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I know you are a trained lawyer. That you studied diligently and know the intricacies of the law. For this reason, I truly believe you can dig into that brilliant head of yours and come up with a solution that will work for all of us. You will craft a new defense strategy for my son. You will bring him home to me.
Cheers,
Hedwig Arnout
Chapter Nine
Wes booked an appointment with Dr. Hamilton for the end of the week. He didn’t put the appointment on the calendar he shared with Beatrice in the kitchen because he didn’t want her to worry. He wanted her to think of the sleepwalking incident as a one-time thing and not a symptom of a greater issue. But Wes was spooked.
Dr. Hamilton had been Wes’s doctor for the better part of the past year. He specialized in memory care and had been genuinely surprised at Wes’s progress since his diagnosis four years ago. When he’d learned of Wes’s engagement, he’d clapped him on the back and said, “You son of a gun! You’re beating all the odds.”
But now, as Wes sat in Dr. Hamilton’s office and told him about his recent nightmare, sleepwalking episode, and insistence that Beatrice was his grandmother, Dr. Hamilton’s face grew pale. His tone was that of a typical doctor, preparing to give bad news.
“Nightmares are synonymous with worsening symptoms,” Dr. Hamilton explained. “But I guess you already know that, and that’s why you’re here.”
Wes swallowed and clutched his ledger. He’d brought it to ensure he didn’t forget anything as he explained the incident to Dr. Hamilton. Now he wanted to throw it out the window.
“What should I do?” Wes asked.
“You’re taking your meds? Getting enough sleep? Using your ledger?”
Wes nodded. “I’m doing everything.” He was doing everything right!
“It’s the nature of this disease,” Dr. Hamilton said. “It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just how things go.”
Wes glowered at him. He suddenly empathized with the rage so many dementia patients usually demonstrated. It was horrendous to lose so much! To lose yourself!
“I want to ask you something,” Wes said, forcing himself to look Dr. Hamilton in the eye.
“Anything.”
Wes swallowed. “Do you think I should call off the wedding?”
Dr. Hamilton shook his head. “No, Wes. Absolutely not. The nightmare was a symptom, and maybe we’re a few more notches down the road. But don’t give up on something like that. It’s probably been instrumental in keeping you well this long.”
Wes was quiet. He thought of how beautiful Beatrice looked in the morning as she did the crossword at the kitchen table. All that light swam in off the sound.
“Listen,” Dr. Hamilton said. “There’s an experimental drug coming out soon. I’d have to do some tests to see if you’re a candidate.”
“What kind of experimental drug?” Wes immediately thought of the seventies. He’d been in his twenties, and times had been very strange.
“It’s a drug that helps clean the plaque off your brain cells,” the doctor explained. “The plaque is what kick-starts the dementia in the first place.”
“So all I’ve needed this whole time is a cleanup?”
Dr. Hamilton laughed. “It’s not that simple. But it could slow the process down a great deal.”
Wes knew enough not to get his hopes up. “What are the side effects?”
“Pretty typical so far. Weight changes. Poor sleep or too much sleep. Headaches. Dizziness. Confusion.”
“I’m already pretty confused. That’s the point.”
Dr. Hamilton nodded. “We don’t have to try it if you don’t feel comfortable.”
But Wes saw this as his only option. The other roads led to gray valleys and the darkness that came with the complete loss of his memory and soul.
“Let’s do it,” Wes said. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
