Scarlett

Saturday was a good day – my sweetie helped me weed some in the garden, run errands, enjoy treats and a beautiful spring day. Then, at about 9:30 that evening, he went downstairs to put away the cats’ dishes and came back up a different person. His face was haunted, instantly vacant and gaunt. It’s been exhausting since then, for both of us. He has had literally hundreds of Visitors since Saturday night, little sleep, and almost constant hallucinations, many involving undefinable things (like plastic filaments, he said) floating around us. He was up 6 times Saturday night, and eight times, last night.

The Visitors are a mix of good and bad – all good in a kind and non-threatening way, but exhausting. At one point there were more than a hundred Mennonites crowded into his bedroom. At another, he was part of a planning group who were going to create a committee to improve workflow at an unknown company (that is, if they hire me, he said). He falls asleep and almost instantly starts talking with someone; quiet conversations without drama or conflict, lasting many minutes, and not providing enough rest. He was surprised to find he had been asleep less than an hour, saying that his dream took place over the course of four days.

There’s been a lot of nonsensical talk, too. It’s been exhausting for us both – it takes a lot of energy for him to come up with words, and a lot for me to figure out what he’s trying to say. I usually do pretty well, but these last couple of days have been hard. His speech has been peppered with a lot of jargon from his days in IT, as if his brain is taking old files and dumping info into the blank holes. He’s generally good-natured about it, and even laughed out loud when I told him that he really didn’t have a hundred mennonites in his bedroom, and was genuinely relieved that our niece wasn’t frantically trying to keep them all in snacks.

Occasionally, though, things take a slightly sinister turn. We were making a rare visit to friends today – and may I say how incredibly priceless it is to have friends who happily and generously ride with us no matter what state John is in – when he had what appeared to be a paranoid episode. Suddenly, I could not be trusted, was using drugs and talking openly about killing people. It lasted about half an hour, after which his suspicions eased into bewilderment, then complacency, and then silly banter as we drove home through the beautiful spring countryside.

Coordination is affected, too. He’s having difficulty walking, keeping his balance, and eating, and jerks and flinches frequently. And all the while there is this constant fiddling with these “plastic filaments.”

Even so, there is an abiding sweetness and humor. Tonight, as I was getting him into bed, we talked quietly about the fact that tomorrow is our 31st anniversary. His face was so gentle and calm as I fitted his APAP mask on him. I said “You are beautiful.” He smiled, and his eyes twinkled, and he rejoined in a cheeky, posh-Southern accent, “Ah, you spoil me. You spoil me.”

“Shall I call you ‘Scarlett,’ my darling?”

“If you would be so kind,” he said.

Yeah, I think I can be so kind. I love you, 31 years on.