30. Dutton
Dutton
I ’ve had bad days before, but nothing like this. In a matter of minutes, my whole world has gone to shit, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
A couple hours ago, I was in the weight room with my teammates. And now I’m sitting in a hard plastic chair in a doctor’s office holding Mom’s hand and praying like hell that the news we’re about to get isn’t the diagnosis we’re dreading.
But we know it will be.
For the last few months, I’ve ignored the signs that were right in front of me. I can’t ignore them anymore.
I was on my way to my parents’ house a couple hours ago to grab extra chairs and table cloths from the attic and help my mom set up for the dinner she’s hosting on Thursday. I never even made it into the driveway.
When I turned onto their street, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting a guy who was wandering in the middle of the street.
But it wasn’t just a guy. It was my dad.
Before I can let my brain spiral into that awful moment, the door opens and the doctor walks in. He doesn’t waste time with small talk, and I appreciate that.
“I want to start by letting you know that we’ve admitted Mr. Wagner for observation. It appears he took a fall while he was out wandering earlier today, so we want to keep an eye on that.”
I feel my mom tense up beside me, and I know she feels guilty for running to the store and leaving Dad home by himself.
“As you know,” the doctor continues, “we haven’t received all of the test results yet, but based on the evaluation I just completed, and the patient’s history, it’s clear that Mr. Wagner suffers from early-onset dementia.”
The words wash over me like ice water, even though I knew they were coming. I do my best to listen as the doctor explains the diagnosis and where we go from here. Thank Christ my aunt came along today, because there’s no way mom and I are retaining everything we need to.
“I think that drug trial is a good idea, Diane,” my aunt says as we head to the parking lot. “Russ is so young, and I think I read that means he has a better chance of responding to the medication.”
I hug my aunt Janet and my mom, but I stay quiet.
I’m not a talkative guy on the best of days, so I see no reason to start now.
I tell them goodbye because I should get back to campus.
At least, I feel like I should. Hell, I don’t know.
Nothing feels right, but staying in this hospital might drive me crazy.
When I get to the hockey house, Mickey’s eating a bowl of cereal at the counter, and Dean’s lying on the couch watching a basketball game. I stay quiet and head up to my room, but since that’s how I usually operate, no one seems surprised.
I strip off my clothes and step into the scalding hot spray of the shower like it has the power to wash away the stress of the day. I fucking wish it would. When I slip under my covers and set my phone on the nightstand, I see a string of unread messages.
And they’re all from Bridgette.
I know I’m a shithead—and a shitty boyfriend—for not reading them, but I just can’t.
I’m not ready to step back into reality just yet, and I don’t know how I’m going to explain everything to Bridgette.
I don’t even want to say the words out loud because then they’ll be real, and I can’t handle that.
I’m a guy who faces challenges head on. But not this one. All I want right now is to bury myself under the covers on my bed and shut out the world.
And that’s exactly what I do.