Tuesday, June 27, 2017


The doctor's office was stark with about 30 hard chairs. Paris Match, L'Express and other magazines were on one of the side tables.

A middle-aged couple were the only other patients waiting.

A couple, probably in their late sixties walked in. She was over weight and had a paisley printed cane.

He greeted the other couple as old friends. Then he came over to me and took my hand in both of his.

"Heureux de faire votre connaissance," he said, looking deep into my eyes.

"Merci. I'm pleased to meet you too," I said in French thinking it strange. I know people greet each other when they enter a waiting room but in a genera "bonjour" kind of way but not much more.

He took a seat next to his wife.

She dropped her cane.

He reached down and picked it up then pretended it was a riffle and shot at several targets (not at me or the other couple) around the room.

"Calme toi!"  his wife ordered. 

He put down the cane.

"Au moins, il n'est pas chargĂ©," I said hoping to lighten the situation. Of course my imagination thought of a rifle that was a gun. 

"Il a Alzheimer's," she explained. 

Before I could respond the doctor called me. 

Walking home, I thought of the better-for-worse-in-sickness-and-in-health part of their wedding vows. I wondered what he had been like as a young man. She has so much on her shoulders. 

It would be nice to rap up this blog with some wise conclusion, but like the couple's situation, there is none.

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