An Absent Mind(33)

I was able to loosen one of the ropes that bit into his hips and was working on the one that shackled his chest, when his head came up from nowhere and butted me in the forehead. I fell to the floor, my face covered in blood. Saul peered through the bars—trying to figure out what was going on, I guess.

It might have been the sight of the blood that precipitated what happened next. He went totally crazy. Now, half-freed from the restraints, he shook the bed, causing it to rock from side to side in such a way that I was sure it would collapse on me. He was like an animal, guttural sounds emanating from his contorted mouth as his eyes bulged.

Finally, he broke through the last restraint. It was like one of those Tarzan movies, where Tarzan would beat his chest before sliding down a vine.

As he looked down at me, I wasn’t sure if he was about to kill me or save me. I guess I’ll never know, because the nurse, who had seemed disinterested before she had her nicotine fix, rushed into the room. She pushed a panic button on the wall, then just stood there transfixed, not sure if she should help me or try to hold Saul back. She didn’t have to make that decision, as within seconds four attendants swarmed into the room, pulling Saul to one side and me to the other. I sobbed as the nurse gave him a shot of something while the others held him. Seconds later, they lifted my slouching husband back on the bed and started to tie the restraints again.

I pushed one of the attendants aside. “Don’t do that to him,” I shrieked. “He’s a human being, not an animal. Leave him alone.”

I must have scared the devil out of them with that outburst, because they stopped in their tracks and looked over at me.

The bulky one with a shaved head said they were doing it for his own good, and so that what had happened to me wouldn’t happen again.

I said, “What about drugs? Wouldn’t they accomplish the same result?”

He just shrugged.

Later, I went to see the night administrator. She told me sometimes, as in Saul’s case, when patients are extremely agitated, they have to use restraints so that the patients won’t hurt themselves. Then with a pacifying smile, she said that as Saul’s disease progresses, he will become more docile and will not need to be restrained. Did she think that would make me feel better?





Saul





Day 556—Where’s the Dog?


thE DugiN cOme





Monique





Day 584—Confusion


As I awoke from another fitful sleep this morning, I reached over to Saul’s side of the bed and felt the cold starched sheet, and, of course, no Saul. It’s been ages now, and I still can’t get used to it. I know it’s forever and that he’ll never come back. That he’ll deteriorate in that damn pseudo hospital, while I rot here in what was our home for so many years.

Suzanne Latraverse, an acquaintance from the YMCA, has been pushing me to get on with my life and get out of the house—and maybe have some male companionship. She said it was more than enough to visit Saul every day, especially since he doesn’t know me most of the time. As much as I might want to, I could never do it. Besides, I cannot understand who would want to spend any time with someone who is on the wrong side of seventy. So I must say I was more than surprised when Michael Salomon, one of our neighbors on Oakland Avenue, stopped me a few days ago as I passed his house on my way to see Saul.

Michael has been a widower for about five years now. We were friends with him and Bessie before she got her cancer. It seemed she was gone less than a month after they found it. In my opinion, she was lucky to go so fast.

Michael is a decent man, an ophthalmologist with his own practice. And not bad-looking. A bit heavy, but who am I to talk? He asked about Saul. The day before had been one of Saul’s worst days. So I blurted out, “How terrible it is for both of us, this whole Alzheimer’s thing.”

He offered a cringing smile and then asked if I would like to have dinner one night. I think I babbled something like “Maybe” or “I’ll see,” something lame like that. He said he’d call me.

When I told Suzanne, she said I owed it to myself to go. But I wasn’t sure I saw it that way. I felt disloyal even thinking of maybe having a good time while Saul was wasting away. Suzanne said, first of all, he wouldn’t know. I countered that one could say the same about someone who cheats on her spouse behind his back. Then she said that maybe if I got out more, it would make me a better caregiver, calmer and less agitated. I wanted so much to see it her way, to get out of this goddamn house and go somewhere besides Manoir Laurier.

Michael called me the next day about dinner. I asked if he would call me back in an hour. After spending the hour scratching the rash that always seems to appear when I get nervous, I reluctantly agreed to go.

When we arrived at the restaurant, the young hostess showed us to a table by the window. Guess who was at the next table? Molly Kaplan, Westmount’s unofficial gossip queen. I could feel her glaring at me as Michael put his hand on my elbow, slowing me so we could say hello. Molly was with Rachael Lipman, a shrew if ever there was one. I wanted so to twitch my nose and disappear like Samantha on Bewitched. I had a feeling they knew it and were relishing the whole thing.

The hostess seated us at the next table. I wanted to move, but I figured they would think they had caught us doing something immoral. It was the longest meal of my life.