70 Years

Originally published on February 2nd, 2020

Fred walked into the office looking a tad bit more hunched over than last time. I noticed the palms of his hands pushing the walker forward; his fingers either unable or unwilling to curl around the handle as one would expect. He took the seat on the side of my office, the uncomfortable one left for my medical students instead of the comfortable ones across from my desk.

“Good to see you Fred, it’s been a while. How are you doing?” I asked as I quickly glanced at his psychiatric medication reconciliation on my monitor.

“Oh, I’m okay. Getting old isn’t for the young, you know.” He replied.

I chuckled at the wit and waited for him to continue. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Last night I saw the clock reading 2 A.M. I was just lying there.”

“Are you able to stay asleep once you fall asleep?” I asked, thinking if there was any optimization of his medication I could make.

“Yeah, once I’m asleep I can usually make it through the night. I get up only when nature calls, you know.” I nodded in agreement and gave a smile. “I’ve been out of the small blue pill for a few weeks, though.” Fred offered.

“Oh, I see. was falling asleep easier when you still had the medication?” I asked.

“Yeah, it was, kinda.”

“Well, no worries, we can refill that if you need. Do you have any problems picking up the medications, Fred?”

“No, I just keep forgetting to ask the caretaker to get it,” He said.

“Well okay, we can talk about dosages later. Have you been hearing any voices or seeing things, Fred?” I asked.

Fred took a deep breath. “I…I wish I did.”

This took me off guard. I went down this line of questioning only because it was standard with the medication I was prescribing. I turned my body to face Fred and tilted my head slightly, hoping for more explanation before I began fishing for one. His eyes welled with tears and his face scrunched up as if to ward off the inevitable emotional outpouring.

“I wish I could talk to my wife.” He said.

I hadn’t seen Fred for nearly a year, as last time I saw him he was emotionally stable on his medication regimen. I realized his wife had probably passed since the last time I saw him.

He began to shake with sobs. He tried to speak but only incomprehensible sounds came out. He was fighting against his emotion. I understood.

“Fred, I’m so sorry.” I paused. “Was her passing unexpected?”

“Yes, it’s almost been a year.” He managed to say.

“I see. I’m so sorry.” I said again.

“70 years.”

I finally came to my senses and passed the box of tissue. I thought of my own wife, with whom I’d been married to for twelve years. I shuddered internally at the thought of losing her.

“I’m sure there are lot’s of reminders of her in your life. Do you have a good memory of her you’d like to share?” I asked, hoping to bring out some positive aspects of his life now sheared apart from his partner. Fred took a deep breath and raised his weathered, liver spotted hands to wipe the tears from his eyes. I waited a few moments and he still offered nothing.

“Was she a good cook?” I asked, still probing for some positive memories.

“The best.” Fred offered, between less frequent sobs.

“Are you alone in your house a lot of the time, Fred?”

“I have a caretaker most of the time, during the day. My grandson comes home late in the afternoon and he is there for the most part.” Fred said.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I replied. I continued, “How many children do you have?”

“Well, we had seven kids. The oldest died in an accident when he was a child. We, er, I have some grand kids now. They all live in the area, I do get to see them frequently.” Fred’s sobs were less intense now and his body had stopped shaking with each one.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I replied.

I finished the visit with a recommendation that we increase the dosage of his little blue pill to see if we could improve his sleep even more then it had been before he ran out. He agreed.

Before he left I offered one last thought.

“You know Fred, I can’t take away the pain. I don’t think anything can. Hopefully we can get some better rest for you though.”

“Doctor — I don’t want the pain to go away completely. It’s a testament to how well my wife loved me.”

I had no reply other than to wish Fred well and ask him if a four week follow up was okay with him. It was.

When he left my office I picked up my phone to send a ‘heart eyes’ emoji to my wife.