<\/p>\n
I say she wasn\u2019t 100% because\u00a0Willie\u2019s memory\u00a0\u2013\u00a0which hadn\u2019t been\u00a0great before the sepsis \u2013 was a bit worse in the aftermath. It\u2019s\u00a0the\u00a0little things\u00a0Willie doesn\u2019t recall, like\u00a0when Indy gives her phone messages she later\u00a0insists he never gave her.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Willie\u00a0uses\u00a0her failed recollection\u00a0as confirmation\u00a0she never had the information in the first place.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
How do you argue with that?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Take\u00a0Christmas\u00a02016, thirteen months after Willie was discharged from the hospital. She had insisted on hosting the family holiday party. I, concerned it may be too much work, had offered to handle a few things on her party to-do list.\u00a0One task I took over was buying the wine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I told Willie I\u00a0planned on\u00a0hitting\u00a0my favorite\u00a0vineyard<\/a>\u00a0for their signature labels \u2013 Diego Red and Concordia, two\u00a0reds\u00a0with perfect composition.\u00a0Neither is as\u00a0heavy as\u00a0a traditional red, nor as\u00a0bubbly\u00a0in\u00a0texture\u00a0as\u00a0a rose.\u00a0Niagara, their\u00a0white,\u00a0isn\u2019t sweet or\u00a0overly\u00a0dry like some whites.\u00a0And\u00a0their\u00a0Blackberry\u00a0sounds\u00a0far more\u00a0saccharine than it tastes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Willie and I haggled\u00a0a bit over\u00a0the wine.\u00a0She wanted more traditional wines, not the\u00a0Gen X-er\u00a0nonsense\u00a0I\u00a0planned\u00a0on\u00a0buying.\u00a0She wanted merlot. Chardonnay. Maybe a\u00a0pinot noir.\u00a0Finally, with\u00a0Willie\u2019s\u00a0list in hand, I headed for the winery.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Let\u2019s just say I wasn\u2019t\u00a0only\u00a0making purchases for the holiday party.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The day of the party, I wended my way through my parents\u2019 house, lugging\u00a0my\u00a0case\u00a0of wine\u00a0to the back foyer, where Willie had set up a makeshift bar.\u00a0Bottles of wine\u00a0were\u00a0already\u00a0laid out for the partygoers. A merlot. A chardonnay.\u00a0A pinot noir.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Infuriating.\u00a0Why had I gone to the time and trouble of buying wine when Willie was just going to buy her own? I mean, yes, I\u00a0had restocked my own supply while I was at the\u00a0vineyard.\u00a0The staff there\u00a0had stopped asking me\u00a0months ago\u00a0if all the cases of wine I bought were for parties.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n But that was hardly the point.\u00a0Willie\u2019s memory was like a fishing net; able to hold most of the catch, but not all. The fish escaping through the openings in the net were her recollections, seeking life elsewhere. And here it was.\u00a0Ruining my life. Again.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n That\u2019s maybe a touch dramatic. Willie\u2019s\u00a0fishing-net\u00a0memory was sending me on errands I was running away?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Nah. I\u2019ll stick with the dramatic.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ignoring the fact 73-year-old, post-sepsis, fishing net-brained Willie was trying to host a party, I stalked into the kitchen, demanding to know why Willie had procured her own wine.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you remember?\u201d Willie asked, as though I was the one with\u00a0the\u00a0fishing-net memory.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Through gritted teeth, I assured Willie\u00a0yes, I remembered our conversation.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cSo yeah,\u201d Willie said, \u201cyou were going to buy the different stuff. The blackberry or whatever. And I was going to buy the regular stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n But that\u2019s not how\u00a0our conversation had gone. Willie had been unsure of the Concordia and the\u00a0Niagara, with their weird names and weirder flavor profiles. I told her my vineyard had regular stuff too. Pinots\u00a0and whatnot. We agreed I\u2019d get those.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Willie answered. \u201cI told you to get the other stuff. It sounded good. But that I\u2019d have\u00a0regular\u00a0stuff too.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Which I knew was dead wrong because A) had Willie said she was still going for wine I would have put up a fight and B) Willie doesn\u2019t compliment anything I do, least of all my drinking.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I returned to the foyer to unpack my now-superfluous wine. I cursed the fact I didn\u2019t have my Concordia here to drown my\u00a0angst. Just some stupid merlot\u00a0and\u00a0Yeungling\u00a0Light.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Not even regular Yeungling. Yeungling\u00a0Light<\/em>.\u00a0Light!\u00a0I mean, I\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t realize this was a junior high party. Are we going to talk about boys?\u00a0Slather on Lip Smackers? Stay up all night?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I\u00a0pulled\u00a0my bottles of wine from the\u00a0case.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A few\u00a0Concordias.\u00a0Some\u00a0Diego Reds.\u00a0Two\u00a0Niagaras.\u00a0A\u00a0not-too-sweet Blackberry.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What the hell?\u00a0I\u00a0couldn\u2019t be the one\u00a0incorrectly\u00a0recollecting\u00a0our conversation!\u00a0I don\u2019t get things wrong. Ever. Do you know how hard that is? Why do\u00a0I work this\u00a0hard\u00a0to\u00a0always\u00a0be right, only to get\u00a0the wine\u00a0wrong?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n No chance was I\u00a0telling\u00a0Willie. Willie would use it as proof it wasn\u2019t her memory\u00a0that had a\u00a0problem. I couldn\u2019t have that.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Plus it was Christmas. I\u2019m not going to admit fault at\u00a0Christmas.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n So obviously.\u00a0You can\u00a0see how\u00a0Willie\u2019s memory had been a problem since her illness. By the time we were a year and\u00a0a half out, it was clear that\u00a0would\u00a0remain her only sequela from her sepsis. I had done all I could.\u00a0I could see the end of the traffic jam. I was almost\u00a0to the open road.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n That\u2019s when Indy\u2019s\u00a0left hand began to shake.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n His doctor wanted him to see a neurologist. My\u00a0territory<\/a>. I asked Indy questions, trying to glean more information.\u00a0And as everything he told me\u00a0fell in line\u00a0with Parkinson\u2019s, the traffic began to close in again.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I didn\u2019t tell Don, not right away. He was about to head out on a ten-day\u00a0fishing trip.\u00a0A trip so remote he\u2019d have no communication\u00a0with the outside world.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I mean, whatever floats your boat there, fella.\u00a0No internet? No thank you.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He\u2019d worry, and I didn\u2019t want him to worry. When I did tell him, he pointed out I was on step 646, but my dad was still at step one. Less than that, really. He hadn\u2019t even been to neurology yet.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Well, I knew what I knew, and I\u2019m never wrong.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I mean, yes, there was the wine. But\u00a0I think Willie switched\u00a0it\u00a0out somehow. You know, to trick me into thinking I was the one with\u00a0memory problems. There\u2019s no way I got that conversation about the wine wrong.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Think about it. All she had to do was intuit\u00a0when I bought the wine. Then she had to go buy\u00a0the\u00a0Concordia and everything, which is only sold at that vineyard, deep in\u00a0Bucks County<\/a>\u00a0where Willie has never been. She would have bought\u00a0that\u00a0Concordia and its compatriots, using the list of my planned purchases, which she of course wrote down during our conversation.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Then, she would have waited for me to leave my house.\u00a0Though she possesses neither key nor alarm code, she gained access to my house\u00a0and switched out the wine in a diabolical attempt to get me to end my carping about her memory.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Entirely plausible.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Anyway.\u00a0Before neurology would see\u00a0Indy, they wanted an MRI of his head. This had to be ordered by his family doctor.\u00a0Knowing\u00a0exactly\u00a0how the MRI should be\u00a0ordered\u00a0\u2013\u00a0I\u2019ve ordered dozens of them myself, and I\u2019m\u00a0always right, remember? –\u00a0I made the phone call, then scheduled the MRI. I couldn\u2019t even\u00a0schedule\u00a0an appointment\u00a0with neurology until I had that MRI report in my hands.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I\u00a0called\u00a0Willie\u00a0with\u00a0the\u00a0MRI date and location. Then I packed up for a two-week trip in Wyoming. Our\u00a0Wyoming\u00a0house lacked WiFi. Cell service was as erratic as Willie\u2019s memory. But still. The day of the MRI I called Indy to see how it had gone.\u00a0By the end of the week\u00a0I\u2019d have a report. Then I could call neurology.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhat MRI?\u201d Indy asked.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Now, Willie maintained she told Indy about the MRI. Indy said not so much. Willie said it didn\u2019t matter anyway. They had a Phillies game that day. The MRI would have made them late for the Phillies.\u00a0She would have canceled\u00a0the MRI.\u00a0There\u2019s no room in Willie\u2019s life for tardiness at Phillies\u2019\u00a0games.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n You see what\u00a0poor\u00a0Willie is dealing with here. A husband thoughtless enough to develop Parkinson\u2019s at the beginning of baseball season? A daughter\u00a0inconsiderate enough to schedule a much-needed MRI on the same day as a ball game?\u00a0All\u00a0while she\u2019s forced\u00a0into making\u00a0fiendish plans\u00a0that gaslight me into thinking I\u2019m the one with the pothole memory?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n My entire life\u2019s happiness lay in that MRI. Without the MRI there was no neurologist. Without the neurologist, I couldn\u2019t get a Parkinson\u2019s diagnosis. Without that diagnosis I couldn\u2019t sleep. I\u00a0exert control\u00a0by planning. How could I possibly plan until I knew what to plan for?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I also\u00a0exert control\u00a0by lying about which wine I brought to Christmas.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Seeking the one spot in the house where cell reception could generously be called\u00a0good, I spent an hour rescheduling that MRI.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Don\u2019t ask why it took an hour. It just did. Parkinson\u2019s slows everything down.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It would be\u00a0four months after Indy first told me about his hand before\u00a0we\u00a0finally sat at the train station, waiting to ride into\u00a0Center City<\/a>\u00a0to see the neurologist.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Indy is, in medical parlance, a terrible historian. His answers to the same question\u00a0posed at different times\u00a0are as varied as the wine at the Christmas party.\u00a0But\u00a0I wanted him prepared for the neurologist\u2019s questions.\u00a0Waiting for the train,\u00a0I told him what the neurologist would ask. And as Indy answered, he gave responses in complete opposition to\u00a0those\u00a0he\u2019d given me four months ago.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Four months of worry dissolved.\u00a0The traffic cleared\u00a0again. This sounded far more benign than Parkinson\u2019s. We\u2019d make short work of this neurology appointment. Probably never have to go back.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/wendirank.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/Screen-Shot-2021-02-25-at-7.45.31-PM-300x270.png\")
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