The Charm Bracelet(15)

“It’s my belief she has MCI.”

Arden was sitting with a geriatric doctor in an office at Lakeview Geriatric Center, grateful to have gotten an appointment on such short notice.

The beauty of living in a small town, Arden thought, before asking, “MCI?”

“Mild cognitive impairment,” Dr. Van Meter said. “It’s the stage between normal forgetfulness due to aging and the development of dementia.”

Arden watched her mother through the window walking with Lauren in the immaculate back garden of the center, pointing out birds and flowers to her granddaughter, before the two took a seat on a teak bench. Arden knew this facade was, in essence, just like a pretty celebrity on a magazine cover. It made a great first impression, and helped distract people from the real issues in their lives.

“Are you sure?” Arden asked.

“Completely,” the doctor said, patting Arden’s leg. “We’ve performed a comprehensive series of physical and neurological tests on your mother, including a mental status examination.”

The doctor stopped and smiled at Arden. “This isn’t the end of the world, Ms. Lindsey. You need to know that. Not everyone with MCI develops dementia, but this does signal the need for significant changes in your mother’s life and care. People with MCI have mild problems with thinking and memory, and they are often aware of their forgetfulness. Symptoms can include difficulty performing more than one task at a time, difficulty solving problems or making decisions, forgetting recent events or conversations, taking longer to perform more difficult mental activities.”

“That explains the Post-its in her cabin?”

“Yes. And you should be aware that, over time, should your mother develop dementia, her life will become more complicated. She will have difficulty performing tasks that used to come easily, she will get lost, she will have language issues, she will misplace items. She could have personality changes that lead to inappropriate behaviors.”

“She’s had that for a long time,” Arden said, trying to make a joke.

The doctor didn’t laugh, and Arden realized that her mouth was moving as she stared at the doctor’s face. She wasn’t able to hear all that she was saying, because Arden kept thinking, What do I do? I can’t move to Scoops.

Slowly, the doctor’s voice began to play in her ears again, as if the volume on a TV were being turned up.

“As the MCI worsens, symptoms are more obvious and interfere with the ability to take care of oneself, like dressing, eating. One forgets current events, as well as one’s own life history and awareness of who one is.”

Arden took a sharp breath. Suddenly, the image of her mother’s charm bracelet filled her head.

“Is there a…,” Arden began to ask.

“There is no cure,” Dr. Van Meter said, cutting Arden off in midsentence with a polite but definitive smile.

No cure.

Arden couldn’t feel anything, do anything more than stare at the doctor. She felt helpless.

“But there is hope,” the doctor said. “I know this is difficult, Ms. Lindsey. Your mother has done a good job of not letting people know for a long time. She’s made jokes, deflected attention. Like many people with MCI, it’s hard for them to ask for help. She didn’t want to burden you, or alter her life, but it’s getting more serious now.”

The doctor stopped and smiled reassuringly. “Ms. Lindsey, my hope is that—with the right diet, exercise, routine, mental stimulation, and ongoing care—she can have some normalcy in her life for a long while. But there will be good days and bad days. Right now, we need to focus on the good ones, okay?”

Arden smiled and nodded as the doctor continued to talk. Her heart broke.

“How much does my mother know?” Arden asked, still thinking about the doctor’s words: There is no cure.

“Just that she’s getting old and occasionally becomes confused,” Dr. Van Meter said. “We like to leave how to tell a loved one up to the family, unless, of course, you’d prefer we do it.”

In the distance, Lolly and Lauren had removed their shoes and stuck their feet into a fountain. They were threatening to splash each other.

What do I tell them? Arden thought.

Lolly’s laugh echoed up and through the office window to her daughter.

If I tell her the truth, will she spin into a depression? Or would I be doing her a disservice by hiding her condition?

“Sorry to interrupt, doctor. You asked that I meet Ms. Lindsey?”

A bearish rumble of a voice surprised Arden, and she opened her eyes, a large shadow now cast over her body.

She saw that it was actually a bear of a man—well over six feet tall, bearded, muscled, soulful brown eyes—standing in front of her.

“Ms. Lindsey,” Dr. Van Meter said, “this is Nurse Thomas. He’s a geriatric nurse here who also does home care. I think it would be beneficial if he came by to assess your mom at home and help you establish a good routine for her.”

Nurse Thomas smiled. “My first name is Jake, by the way. Not ‘Nurse.’”

Arden chuckled, and tucked her dark hair behind her ears.

“Well, I have your number and will give you a call tomorrow to set up a schedule, if that works for you,” Jake continued.

Arden nodded and tugged at her earlobe.

“Carol Burnett?” Jake asked, picking up on her nervous tic and mimicking the ear tug. “I love her, too.”