throw its hardest blows in the last years of his existence? Or perhaps he was remembering someone he had lost, someone for whom he would be willing to give everything to see again, if only for an instant.
To his right, a young woman, perhaps in her thirties, was fiddling with a wedding ring, twirling it repeatedly around her finger. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying recently, and every so often, she let out a sigh that seemed to carry all the weight of the world. Was she waiting for news of her partner? Of a child? Bandit felt a knot form in his stomach as he imagined the pain she might be going through, an anguish so deep it needed no words to be understood.
A little farther away, a teenage boy with headphones on seemed oblivious to his surroundings. His attention was fixed on his phone screen, his fingers moving rapidly as he typed messages. His face didn't show the concern that dominated the environment, but there was something about the way he avoided eye contact, as if he were trying to escape the reality around him. Perhaps he was here with a family member, forced to accompany them to a place he didn't want to be, facing fears he wasn't yet ready to accept.
Bandit squeezed Chilli's hand tighter, as if he needed reassurance that she was still there by his side. She returned his squeeze, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. It was a silent exchange, a reaffirmation that no matter what, they were in this together.
The silence was broken as Bandit began to reason out everything he was seeing and started to put it all together like a jigsaw puzzle. He'd had an MRI to check his brain. They only did that if there was a possibility of brain damage.
"Do you think he has something like a brain tumor?" whispered Bandit to Chilli, leaning toward her.
Chilli glanced discreetly at the old man and then turned her attention back to Bandit. "Don't even say that as a joke. You can't have dementia. You're a young adult."
Bandit swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. "I know, but... what if it's genetic? My grandfather had it. Maybe... maybe I just haven't realized I'm becoming like him."
Chilli shook her head, her expression firm but concerned. "We can't jump to conclusions. Let's wait for what the doctor says." Despite the calm she was trying to convey, the way she kept holding Bandit's hand, as if she could keep it from slipping out of her grasp, gave away her true feelings.
Bandit felt a shiver run down his spine. Was this how he looked when he had that episode at the police station? Lost and disconnected from the world around him?
At that moment, a nurse entered the room, leading a middle-aged woman by the arm who appeared disoriented. "Come on, Mrs. Johnson," the nurse said in a soft voice. "It's time for your treatment."
The woman looked around in confusion. "Where am I? Who are you?"
"We're at the hospital, Mrs. Johnson. I'm Nurse Mary, do you remember? I come every day to pick you up for your therapy."
The woman frowned, as if she were trying to remember something that eluded her. "I... I'm not sure. Where's my husband?"
"Your husband will come to see you later, as usual," the nurse replied patiently. "Now, let's get to your treatment."
Bandit and Chilli watched silently as the nurse led the woman out of the room. The scene left a bitter taste in their mouths.
"Chilli," Bandit murmured, his voice barely audible. "What if...what if that's what's happening to me?"
Chilli squeezed his hand tighter. "I already told you not to rush to conclusions! Bandit Heeler. We don't even know why Dr. Thompson called us here. It could be entirely different."
Bandit nodded, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that washed over him. He looked around the room again, noticing a young man who seemed to be talking to himself quietly, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side as if he were seeing something no one else could see.
"I wonder what happened to all these people," Bandit said quietly. "How did they get to this point?"
Chilli followed his gaze. "Each one will have their story, I suppose. Accidents, illness, trauma... The mind is fragile, Bandit. Sometimes things just... happen."
Bandit felt a lump in his throat. "You think that's what happened to me? Something just... happened?"
Before Chilli could insult her husband, the office door opened, and a nurse came out with a clipboard in her hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Heeler?"
Bandit and Chilli stood up, exchanging a nervous glance before approaching the nurse.
"Dr. Thompson will see you now," the nurse said with a friendly smile. "Please follow me."
As they walked toward the office, Bandit couldn't help but think of all the possibilities. Why had Dr. Thompson brought them here, to this clinic specializing in mental and neurological problems? What had their tests shown? Was it something serious? Reversible? The questions swirled in his mind, each one more frightening than the last.
Chilli, noticing the tension in Bandit's body, gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't let fear win you over, my love, remember?" she whispered.
Bandit nodded, grateful for her presence. No matter what the doctor had to tell them, at least he wasn't alone. He had Chilli; he had his daughters. He was always going to keep that in mind.
The nurse led them to a door down the hall. "Dr. Thompson is waiting for you," she said, opening the door for them.
Bandit took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This was the moment of truth. Whatever the diagnosis was, whatever the reason they were here, they were about to find out.
"Ready?" asked Chilli, her voice barely a whisper.
Bandit nodded. "Ready."
And with that, they walked into the office together, ready to face whatever fate had in store for them. Bandit couldn't believe he had lied, though. He wasn't ready, and most likely, Chilli knew he wasn't.
Dr. Thompson's office was spacious and well-lit, with large windows letting in natural light. The walls were decorated with diplomas and certificates, and there was a large model of the human brain on a shelf near the desk. Dr. Thompson, a middle-aged man with glasses and a serious but friendly expression, stood up to greet them.
""Mr. and Mrs. Heeler, please take a seat," he said, indicating the chairs in front of his desk.
Bandit and Chilli sat down, their hands still intertwined. Dr. Thompson settled into his chair and opened a folder in front of him.
"Well, as you know, we have been conducting a series of tests and examinations since the incident at the police station," the doctor began. "I wanted to discuss the results with you in person."
Bandit felt his heart racing. This was the moment he had long feared and waited for. "What did they find, doctor?" he asked, his voice firmer than it felt.
"Mr. and Mrs. Heeler," the doctor began, looking at both of them with a mixture of empathy and professionalism, "the tests indicate that Bandit has Alzheimer's."
Bandit's world reeled as he heard those words. He felt as if everything around him was beginning to crumble. He looked at Chilli, searching her eyes for the support and strength he always found in her, though she too was expressing a despondency that infected Bandit.
"There has to be a mistake, doctor. My husband can't have Alzheimer's. He is very young and healthy. We have two daughters, ages 8 and 6. There's no way that's true!" Chilli exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks at the same time.
Bandit could barely hear Chilli's words. His mind had been caught in the echo of the doctor's sentence: *Alzheimer's*. The word reverberated in his head like a bell, the sound of which enveloped him and clouded his senses.
He stared at the floor, noticing how his hands trembled. Chilli was on her feet, fighting back tears, searching for a reason, a way out, but he... he could do nothing but stand still, as if moving meant accepting the truth, as if not moving could stop time.
*It can't be.*
Dr. Thompson, with a slight sadness in his eyes, leaned forward. "I understand how difficult this is to hear, Mrs. Heeler. There is no exact age for this disease, and although it is uncommon in someone as young as Mr. Heeler, the findings are conclusive. The symptoms he's been experiencing—the recent forgetfulness and the confusion in times of stress—are consistent with the early stages of the disease."
Chilli shook her head, almost in a gesture of rejection at the reality unfolding in front of them. "What can we do?" Her voice sounded softer now, with a mixture of fear and desperation. "There must be something... some treatment, some way to stop it."
*Stop it*.
Bandit could barely understand what that meant. Trying to stop the inevitable, to stop a future that, until that moment, seemed to have been perfectly structured. Their daughters, the work, the mornings filled with laughter and chaos, the games in the backyard—all of it suddenly felt like sand slipping through his fingers. He couldn't even feel his fingers; all he could feel was his heart beating.
He looked at Chilli, his strong, bright Chilli, who now looked like one of his little daughters, lost in the flood of information they had just received. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words. How could he tell her that everything would be all right when he didn't know if that was true? How could he promise her a future that, at that instant, felt more uncertain than ever?
The doctor spoke again, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in the office. "There are treatments that can slow the progression, and with the right support, we can work on a plan to make sure Bandit has the best quality of life possible. But... it's important that you both understand what this disease means."
Bandit swallowed saliva, trying to get his throat to cooperate. "What... what does it mean?" He barely recognized his own voice, so weak and broken. He didn't want to hear the answer, but he knew he had to.
Dr. Thompson looked straight at him, with a seriousness that now seemed to weigh more heavily than before. "It means there will be moments of lucidity, but there will also be days when you will feel lost. Short-term memory will be affected first, and over time... the progress will be more noticeable. Patience, emotional support... and eventually, more intensive care will be needed."
Each word felt like a punch in the gut, as if someone were taking the air out of him. What would it be like to not remember the face of the love of his life? To forget the laughter of his daughters? To be lost in his own mind, unable to find his way back?
But beyond his fear, there was Chilli's face, which was trying not to crumble, though her eyes glistened with tears that would not fall. He knew he had to be strong for her and for his daughters. But at that moment, strength was a resource he didn't know how to find.
*This isn't happening.*
Bandit wanted to scream, to say that he wasn't a drag, that they didn't need to make plans for something that couldn't happen. But that negation felt like a fragile barrier, like a sandcastle that he knew would, sooner or later, collapse.
Chilli sat back down, her hand reaching for Bandit's again. This time, it was she who held it tightly, as if she feared that if she let go, it would all disappear.
He entwined his fingers with hers, finally looking into her eyes. And in that instant, though the words didn't come out, they both shared the same thought: *We're still here. We're still together.* Chilli wanted to hug Bandit with all her might. However, she knew she had to be attentive to what the doctor said.
Dr. Thompson noticed the shock on Bandit and Chilli's faces and hurried to continue his explanation.
"I understand this is a shock to you," the doctor said in a soft voice. "Let me explain a little more about the disease and how it affects the brain."
The doctor stood up and walked over to a brain model he had on his desk. "You see, Alzheimer's is a neurodegenerative disease that primarily affects memory and cognitive functions. To understand it better, let's imagine that the brain is like a loaf of bread, and memories are what's inside."
Bandit, still stunned, managed to ask, "A loaf of bread? I don't understand, doctor."
Dr. Thompson nodded sympathetically. "Yes, it's a beginner's explanation that will help us better visualize the process. In a normal loaf of bread, the insides (that would be the neurons in our brain) are constantly working to make fresh bread (our memories and thoughts). They prepare the dough, bake it, and place it on the shelves so it's ready when we need it."
Chilli, squeezing Bandit's hand, interjected, "And how does Alzheimer's affect this... thing? And why is there no cure?"
"Good question," the doctor replied. "In the case of Alzheimer's, it's like a mold starts growing in the bakery. This fungus represents the beta-amyloid protein plaques that accumulate in the brains of people with Alzheimer's."
Bandit frowned. "A fungus? How exactly does this 'fungus' affect the bakery?"
Dr. Thompson continued, "This 'fungus' starts with a small part of the bread and then spreads to everything. At first, it may only affect a small area, causing the bread to reach the point of being inedible."
"Is that why I sometimes forget where I left my keys?" asked Bandit, with a hint of hope in his voice.
"Not necessarily," replied the doctor. "We all have occasional forgetfulness. In the case of Alzheimer's, this forgetfulness becomes more frequent and begins to affect daily life."
Dr. Thompson sighed softly. "Over time, the 'fungus' spreads to more areas of the pan. This translates into more significant memory loss, difficulty performing everyday tasks, and changes in behavior and personality."
Bandit, in a shaky voice, asked, "Does that mean I'll eventually forget everything? My family, myself?"
Damn. He already knew the answer. The fact that he was trying to play dumb to deny having Alzheimer's wasn't going to make it go away. It hadn't for the months he had it without knowing. Did he really think it was going to work now?
The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "Alzheimer's can severely affect long-term memory, yes. But it's important to remember that each case is unique and the progression can vary."
"Is there a cure, any way to stop this?" Chilli asked, struggling to keep her composure. She knew there was no cure; she was no fool. However, she didn't want to accept that Bandit had Alzheimer's.
"Unfortunately, at this time, there is no cure for Alzheimer's," Dr. Thompson replied. "But there are treatments that can help manage the symptoms and slow the progression of the disease. It's as if we have products that can slow the growth of the fungus, although not eliminate it."
Bandit, feeling a mixture of fear and determination, asked, "What can we do then? I don't want to just give up. I want to live and see my grown daughters and grandchildren."
The doctor nodded approvingly. "That's the right attitude, Bandit. There are several things we can do. First, we'll start with medications that can help improve cognitive function and manage symptoms. I'll also recommend some lifestyle changes that may be beneficial."
"What kind of lifestyle changes?"
"A healthy diet, regular exercise, mental stimulation through cognitive games and activities, and maintaining an active social life can be very beneficial," Dr. Thompson explained. "Going back to our bread analogy, it's as if we are giving bakers better tools and a more favorable environment to work in. Despite the fungus, you can still use the good parts of the bread."
"Is there any way to know how fast the disease will progress?" Bandit asked.
The doctor shook his head. "Unfortunately, we can't predict exactly how the disease will progress in each individual. But with an early diagnosis like yours, Bandit, we have more treatment options and can take steps to maintain your quality of life longer."
"How can we prepare for the future? What should we expect?" asked Chilli, with tears in her eyes. "She's telling me that I'm going to lose Bandit, and all I can do is watch Bandit go."
Dr. Thompson responded gently, "I understand what you are feeling, ma'am; however, it is important to plan ahead. This may include discussions about long-term care, as well as legal and financial issues. I also recommend that the entire family be educated about the disease so they know what to expect and how they can help."
"How do we explain this to the girls? How do we tell them that their father... that I..." Bandit asked, feeling the weight of the situation.
The doctor interrupted him gently. "That's a very important question, Bandit. I recommend being honest with them, but tailoring the explanation to their age. We can use the same bread analogy. You can tell them that Dad's brain has a 'fungus' that sometimes makes it hard for him to remember things or do certain tasks."
"And how can we help Bandit at home? Is there anything specific we should do?" Chilli nodded, grateful for the suggestion.
"Absolutely," Dr. Thompson replied. "Establishing routines can be very helpful. You can use visual reminders, such as sticky notes or a chalkboard, to help with daily tasks. It's also important to maintain a familiar and comforting environment."
"What about my job? I'm a architecture... Will I be able to continue working?" asked Bandit, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
The doctor looked at him seriously. "That's a decision we'll have to evaluate over time, Bandit. For now, it might be beneficial to talk to your superiors about your diagnosis and see if they can make adjustments to your responsibilities. Safety, both yours and others', must be the priority."
"Are there support groups or additional resources we can use?" asked Chilli thoughtfully.
"Excellent question," Dr. Thompson replied. "Yes, there are several support groups for both patients and caregivers. I will provide you with a list of local resources. There are also national organizations that offer information and support."
"How common is Alzheimer's in someone my age? I feel... too young for this?" asked Bandit, trying to take in all the information.
The doctor nodded sympathetically. "Early-onset Alzheimer's, which is diagnosed before age 65, is less common but not unheard of. It accounts for about 5-10% of all Alzheimer's cases. Although it is rare in someone your age, cases do exist. There are several factors that can contribute to the early development of the disease, including genetics, lifestyle, and environmental factors. In some cases, we can't identify a specific cause."
"Bandit's grandfather had Alzheimer's. Does that mean it's hereditary? Are our daughters at risk?" asked Chilli, recalling something Bandit had mentioned earlier about her grandfather having had such a disease in his old age.
Dr. Thompson responded carefully. "Alzheimer's has a genetic component, especially in early-onset cases. However, having a family member with Alzheimer's does not guarantee that one will develop it. There are many factors involved, including genes, lifestyle, and environment."
"So why does Bandit have it?" Chilli asked, with more doubts than answers in her mind.
"As I said, Mrs. Heleer, every case is different, and I've never seen a 30-year-old male before. Your husband will be an experimental subject for me," replied the doctor.
"Is there anything we can do to reduce the risk to our daughters?" asked Bandit, concerned for his daughters. It hadn't even mattered to him that he had said it would be an experiment.
"Encouraging a healthy lifestyle from an early age can be beneficial," the doctor replied. "This includes a balanced diet, regular exercise, and mental and social stimulation. But it is important to remember that there are no guarantees. Alzheimer's research continues, and we may have better prevention and treatment methods in the future."
"How often will we need to come in for consultations? How will we monitor the progression of the disease?" asked Chilli, trying to be practical.
Dr. Thompson explained, "Initially, we will meet every month to adjust treatment and monitor the side effects of the medications. Then, if all goes well, we might space out the visits to every three months. We will conduct regular cognitive assessments to monitor progression. It is also important that you keep a record of any changes you notice at home."
"What can I do myself to keep my mind active?" asked Bandit, feeling a little more focused.
"Excellent question, Bandit," the doctor replied enthusiastically. "There are many activities that can help: memory games, puzzles, learning a new language or skill, reading, writing, and even playing a musical instrument. The key is to stay mentally active and challenged."
"At what point should we consider... more intensive care?" asked Chilli, thinking ahead.
Dr. Thompson gently replied, "That's a decision we'll make together over time. For now, we will focus on symptom management and maintaining Bandit's independence as much as possible. When the time comes to consider more intensive care options, we'll discuss that in detail."
"What's the best-case scenario? And the worst-case scenario?" asked Bandit, with a mixture of fear and determination in his voice.
The doctor looked straight at him. "In the best-case scenario, with the right treatment and a healthy lifestyle, we could significantly slow the progression of the disease. You could maintain a good quality of life for many years. In the worst-case scenario... well, the disease would progress more rapidly, leading to a significant loss of cognitive function and independence."
"Is there anything we can do to manage stress and anxiety? My husband can become very sensitive," asked Chilli, noticing the tension in Bandit.
"Absolutely," Dr. Thompson replied. "Stress can exacerbate symptoms, so it's crucial to manage it. I recommend relaxation techniques such as meditation or yoga. Therapy can also be very beneficial, both for Bandit and for you, Chilli. Remember, you must be together."
"What about driving? Will I still be able to drive?" Bandit asked, thinking about his daily life. Who was going to drive the girls to school? Would he get lost again if he had to do it?
The doctor replied, "For now, if you haven't noticed any significant problems, you can keep driving. However, it is something we will have to evaluate on a regular basis. Safety is paramount, and there will come a point when we will have to consider alternatives."
"How can we plan financially for this? What kind of expenses should we anticipate?" Chilli asked, thinking ahead. It wasn't that she cared much about money; however, she also kept in mind that supporting two children and a husband with Alzheimer's wouldn't exactly be cheap.
"That's a very important question," Dr. Thompson replied. "Costs can include medications, medical care, and eventually, long-term care. I recommend they talk to a financial advisor who has experience in chronic illness planning. They can also look into long-term care insurance. And if they can't manage on their own, there is the option of seeking support from a dementia or Alzheimer's foundation."
"Can I at least hope to forget all the bad movies I've seen?" Bandit asked, with a touch of humor. I wanted to laugh so I wouldn't cry.
Dr. Thompson smiled slightly, appreciating Bandit's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm afraid memory doesn't work so selectively, Bandit. But your sense of humor will be a valuable tool in dealing with the challenges to come."
"How can we handle changes in mood or behavior that may arise? As far as I know, that's also an affliction of Alzheimer's," Chilli asked, returning to seriousness.
"Mood and behavior changes are common in Alzheimer's," the doctor explained. "Patience is key. Try to identify triggers for difficult behaviors and avoid them if possible. Maintain a calm environment and consistent routines. If changes are significant, we can consider medications to help manage them."
"How can we make sure this doesn't completely dominate our lives? I don't want the girls to grow up with only memories of a useless, sick, good-for-nothing father," Bandit asked, thinking of his family.
Dr. Thompson nodded sympathetically. "That's a valid concern, Bandit. It's important to maintain normalcy as much as possible. Continue your family traditions, make plans, and create memories. Alzheimer's is part of your life now, but it doesn't have to define it completely. You can always live in your present; if you let the forgetfulness of the past affect you today."
"Is there ongoing research? Any hope for new treatments in the future?" Chilli asked, determination in her voice.
"Yes, there is a lot of promising research going on," the doctor replied optimistically. "New drugs, gene therapies, and even the possibility of detecting Alzheimer's before symptoms appear are being studied. Although we can't make any promises, there is reason to be hopeful. However, I must say it will be far from easy to access; all of that is in the United States, and the prices are high."
"What's the next step, doctor?" Bandit asked, feeling a little calmer.
Dr. Thompson leaned forward, looking at both of them with seriousness and compassion. "The next step, Bandit and Chilli, is to develop a detailed treatment plan. We'll start with medications that can help manage symptoms and potentially slow the progression of the disease. We'll also schedule sessions with a therapist who specializes in Alzheimer's patients and their families."
Chilli nodded, squeezing Bandit's hand. "What kind of medications will they be, Doctor?"
"We'll start with cholinesterase inhibitors," explained Dr. Thompson. "These medications can help improve communication between brain cells. Going back to our bread analogy, it's as if we're giving the bakers better tools to work with despite the 'fungus.'"
Bandit frowned. "Do these medications have side effects?"
"They can have some side effects, yes," replied the doctor. "The most common are nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. But they're generally mild and decrease over time. We'll closely monitor how you react to the medication and make adjustments as necessary."
"Better not give me that if it's going to be more harmful than beneficial to me," said Bandit, somewhat upset by the doctor's proposal.
"You have the right to refuse to use it. However, also keep in mind that this can help delay your Alzheimer's and give you more time with your family," Dr. Thompson responded while reclining in his chair, giving Bandit a moment to reflect on his decision.
"I completely understand your concern, Bandit," the doctor said in a calm voice. "It's a personal decision, and I respect your point of view. However, I'd like to suggest that we consider starting with a very low dose and carefully monitor how you respond. We can adjust or discontinue it if the side effects are problematic."
Chilli intervened gently, "Maybe we could try it, honey. At least for a short time to see how it goes for you."
"When should I inform my superiors about this?" Bandit asked, thinking about his work.
"It's a personal decision, Bandit," the doctor responded. "But I would recommend doing it soon. The sooner they know, the more time they'll have to make necessary adjustments to your work. Also, having their support and understanding can be very beneficial for you."
"How will this affect my daily routine?" Bandit asked, still processing all the information.
Chilli intervened gently, "Maybe we could try it, honey. At least for a short time to see how it goes for you."
"When should I inform my superiors about this?" Bandit asked, thinking about his work.
"It's a personal decision, Bandit," the doctor responded. "But I would recommend doing it soon. The sooner they know, the more time they'll have to make necessary adjustments to your work. Also, having their support and understanding can be very beneficial for you."
"How will this affect my daily routine?" Bandit asked, still processing all the information.
"And what about my work?" Bandit insisted. "You mentioned earlier about talking to my superiors, but what exactly do I tell them?"
"I suggest scheduling a meeting with your direct supervisor," Dr. Thompson advised. "I can provide you with documentation about your diagnosis and specific recommendations for workplace accommodations. Many employers are willing to make reasonable adjustments, such as assigning more structured tasks or providing written reminders."
Chilli added, "I could accompany you to that meeting if you want, love."
The doctor paused and looked at his watch. "We've covered a lot of ground today. How about we schedule a follow-up appointment for next week? In the meantime, you can review the information I've given you and think about any other questions you might have."
Chilli nodded, putting away her notebook. "Yes, I think we need time to process all of this."
"Perfect," said Dr. Thompson, rising from his chair. "My nurse will help you schedule the next appointment. I'll also give you some informational brochures and a list of local resources you can consult."
As they prepared to leave, the doctor added, "One last thing. Remember that you're not alone in this. There's a whole support community available, both for you, Bandit, and for your family."
Bandit and Chilli stood up, thanked the doctor, and headed towards the door. Before leaving, Bandit stopped and turned to the physician.
"Thank you, Dr. Thompson. I know I haven't been the easiest patient today, but I appreciate your patience and help."
The doctor smiled warmly. "No problem, Bandit. We're in this together. I'll see you next week."
As the couple left the doctor's office, Dr. Thompson watched them, knowing they had just begun a difficult journey but hoping that his guidance and support might make a difference in the days ahead.
Chilli, on the other hand, felt like her world had been reduced to a constant buzzing in her ears. Despite all the explanations they had been given, the detailed descriptions, and the carefully crafted analogies, she wasn't ready for this. She knew nothing about caring for someone with Alzheimer's, much less someone who could forget her at any moment. Her mind drifted to the photo albums at home, wondering if they would need to label all of them, and if the day would come when she would have to explain to Bandit who she was in each picture.
"Should we tell the girls today, or when it gets worse?" Bandit asked, his voice barely a whisper. His expression was that of a man who had aged ten years in an hour; his usually bright eyes were now dimmed by the weight of the diagnosis.
Chilli forced a smile like she had never done before, feeling the muscles in her face protest at the effort. Her years as a mother had taught her to keep her composure in tough situations, but this was testing her limits. "Do you want me to get something for you to eat?" she said, trying to deflect the question. It was easier to think about sandwiches than to explain to Bluey and Bingo that their father was sick in a way they couldn't see, touch, or fully understand.
Bandit nodded mechanically after his stomach growled in hunger, a jarringly normal reminder on a day that was anything but normal. The sound seemed to momentarily break the tension, like a crack in glass.
Chilli quickly excused herself, heading to a small sandwich shop nearby. Her footsteps echoed in the hospital hallway, each step taking her further from Bandit and giving her a moment to breathe, to process, and to allow herself to feel the fear she had been holding back throughout the entire consultation.
At last, Bandit knew he was alone, something he had been waiting for during what felt like endless hours. The silence of the hospital corridor wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, broken only by the occasional beep of distant machines and the muffled murmur of conversations he neither could nor wanted to understand. He simply didn't want to face this in front of his family; he didn't want them to see the strong man he had always been crumble.
In that instant, he was finally able to cry. The tears, held back like a dam about to burst, finally found their release. Each sob carried the weight of dreams he would have to alter, plans he would have to abandon, and a future that now seemed as uncertain as the morning fog.
A passing nurse asked if he was okay, to which Bandit could only weakly nod. How could he be okay when his future felt like it was falling apart before his eyes?
He thought of Chilli, his wife, his light. Guilt washed over him as he imagined her having to care not only for their daughters but also for him. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't the future they had planned together. How could he continue doing his job when he couldn't even trust his own mind?
He quickly wiped his eyes as he heard Chilli's footsteps returning. He didn't want her to see him like this, though his red eyes would probably give him away.
Chilli appeared with a paper bag in hand and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I got your favorite sandwich, honey: turkey and avocado."
Bandit stood up, trying to pull himself together. "Thanks, love."
Chilli noticed his red eyes but said nothing. Instead, she walked over and hugged him tightly, the sandwich forgotten between them.
"We don't have to tell the girls today," she whispered in his ear. "We can take some time to process it ourselves first."
Bandit nodded against her shoulder, grateful for her understanding.
"How about we go to the park before picking them up from school?" Chilli suggested. "We could sit for a while, eat, and just… be together."
"I'd like that," Bandit replied softly.
As they walked toward the hospital exit, Bandit stopped for a moment. "Chilli, I… I'm sorry for all of this."
Chilli took his hand and squeezed it. "Hey, remember what we said—until death do us part."
Bandit managed a small smile. "Right."
They left the hospital together, heading toward the girls' school.