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| Calligraphy |

Mommy the Beautiful

“Mommy’s fine. She’s turning ninety-two soon, she went through a lot in her life, she’s entitled to forget things every now and then”

"We’re done here, right? Can I speak to you for just a few minutes?”

Dr. Perlman raised his eyebrows at Malky.

“Ma, I just need to ask Dr. Perlman something personal, I hope that’s okay,” Malky said. “Can you wait for me in the waiting room?”

Mommy nodded. Malky watched her walk out of the examining room, her gait slow but her bearing elegant as always. She took a deep breath and sat back down.

“I’m worried about my mother,” she said.

“What’s worrying you?”

“She’s forgetting things. Getting confused easily.” Malky looked cautiously at Dr. Perlman. He held her gaze. “Like last week, I took her to a bar mitzvah, and she didn’t recognize Mrs. Greenwald. You know Lily Greenwald? My mother’s neighbor for the last fifty years?”

Dr. Perlman half-nodded.

“So she literally had no idea who she was. She asked me to introduce her twice. My mother!” Malky shook her head. “And that made me remember something else very strange. When I was in her house last week, I saw a notice that her water bill hadn’t been paid for four months already. You know my mother, she’s a details person. She never forgot to pay a bill in her life. Something’s wrong.”

Dr. Perlman leaned forward a bit. “How old is your mother, remind me?”

“She turned ninety-one in August.”

“Look, I just examined her, there are the usual blood pressure issues, but other than that, physically she seems to be fine.” He pulled out a notepad and traced a circle, then retraced it over and over again. “But what you’re describing… along with some small things I noticed too… I’m pretty sure there’s something there.”

“Something there? Is that how it works, you hear one or two stories and make a diagnosis?” Malky knew she sounded irritated.

“I’m not making a diagnosis,” Dr. Perlman said quietly. “You need a neurologist for that. And of course we should do some basic blood work, all that, just to rule out physical causes. The question is how much you want to investigate, how invasive you want to be at this point, how much of a difference a precise diagnosis would make. She’s not young, some cognitive decline is inevitable.”

Malky swallowed. “There’s nothing to do? You’re sure this is some sort of—” she didn’t want to say the d-word — “regression?”

“Look, we have to rule out the other possibilities first. I’ll give you the referrals, you’ll take her for some tests. But if this is some sort of dementia—” and it was clear that he thought it was — “then you have to start thinking about how to deal with it, because there’s nothing that will make it go away. You should get her an aide. You should think about the future.”

Malky was silent. She had sensed this, suspected it. Still.

“Think of it this way,” Dr. Perlman said. “Your mother’s always been a fighter. She’s not young, she had a long life, this is hitting relatively late. I wouldn’t use the word fortunate, this is never easy to watch, but she’s been functioning so well for so many years. Not everyone’s lucky to have such a mother. And your mother’s lucky to have you too, so attuned to what she needs.”

Lucky? Malky wondered if Ma would agree.

She collected the papers that the printer spat out and stuffed them into her battered pleather pocketbook. “Thank you,” she said. “I guess we’ll be in touch.”

Mommy was sitting stiffly in the waiting room in a cloud of Chanel #5. “There you are,” she said. She must have been wondering, must have guessed that something wasn’t quite right. But instead of voicing any insecurity, she buttoned up her jacket, straightened the collar majestically, and peered at Malky’s face. “So many times I tell you, Malky, why aren’t you wearing eyeliner? You know eyeliner makes all the difference for someone like you, with light eyelashes.”

 

 

Excerpted from Mishpacha Magazine. To view full version, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE or LOG IN.

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