My eyes roamed over the noticeboard in the hospital waiting room. Alongside notices for charity walks, factsheets on how to act FAST in a stroke and the importance of eating your five a day I saw a box marked Fun Quiz, with ‘take one to pass the waiting time’ written carefully underneath.
I rolled my eyes – as if a quiz could make an interminable wait regarding your future any better. I had been biding my time in this sad little room for over an hour now and did my best to bite back my feelings of annoyance as I waited for my consultant to see me. Flicking through a dog-eared copy of a magazine I tried to be patient. This, after all, should be the easy part. I had spent the last month taking memory tests and assessments, had spoken to numerous specialists and now I was here – in a yellow hospital waiting room, waiting for the results of a test that would shape my future.
‘Lydia Harper,’ a nurse called loudly from the front of the waiting room.
Standing up, I was relieved to see she gave me a broad smile. As I followed her down the corridor towards the consultant neurologist’s office, I told myself that if she had bad news then, surely, she wouldn’t have grinned at me. Surely she would have offered me a sympathetic gaze or perhaps squeezed my arm.
‘Mr Evry will be with you in just a minute,’ she said, showing me to the office at the bottom of the corridor. ‘Take a seat.’
Obediently I sat in the chair opposite the desk and tried to remain calm. Whatever the outcome of these tests, at least this was a diagnosis and I could move forwards.
Just then Mr Evry walked into the room clutching a bulging paper file.
‘Goodness!’ I smiled, getting up to greet him. ‘Surely that’s not all mine?’
‘Afraid so,’ Mr Evry replied with a grin, gesturing for me to take a seat. ‘Now, Lydia, as you know we’ve run many tests and today I want to talk to you about the outcome of those tests and what that means.’
‘All right,’ I said slowly.
‘Did you bring any family members here today?’ he asked, looking over my shoulder as if I had somehow got the Waltons right behind me.
‘It’s just me,’ I said bluntly. ‘Nobody else knows I’m here.’
‘Right, okay.’ Mr Evry leafed through his notes.
I felt a pang of sympathy then. Mr Evry, or Craig as he had invited me to call him in previous visits, was a young, charming man with a good sense of humour and large family, judging by the photos of his husband and what I guessed were several relatives that lined his desk. We had hit it off from the moment we met, and his no-nonsense, down-to-earth but relaxed manner had set me at ease as he guided me through repeated tests and answered my endless questions.
After Brad’s funeral, I had thought long and hard about Phil’s suggestion I get my memory checked out. He was right, it had been playing on my mind for some time that something was wrong, and it wasn’t just forgetting what I’d walked into a room for or misplacing my handbag. I was worried about my mood swings and of course my failing eyesight. I needed glasses for almost everything now, a far cry from twelve months ago when I was proud of the fact I not only had all my own teeth, but only needed reading glasses.
So the following day, I had found the courage to return to my GP after our chat. I told her I was worried my memory problems weren’t just down to grief over losing my husband, but that there was something very wrong. She had been wonderful, patient, kind, interested and agreeable. She said she thought that it was still most likely grief, but felt there would be no harm in referring me for further tests. I had been lucky or unlucky depending on how you looked at it and been given a cancellation early the following week.
Now it was a sunny morning towards the end of June and I found myself wishing I was in the park, in Phil’s café, or generally just anywhere but here as I sat waiting for him to tell me the news. ‘Whatever it is, Craig, you can tell me now,’ I said in what I hoped was a dignified tone. ‘I can cope.’
Craig nodded. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you recently, Lydia, it’s that you’re a lot stronger than I imagine many people give you credit for. So, if you’re sure, I’ll get right to the point and tell you that I’m afraid tests show you do have Alzheimer’s.’
‘But my GP said she thought my problems were most likely down to grief,’ I managed. ‘Are you quite sure?’
As Craig leaned over the desk to clasp his hands over mine, I felt panic grip me. Despite the fact I had prepared for this moment, Alzheimer’s sounded so final – so serious. My brain felt scrambled as I tried to take in what this would mean. Would I need to go into a home? What about Luke, Hannah and the baby? My grandchild would never get to know me. To them I would just be some dotty old woman in the loony bin back in England, not a living, breathing woman full of stories, laughter and love. Then there were the practical considerations. Was I dying? Would I die soon? Or would I face a miserable and long drawn-out death?
‘Lydia, I know this is a shock,’ Craig began gently. ‘No matter how well-prepared people think they are, they aren’t. It’s a big deal and I imagine you have a lot of questions.’
I stared into his kindly blue eyes and shook my head, ‘No. I mean, yes, of course I do have a lot of questions, but you’re right. This is not what I expected.’
‘I understand. How about I talk generally for a bit about what we do now and how we go from here and then you can jump in when you like?’
I sat back in my chair as I tried to concentrate on what Craig was telling me. He explained that my symptoms showed I was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, but there was no need for alarm just yet. He said that although there was no cure for Alzheimer’s there were treatments that would slow down the symptoms and that could mean a far better quality of life for around a year and possibly longer. Then he went onto tell me that it wasn’t the death sentence it used to be – that there was more and more money being poured into research and new discoveries being made all the time.
I held up my hand then, begging him to stop. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, and I just couldn’t listen any more. ‘I’m sorry Craig, this is all a bit much now. Would you have some leaflets or something I could take away?’
Craig nodded and reached into his folder. ‘Before I give these to you though, I want you to think about next steps. I don’t want to bombard you, Lydia, but will you at least talk all of this through with your friends and family before you come and see me again next month?’
Images of Luke, Phil and Erin flashed into my mind. What would they say? I could imagine Luke’s face. He would no doubt worry just like his father, then rush to take charge, all in a bid to protect me of course. The truth was I wasn’t sure what I wanted yet, or how I wanted to handle it.
‘I think I need some time,’ I said eventually, ‘I need to work out how I feel about all of this myself.’
‘That’s understandable,’ he replied, ‘but don’t take too long. Support at this time is crucial. Your loved ones can really help you see that there is still plenty to be optimistic about. If you take care of yourself, Lydia, it’s possible to keep the brain working as it should as much as possible.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’
‘No more alcohol, lots of exercise and fresh air. Crossword puzzles and reading. We want to keep the brain active – it’s like a muscle, you have to keep using it,’ Craig said, his face as enthusiastic as his tone.
I said nothing. As childish as it sounded, the idea of giving up alcohol and becoming a crossword nut sounded about as appealing as Alzheimer’s. I looked up at Craig, about to tell him just that, but the sincere look in his eyes told me this wasn’t the time for one of my usual jibes.
‘Well, thank you again, Craig,’ I said instead, getting to my feet.
‘You’re welcome, Lydia. Arrange an appointment with me for a month’s time and we’ll see how you’re getting on and whether you want to think about medication.’
I nodded, then walked towards the door. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, I swung around with just one question I wanted answering. ‘I’m supposed to go to Paris next week. Will this be a problem?’
Craig smiled. ‘Not at all. You can still have a life, Lydia. Alzheimer’s doesn’t mean sitting around waiting to die.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, giving him a small tight smile as I turned to leave.
Outside, the fresh air was something of a relief and I decided to take some of Craig’s advice and get some exercise, walking at least some of the journey across the city back home. As I concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, I did my best to make sense of the news, but it was too much for my brain. It was as though I’d been overloaded and my brain just wouldn’t put the pieces together. Instead I thought about the upcoming trip to Paris. There was still so much to pack and organise. Although this trip was primarily about finding Jack, Erin and I had agreed to make this a working holiday and enjoy the chance to thrive in Paris. I hadn’t been for many years, though it was a fair Harry and I had adored when we ran H and L antiques. Over the years we had got to know many of the vendors and together would often spend many an evening, once the customers had gone home, chatting into the night, a bottle or six of red wine between us as we talked antiques.
Once we had retired, Harry still went back to the fair, spending time chatting with our old friends and revisiting old haunts. I had never fancied it myself, preferring to look forward not back. Harry had insisted he wanted to keep his hand in for the online business. Naturally I had thought nothing of it, only now of course the online business was something else he had lied about, so what had he been doing in Paris Did he have a life then that I knew nothing about?
At the thought of Harry’s lies, I felt a flash of anger. How different life could have been if only I hadn’t been so gullible, so afraid to stand on my own two feet. In that moment I felt a rush of determination. Craig was right, I wasn’t dead yet and I wasn’t about to let what was left of my life slip through my fingers without a fight. This trip was the chance to set things right and start afresh, Alzheimer’s or no Alzheimer’s.
Carrying on down the road with a renewed sense of purpose I felt my smartphone vibrate in my bag. Pulling it out, I screwed up my eyes to examine the screen and saw to my surprise it was a message from Rosie.
Jabbing at the phone the message popped open and I used my thumb and forefinger as Erin had shown me to zoom into the message.
Dear Lydia,
I hope you’re well. It was a pleasure to meet you recently and I’m sorry things didn’t go perhaps the way either of us had planned. When I returned home our meeting played heavily on my mind – so much so I ended up telling Tom all about it a few days later. He was astonished to hear we had been in touch, and even more astonished I didn’t come home with you to meet Erin there and then. In short, Lydia, he doesn’t want to wait, he wants to reconcile with Erin now if you think she’s agreeable. We wondered if there was somewhere neutral perhaps for us to meet. That way there won’t be any pressure or expectation and it will be easier if things don’t go as well as we want them to.
Truly, Lydia, I want to say I’m sorry for how I handled things when we met. I don’t know what came over me, I can only put it down to the fact I was overwhelmed by a situation I had dreamed of for so long. Both Tom and I have talked now and agree we will happily travel to the ends of the earth to reunite with our daughter – it’s the only thing in the world we want.
Yours in sorrow,
Rosie
Immediately I pressed reply, pausing for just a second before I began to type. Rosie wouldn’t have to travel to the ends of the earth to meet her daughter again, but she and Tom might want to dust off their passports. Paris might have a bit more on offer than either Erin or I had initially planned.