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“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” Dr. Ricci responded. “I’ve seen a lot worse. If it makes you feel any better, you’re doing all the right things, okay? This is hard and it’s going to get harder. He needs some time to process this.”
“He knows his diagnosis,” I said. “He’s been processing it for almost two years.”
“I know. Driving privileges are a different ball game. Especially for a guy like him. His whole identity is wrapped up with the machines he’s operated. Fighter jets, boats, cars.”
“Do you have to report anything? Since I told you about his car being banged up? Do you have to force the issue?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t have to. I certainly can. But I’m not certain we’re there yet. My recommendation? Keep talking to him. Let him digest what we said today. Then try again. It’s best if you can get him to agree to the test voluntarily.”
“What if he won’t?” I asked.
“Call me. We’ll talk about the next steps. That is going to be the mantra of your life. One step at a time. It’s actually good advice for everyone. Alzheimer’s or not.”
“His gait,” I said. “I know you saw what I saw. I think I’ve seen it before. Just not consistently.”
“It’s cause for concern, yes. But coupled with everything else. His scan. His cognitive testing. This is all to be expected. He’s going to decline. It’s just not a linear progression. That’s what we’re seeing. His orientation is better. Let’s take that victory. But keep an eye out.”
“For what, exactly?”
“If his confusion returns. If you notice him missing more and more meals or having issues taking his medication. Certainly, if you see anything like facial drooping, speech trouble, changes in his strength, vision, hearing ... those things are an emergency. What I’m seeing so far isn’t. You’re doing great. I promise. And your dad is very lucky to have you. Are you okay? You know that whole saying about giving yourself oxygen before anyone else? It’s critical.”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Good. You have my cell. Use it if you need it. We’ll have him back here in six months unless there’s some acute reason to see him sooner.”
“How long?” I asked. “You know. Before I need to start making bigger decisions about his care.”
“I can’t say. He could go years with a slow progression. He could get much worse overnight. As much as you can, you have to just meet him where he’s at. Okay?”
Okay? No. It wasn’t okay. Some days, this felt insurmountable. I thanked her anyway and met Dad back at the car.
He sat in the front seat talking on his cell. I climbed behind the wheel.
“That’s terrific,” he said. “I’d say I owe you one, but I think you still owe me about seven more, Robbie.”
He laughed at something, then hung up.
“Dad ...” I started. “If you ...”
He held a hand up to cut me off. “We’ve got work to do. That was Rob Yarborough. He’s one of the producers at the cable news station I worked at. He’s sending over a copy of the footage of Derrek Sidney’s unaired interview first thing in the morning. Might be nothing, might be something. I’m anxious to see it either way.”
“Me too,” I said. Okay. So we didn’t have to talk about the hard stuff right this second. I put a hand over my dad’s and squeezed.
“I love you, kiddo,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“I love you too, Dad.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Derrek Sidney could have been a movie star. His eyes were blue ice. His thick blond hair just touched his collar and his day-old stubble and bushy moustache made him look rugged. Like Robert Redford in his Butch and Sundance days. When he looked at the camera straight on, he seemed to melt right through it. The Adonis Killer. He was certainly that.
Up until now, I’d only seen him in mugshot photos and grainy images as he was led in cuffs in and out of courtrooms and paddy wagons. He was charming and polite as he waited for a female production assistant to clip and adjust his microphone.
“You can see why it was easy for him to get women to follow him anywhere,” Dad said. We’d set up the video on the large-screen TV I kept in the conference room.
