Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?

(I’m not going to do a “hello, world” post. Best to just jump in. I am picking up a few years after my first blog left off. Check that out if you like.)

Sunday night at 8:30, I got a call from my mother. “Would you bring me some orange juice when you come tomorrow?” “Sure,” I said, “see you then.”

I did the usual evening things, and went to bed about 10:30. At 11:05, my phone buzzed on my nightstand: call from Mom and Dad. It’s not like them to phone so late, so I was instantly apprehensive. “Hello?” “Leslie, it’s Mum. I’m calling to see if you would bring some orange juice when you come tomorrow?” “Sure,” I said, “see you then.”

Mom has Lewy Body Dementia (LBD). It’s the second most prevalent type of dementia, after Alzheimer’s, and before Parkinson’s (with which it is often confused, because the symptoms overlap quite a bit). She was diagnosed last summer, and is in very early stages, with medicine holding off most symptoms for the time being. But things are going to get a lot worse, and we’re just starting to get used to the idea.

I’ll take a late, repeat call for orange juice cheerfully, any night of the week… because I’ve come to realize that the “new normal” includes a constant low-level dread of what a late night call will someday entail.

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