Drift Away
At first the memories seemed to come and go
like the ebb and flow of the tide. They washed into his mind; filling it with
the accumulated images of years gone by, only for them to drift away again. And
always ever so slightly out of his grasp. The tide of memories that flooded him
each day left him feeling exhausted. Drowned by his thoughts. He was
sinking. It got worse. But eventually the tide has to go out.
Each morning was a wave of new feeling. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when all that surrounded him was familiar, the yellow paint on the walls, providing false happiness in its jovial colouring. Now everything was so bleak. He had been happy, now he felt numb. Devoid of all emotion. Because are you a person without your memories? Hank was not. He was an empty shell, an apple without a core. Infested by the worm of dementia.
Next to him, a woman lay sleeping. Who was she? All he knew was that he felt calm towards her, she must be one of the good people, he thought. The good people would talk to him with their loud, exaggerated words, mouths opening wide with slow phrases, as though he were a foreigner. In some ways he was. A foreigner in his own body, and Hank had lost his passport to return home.
The curtains opened in front of him, throwing light upon his weathered face. The wrinkles embedded on him like roads on a map. Each crease, a different journey, a different memory. Hank remembered one of those journeys, his wedding day; at least he remembered a version. The woman who lay next to him, perhaps? Yes. He recalled her body, the softness of her arms, the lazy spattering of freckles on her chest, the feel of her underneath him on their wedding night. She stood at the window now, back turned towards him, her figure outlined by the curve of her dress. He glanced over her, still slim, he observed. Although perhaps she’d put a bit more weight on at the hips? That could have been from the children, though. On the top of her left arm lay a bruise, spread out in a galaxy of colour. He wondered how she had got it.
“Are we here this morning?” she asked, turning towards her husband, who sat upon their bed. She joined him, always slow gestures, never wanting to frighten him in case he was not there. Today, though, he smiled. Relief washed over her. She was grateful he was in a better mood. He stood, and she reached out to him. Her hands found his, their fingers intertwined. She felt the warmth of his breath on the top of her head, and was comforted by the familiar scent of him, a combination of peppermint and coffee.
“I’m here.” He whispered, and for a moment her husband was back.
Hank turned, he felt thirsty, and contemplated making himself a drink. He liked tea, didn’t he? Probably. That’s what they drunk here, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been used to such vast quantities when he had first moved to England. His life had been in the States. Or had that been a film? He wasn’t all together sure, and anyway, wasn’t he making coffee? There was a coffee machine somewhere, he would go find it, and then take the dog out for a walk, or should he feed it first? Had he fed it? Did he have a dog? Hank stopped. He put his hands to his head, trying to cease the drops of thoughts that rained down, splattering the puddles of his mind. He decided to make some tea.
Their kitchen had always held fond memories. Hank remembered cold nights stood at the blinds, watching the stars dance at the horizon line, stretching up far in a waltz of light. He loved the coast, how it offered the true dark of night, not tainted by the cities garish lights. Hank had never been afraid of the dark. He didn’t understand why people were. He embraced the darkness, how it cloaked him, allowed him to feel hidden. Safe. It was the light Hank was afraid of. Light was revealing. It exposed all- the flaws, the cracks, the imperfections. And Hank felt like he was in the spotlight.
When he and his wife had married, the first thing they had decided was that they would live near the coast, away from the pollution of the city. They would bring up their children knowing how to swim; they would never be afraid of drowning. He had taught them about the tides, and together they had searched rock pools, gazing into them, picking out shells like little treasures. Hank remembered the delighted laughter of his children, the feeling of soft mud between small toes; their mouths open in amazement at the marine life that dwelled in the tiny rocky pools.
The newspaper lay unread on the kitchen table in the centre of the room. He gazed at the headlines, the bold letters begging to be seen, luring the reader with their promise of anything scandalous in nature. The headlines provoked outcries of rage, everyone is offended-and that was the point of the media. And if you weren’t offended by it, they weren’t doing their job right. “RISING SEA LEVELS: WHY IT’S YOUR FAULT”. He glanced over the article, not making sense of the jargon from apparent “experts” on the field. There was an expert on everything nowadays. Hank turned away. Maybe he’d have a drink, he was thirsty.
The car journey to the clinic was quiet, but for the sound of the radio. Roads slipped by as the music played. Thank you for the days, those endless days, those sacred days you gave me. Hank whistled along slightly out of tune, his hands tapping out a beat on his lap. I'm thinking of the days, I won't forget a single day, believe me. “Where are we going?” he asked the woman beside him. His wife? Yes. Definitely his wife.
“We’re going to the clinic, you have an appointment there.” She paused, and then added, “About your memory”. Hank pondered this, yes, he supposed, his memory hadn’t been working as well as it once had, but doesn’t that come with age? He wasn’t quite sure anymore. He hadn’t been sure of anything, not in a long while.
The car slowed down, Hank felt himself sink. Eventually the tide goes out.
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Progress Notes: Patient Treatment Plan
Patients name: Hank C. Planson
Patient has shown significant deterioration. Since the last appointment 3 months ago, there have been signs of increasing mental instability. At initial assessment patient seemed to only suffer mild periods of short term memory loss, forgetting the location of car keys and described having trouble recalling names. However having run the same cognitive function test, patient is unable to complete questions and seems confused when asked to recall dates. Although it appears he can recognise his wife, he fails to recall her name.
A trial period was run using 5mg of Donezepil once daily. Have discussed with the patient the possibility that present medication should be altered accordingly. Galantamine could be offered to patient, although given the progression of the disease, it is unlikely to be very effective. Blood tests were run, although no significant results were shown. The patient complains of frequent dehydration. An MRI showed the extent of deterioration of the neocortex, which could account for the temperamental behaviour the patient has been expressing recently. Suggests there is now significant damage to the amygdala.
Although on initial examination no damage to the long term memory was present there now appears to be a malfunction. Patient has been describing memories of his children, mentioning trips to the beach near their home. He does not seem to recall the children’s deaths. It would appear the patient is suffering hallucinations, possibly from damage to the noradrenergic parts of the locus coeruleus.
Patient has left the house on numerous occasions and got lost; only to be returned by the authorities. On contacting them, there has been suggestion the patient could potentially be moved to a secure unit for his own safety. Further assessment of home life would need to be undergone if this is the case.
Wife mentions occasional aggressive bouts which were not present on initial assessment. The bruises on the patient’s wife lead me to believe there have been violent accounts. She has denied they had been caused by the patient. The mood swings the patient displays appear to range from extreme violence to very affectionate behaviour.
Patient often complains of feelings of suffocation and trouble breathing. There are no signs of respiratory problems after a basic examination was carried out. There is likely to be a psychological link.
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On the kitchen table lay the local newspaper, the headline reading: “Body Washed Up On Beach”.
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