Devil's Plaything by Matt Richtel Page A

they’re very much intact.”
    â€œSo.”
    â€œWhatever her mental state, she’s alert and reactive and plenty physically able. It’s as I thought when I first saw you in the waiting room: the patient presents in terrific physical shape.”
    The patient.
    â€œOkay,” I say, trying to piece together what this all means. I turn back to Grandma.
    â€œWho is Adrianna?”
    â€œYears ago, doctors came to your house,” she says.
    â€œNat, has your grandmother experienced any recent traumas?”
    â€œThe shooting at the park.”
    â€œI thought you said the symptoms predate that. Did she get into an argument, or have a problem at her retirement home? Has she been on field trips, or anything else that could have put her in a vulnerable or frightened position?”
    I consider it. Nothing comes to mind other than her allusion to the dentist.
    â€œWhy do you ask?”
    â€œPeople get mistreated and it makes them agitated. The retirement-home experience can be . . . impersonal.”
    We fall silent. He closes his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s lost in contemplation or tired.
    â€œPete, what is going on with her?”
    He clears his throat. “I’m sure it’s no surprise. But I’m sorry to say that she’s exhibiting the classic signs of dementia.”
    I shake my head. “When we came in you said she seemed fine.”
    â€œWell, it could be worse.”
    Pete starts what I imagine is his stock speech to family members of dementia sufferers. He tells me that Alzheimer’s is the most common form of dementia, affecting more than four million Americans. The disease results in memory loss, personality changes, cognitive dysfunction, then physical dependence. I know this stuff, and I wave him along.
    He reminds me there are four stages: predementia, and then early, moderate, and advanced versions. Common complications include dementia coupled with Parkinson’s; vascular dementia, which largely afflicts African Americans; and frontotemporal dementia, which presents with major mood affect.
    â€œShe’s probably in an early or moderate stage,” he says. “The good news is, this is very common, and we have some sense of how to treat it, though our treatments are primitive or, rather, of modest efficacy.”
    He’s starting to wind down his presentation, just as I’m feeling a rising sense of ire mixed with disbelief.
    â€œBullshit,” I say with some force, seeming to surprise him, and myself.
    What I realize I’m thinking is that Grandma’s symptoms don’t seem common at all. If my own memory of neurological disorders serves even a little, these symptoms don’t add up. Ordinarily, a sharp mental descent would be accompanied by a loss in physical agility and alertness. More significantly, it makes no sense to me that her mental decline has been so precipitous. I’m bothered with myself that I haven’t been paying closer attention in the last month or two.
    â€œWhen did you see Lane last?” I ask.
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œWhen was her last visit here—three, four months ago?”
    He walks to his desk. He picks up a green folder, opens and studies the chart inside. “Three,” he says, then corrects himself. “Sorry, four.”
    â€œIt just doesn’t make sense to me that as recently as four months ago she was doing relatively well, making sense, and conversation.”
    â€œSuggesting what?” he asks.
    â€œSomething odd is going on. This doesn’t seem typical to me at all.”
    â€œRespectfully, Nat, the Internet is not the best place to get medical information,” he says. “Dementia and memory loss can be very hard for family members to accept.”
    He maintains eye contact with me, which makes me think he either doesn’t realize he’s being condescending or doesn’t mind it. I break our gaze, almost imperceptibly