It's The End of The World As We Know It

I'd known that things weren't "right" for a bit.

Something was off.

Things just didn't feel right. And my SpideySense was going off every time I was around Momma.

It was little stuff like:

• Transposing numbers on a check

• Constantly asking me what time it was when she was wearing a watch

• Calling the dog a cat and the cat a dog

At first I chalked it up to normal aging and being tired. Her partner had died the year before after a battle with Alzheimers and I knew Momma was still grieving. That had to be it.

Plus Lil Bit is a surgeon. If something is wrong she'll diagnose and treat herself - lord knows she's been doing that for years or instructing me how to stitch her up, which pill to grab out of the bag or two to use whiskey & fire to sterilize a needle when at the lake. Fun fact - I learned how to sew up lacerations with a mean running whip stitch before I learned to drive.

But it continued and the physician did not heal herself.

Having seen dementia all too often with our family I had a suspicion what was going on, but would not admit it until I had a diagnosis from a doctor - not the doctor's kid who grew up in the hospital.

Monday morning I got on my friend Google and searched for Neurologists at the state's largest hospital figuring I'd make an appointment and be in like Flynn soon.

I had the same uneducated confidence that makes men like Ross Perot think they can run for president.

Office One

"We are not currently accepting new patients, but I'm happy to put you on a wait list."

"Sure, how long is the list."

"You're looking at about two years."

Office Two

"We don't have any openings and our wait list is maxed out."

Office Three

No answer...ever.

Office Four

"How advanced is her condition? When was she diagnosed?"

"She hasn't been diagnosed yet, that's..."

"We can't accept a patient without a diagnosis."

"But that's what I'm trying to get an appointment for."

"Sorry, we aren't accepting new, undiagnosed patients..."

"Let me guess? At this time?"

Office Five

"Sorry, we are shutting down the practice because the doctor is moving to Cleveland where he can do research."

Offices Six - Twenty

Same song, same verse

Office Twenty One

"No new patients at this time"

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much do I need to pay to bump someone and get my Mom in?"

- click -

And, on and on, and on ... money, charm, tenacity, perseverance, blackmail, connections, flirting, drop bye with freshly baked homemade cookies served on a platter of Benjamins, phone calls, emails, letters, screaming who do I have to fuck to get a doctor's appointment - nothing worked.

Oklahoma has issues. And I mean capital issues. Healthcare is one of the tops. Not enough doctors, a stranglehold by the state's largest insurance company on networks, too many uninsured and a population that loves its sugar, lard, cigarettes and meth do not make for a Top 10 Healthy State.

Six months of searching went by with Momma asking me every other day if I had had any luck. Lil Bit was still seeing some patients and driving and seemed ok but I was still worried.

Then one day, a coworker's friend's second husband's childhood sweetheart knew of a Neurology Nurse Practitioner who you could get in. I ran out of a meeting as soon as I got the name, typed her name into Google so furiously that I broke two keys off the keyboard, and had half the number dialed as it came up.

Ring. Ring.

"Hi, how may I help you?"

"Thank you so much, I am trying to make an appointment for my Mom to be evaluated by a Neurologist Nurse Practitioner."

"Well with Medicare we have to have ..."

"No Medicare, on private insurance. No referral needed." And quite frankly I would have paid in Cash, Ass or Grass at this point to get an appointment.

"Great, let me look at the calendar and see when Nurse Laura's next available appointment is. The system is being really slow do you want me to call you back?"

"NO!!!! I'm happy to hold on ... you just do whatever you need to do ...I've got all the time in the world." I was not only turning on the Southern drawl and charm, but also amassing a number of people at my door who needed to see me, my office phone was ringing off the hook and I'd missed two meetings already but I. Didn't. Care.

I walked over shut the door and sat with my back to it so no one could mess this up.

"How about 2:30 on October 24th?" This was three and a half months away but I didn't care.

"PERFECT! We will see you then."

I remember the day perfectly. It was the week of my birthday, which should have been a clue that shit was going to go down - I do not have a good track record with birthdays. It was a typical October Oklahoma day - started a little cool, but turned out beautiful. I went to work that morning and then left early to drive to Chickasha to pick up Mom.

She, true to form, was not ready when I got there. After much shoo'ing finally got her in the car and we headed out - Lil Bit had been suffering from some bad back pain off and on recently so I made sure that the car seat was just right and had a butt pillow if needed.

I put on some Mumford & Sons and we sang along as we pulled out of the garage.

As we drove to Norman, Momma would point out to ponds that she had fished in as a child with her father, houses where patients lived, restaurants she had eaten at and what was good to eat there, nurseries that had the best plants and even caught me when I made a wrong turn.

She's fine I thought to myself. I'm over-reacting.

We had lunch at McAlister's. Club sandwich with no tomato or honey mustard with Diet Coke for me. Half of a California Club, cup of broccoli cheddar soup and sweet tea for Mom.

We got to the office early and after checking Mom in I surveyed the room - she's not like these folks. I don't know a thing about medicine and need to take a deep breath.

Once we were in the office Lil Bit turned into a SURGEON and even though I had explained it previously many times, she could not understand why she was not being a doctor.

And when the nice nurse practitioner came and got us she let her know this. Mortified me starts apologizing profusely and we proceed into the room.

As we start Lil Bit will not talk about anything but her back. Like flat refuses to answer Nurse Laura's questions. After about ten minutes I snap, get on her knees with tears on my face and beg her to try.

And then the end of the world as we know it starts.

The Montreal Cognitive Assessment looks deceptively easy. Follow some numbers with a line, draw a cube, draw a clock, name some animals, remember some words, say some numbers. Easy, my Mom, the surgeon god will be able to do this in her sleep.

She fails the first test. Can't draw a clock. What words?

Each test hits me like an out of control freight train. Knocking me deeper and deeper into the darkness. I'm barely holding it together and about to lose it but then I see the resignation in my mother's eyes.

She knew. She knew. She knew.

Nurse Laura gives us her score - 18 out of 30.

Not good.

At all.

"That can't be right. Mom's been doing really great. It was only small things I was noticing."

The Nurse Practitioner patiently explains that this is common with very intelligent people. For the longest time they can keep the demons at bay by over compensating, taking their time when tasked with something or knowing how to deflect to others.

She starts talking about the future and what we can expect. Each sentence is like a hammer hitting down on a nail that is being driven into my brain.

Nurse Laura recommends having someone come in and stay with Mom. I say I think this is a good idea and Lil Bit yells "hell no at me."

And yet, the hits keep coming.

Memory loss, cognitive difficulty, personality changes, forgetting how to swallow, clicking with tongue...

My brain is screaming make it stop.

I want to scream stop it.

Just fucking stop talking.

But no words come out of my mouth as I hold Lil Bit's hand.

When it finally stops. Momma squeezes my hand, looks me in the eye and in true Lil Bit fashion says "I'm not scared honey, it's going to be you & I as we go on down this road. Can we stop and get some flowers on the way home?"

In her happy place, planting the mums we bought on the way home.