Chapter 10
T he waiting room was quiet. Only the faint rustle of magazines and the soft hum of the HVAC system filled the space.
Seth sat stiffly, one leg bouncing with his hands clasped tightly between his knees.
Across from him, Chester stared at the television mounted in the corner.
The volume was off, but news headlines scrolled across the screen, something about congressional hearings.
“Mr. Hansen?” a nurse called out cheerfully.
Seth stood, automatically reaching for his father’s elbow.
Chester swatted his hand away but stood without complaint.
They followed the nurse down a long hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic.
As they passed rooms filled with murmured conversations and sharp fluorescent lights, Seth felt his jaw tighten .
Dr. Carlisle, the same physician from the previous visit, greeted them with a nod and a soft smile. “Please, sit down,” she said, motioning toward the chairs across from her desk.
Seth and Chester did as she asked, and when they were settled, she said, “I’ve reviewed the scans and lab results.
” Dr. Carlisle continued, getting straight to the point, “The imaging confirms what we suspected. There is entropy in the temporal and parietal lobes, consistent with Alzheimer’s disease.
Your vitamin levels and thyroid levels are normal.
There is no sign of a stroke or tumor, which is good news.
You do have a UTI that we’ll take care of with some antibiotics. ”
Seth sat up straighter. Somewhere in that brief explanation, tucked neatly between the tests and the reassurances, she’d confirmed it. His father had Alzheimer’s.
His gut dropped to the floor, and he could feel his hopes dying. He licked his dry lips and asked, “So … it’s official, then?”
Dr. Carlisle met his gaze without flinching. “Yes. The diagnosis is early to moderate Alzheimer’s.”
She glanced at Chester. Seth did, too. His father looked from the doctor to his son, his expression unreadable .
Seth leaned forward slightly. “So, what’s next?”
“I’ve started the paperwork for the Alzheimer’s registry,” Dr. Carlisle replied. “There are medication options. We can try donepezil and memantine. They won’t stop the disease, but they may help alleviate symptoms and delay the progression.”
Seth turned to look at his dad, who sat stiffly, staring at the doctor like she might be setting him up for a joke.
“What about side effects?” Seth asked.
“Mostly nausea, some dizziness,” she said. “But most patients tolerate the medication well. We’ll start at a low dose and monitor how he responds.”
Then she turned to Chester. “Chester, how are you feeling today?” Chester blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still part of the conversation. “I feel fine,” he said roughly. “I just forget stuff sometimes. That’s normal for my age.”
His voice had shifted. Defensive now. Dr. Carlisle’s smile was kind, patient. “Chester, some forgetfulness is normal. However, what we’re seeing in your scans and tests is more than that. That’s why it’s important we take action now. The medication can help you.”
Chester frowned. “I don’t need or want pills.” His father stiffened. Seth could see it happening. The line had been drawn, and his father’s heels were already digging in. When Chester decided to become pigheaded, nothing would stop him. Seth wasn’t about to give him the chance.
He leaned in, his voice quiet. “Pops. This isn’t about needing them. It’s about making things easier. For both of us.”
The doctor nodded. “And it gives you more good time to spend with your son,” she added. That seemed to reach Chester. He looked down at his hands, shoulders still tense, but he gave a grudging nod.
“We’ll also connect you with a social worker and a care coordinator,” Dr. Carlisle said to Seth. “You don’t have to figure this out alone.”
Seth felt a lump rise in his throat. Maybe he didn’t have to do it alone, but he sure as hell felt like the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders. The doctor told them she’d called in a prescription to the hospital pharmacy for pickup and talked about follow-ups before she stood.
“Thank you,” Seth said, voice hoarse as he reached to shake her hand. Dr. Carlisle returned the handshake and stood.
As they turned to leave, Chester glanced around the room with unfocused eyes, like he’d forgotten where he was. Seth gently placed a hand on his elbow. This time, Chester didn’t swat him away. He let him help.
Three days had passed since they’d returned from Belle Fourche. The pill organizer sat on the kitchen counter like a small, quiet sentinel and a silent promise. But Seth wasn’t convinced that the promise could be kept.
Every morning’s square held the same tiny white tablet: donepezil. It looked harmless. The doctor had said it might help Chester hold onto pieces of himself a little longer. That was worth trying.
“All right, Pops,” Seth said, balancing the pills between two fingers as he approached the recliner. “Time to take your medication.”
Chester looked up from a crossword puzzle he hadn’t been able to finish all week. It used to take him an hour, max. “Already? Didn’t I just take that?”
“No, sir. It’s morning. Breakfast, meds, then your walk.”
Chester studied him for a beat too long before taking the pill. He dry-swallowed it with a grimace. “Tastes like a stick of chalk. ”
“Ever eaten one of those?” Seth asked.
Chester narrowed his eyes at him. “Yes, on a dare, and it tasted better than that pill.”
Seth chuckled and returned to the kitchen to rinse out his father’s coffee mug, thinking grimly that chalky pills were still better than watching him slip further and further away.
So, they built a routine. Wake. Eat. Meds.
A short walk down the gravel lane. Then, there were puzzles or music, lunch, and a drive into town, so Chester could sit and whittle with Delbert while Seth ran errands or talked with Allison.
The structure helped. Chester, for the most part, knew what they were doing and when. The occasional slips were hard on both of them. The routine worked and anchored their days.
But it didn’t stop the damn disease. Sometimes Chester forgot he’d already eaten and asked for lunch again. Sometimes he lost words mid-sentence, frustration taking over until he gave up talking altogether.
Seth had taped reminders all over the fridge. Things to Do , Things to Watch , and Things to Talk to the Doctor About .
He set alarms on his phone for everything: pills, water, check-ins.
He found out that his father would forget to drink water, which was probably what had led to his UTI.
The UTIs could cause his father to become combative, and Dr. Carlisle said it could have been the reason for his anger issues before Seth came to stay with him.
Things all made sense with the diagnosis, but he hated it, nonetheless.
Seth installed a motion sensor on the back and front door that chimed on his phone.
There was no way he’d have that scare again.
His daily runs had stopped. Instead, he worked with improvised weights and calisthenics to keep his cardio engaged.
He made sure Gomer stuck to his dad like glue.
The dog understood his task and followed Chester everywhere.
Labels went on every drawer in the house, especially the kitchen. He was doing anything to help Chester navigate the space that had once been second nature. Still, by the fourth day, Seth was running on fumes.
After Chester had gone to bed, Seth sat alone on the porch. Gomer lay sprawled at his feet, tail thumping softly every now and then as if to say, Still here.
The stars were out, sharp and brilliant in the South Dakota sky.
Seth leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
It was too late to call Allison. He didn’t want to wake her.
And if he were honest, he didn’t want to make his loneliness her burden.
The truth was, he hadn’t realized how lonely caregiving could be.
Or how guilty normal emotional responses to his father’s disease made him feel.
The smallest frustrations built up, like bricks stacked in a line.
He hated the way he reacted when Chester asked the same question over and over.
The impatience that shouldn’t be there but sometimes was.
He hated the resentment that crept in when he wanted an hour to himself but couldn’t get it.
And he hated that he missed the old version of his father.
The version that didn’t get along with him.
The version that was stubborn, self-righteous, and pigheaded.
The one that remembered what day it was and that his mom had passed.
The screen door creaked open behind him, and Chester stepped outside, squinting into the night. “You coming in soon, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Seth replied quietly. “Just needed a minute.”
Chester nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. Maybe those flickers of clarity hadn’t gone out just yet.
“You know,” Chester said, his voice low, “I never said thanks. ”
Seth looked up, surprised. “For what?”
“For coming back. For dealing with me and … things.”
“You don’t have to say thanks, Pops.”
Chester crossed his arms and looked down at him. The same way he always had, stern and strong. “Maybe not,” he said. “But I should. And I’m saying it now. Thank you.”
Seth stood slowly.
They faced each other in silence, only the rustle of wind in the trees filling the space between them. Then Seth did something he’d never done before. He reached out and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. And took the leap he’d never dared take before.
“I love you, Pops,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud.”
Chester’s eyes dipped, his jaw tight. “I feel the same, boy. Don’t say the words, but I feel the same.” His voice cracked, and tears shimmered in his eyes. “I hate that you have to see me like this.”
Seth cleared his throat, struggling to hold steady, to keep the emotion from clogging the words between them. “Don’t be, Dad. I’ll take care of you. You taught me how to be a man. How to carry my weight and the weight of others. ”
Chester’s eyes cut to him, sharp again. “Others?”
“Delbert,” Seth said simply.
Chester gave a small smile. “Man is dumber than a box of rocks. Used to be smart, though. You know what he was like?”
Seth shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t meet him until after the accident.”
Chester nodded. “Yeah, I knew that.” He sighed and glanced at Seth again. “When I can’t anymore … you check on him, all right?”
His father had asked him to watch out for Delbert before. But Seth didn’t mind repeating the answer. “That’s a promise, Pops.”
Chester sniffed and looked toward the house. “Good. We should go in. Getting chilly out here. Making my nose run.”
Seth fought back the lump in his throat. Cold, he’d go with that . “Yeah. Mine, too. Let’s go in.”
Seth glanced back and waited for Gomer to walk into the house after his father.
He looked at the brilliant stars in the sky and said a prayer of thanks for the moment of clarity, the memory, the words, and the emotion that was choking him.
He’d carry this moment and those words in his heart for the rest of his life.