Cover the birds!!!!!

The Physical Therapist called yesterday. Seems husband doesn't have to go to see the Orthotist. She conferred with this Ortotist and it was agreed upon both Dr's that husband does indeed need leg braces. All I had to do was call Dr A's office so he could write a prescription for them. Waiting to hear back from Dr A. That shouldn't take long, so, soon, I hope, husband will be able to walk a little better. For now at least.

Husband seemed excited about it. Couldn't stop talking about it. As the afternoon turned into evening, he got a little confused. He asked me if it was going to be longer than 6 months. For the braces, I said? No, it should only be a matter of weeks, I suppose. He then asked me what they looked like. I don't know, I said. Followed by when can we go to pick them up? As soon as we hear from someone, I say. When will that be, he asks? And on and on. Guess you get the picture as to what my evening was like last night.

Later on, he came and as serious as can be, said, "You know, I'm worried about the birds". "Why?" I ask. "Because, you don't cover them at night and I'm afraid they are going to die". I looked at the birds, they were covered, I covered them. So, I say, "They're covered, I covered them". "No, you need to cover them, they will die", he says. This went on for a few minutes. Finally, firmly, I say to him, "THE BIRDS ARE COVERED". He says, "I'm going to bed, I don't want to fight with you, but you need to cover the birds". "OK, I will do that right now", I say. With that, he seemed satisfied, but mumbles all the way down the hallway, saying, "she needs to cover the birds".

He went to that Dark Place. That place where I don't like to go. That place is scary, heartbreaking, confusing and painful. It can rattle even the most sane person.

He seems OK this morning. Has asked me what I'm doing today. What are my plans. My plans? All depends on where his mind is, I want to say.

He's got "the look" today. That haunting, blank look in his eyes. It may be a rough day. Ugh. Times like these are becoming more frequent. More often.

Good ole' Frontal Lobe Dementia. Sure know how to hurt a guy.