Richard has been to get a CT scan of his brain as well as an ultrasound of his carotid arteries.  All was well.  So there is no obvious physical explanation for his deterioration. 
      I wasn't going to write about this but it is so much on my mind and no none reads this anyway - and even if they did - what great secrets am I imparting?  It is more important for me to have a place to speak frankly than to safeguard secrets that aren't secrets to anyone who knows us. 
      We went to another town yesterday to run some errands.  While there we looked in some opportunity shops for work sweatshirts and trousers for him.  He was so dull, so helpless, sometimes reminding me of a windup doll that has wound down until prompted to do something else.  He'd stand in the aisle unmoving, or absently fingering a sweatshirt without really doing anything, almost as though he needed permission - or a push.  I'd say what about this or this or this?  Try this on.  What do you think of this one?    I wanted to shout, as I so often do, Wake Up!  Come Back!  Everything he does is done slowly.  He gets out of the car like he's 86 rather than 66.  He walks slowly - unless we're walking the dogs and then he can hook along quite well - he fumbles with his wallet to pay or has to really think things through to use his card.
      The other day I asked him if he'd given seed to the birds.  In the afternoon, when we pull the pellets and water dishes, we always give the galahs a few seeds as a treat and some millet seed on the stem to Dimitri.  No, he said, I thought you'd given it to them earlier.  When?  Earlier in the day.  Why would you think that?  Because you were down here.  Yes, I was down there - about lunch time.  Yesterday I mentioned the chairs we bought a few months ago.  The much loved much longed for Art Deco Club Chairs.  What chairs, he asked.  You know, the chairs.  He stared at me.  I could almost see the wheels grinding slowly around but the gears didn't mesh.  So I explained to him what chairs I meant.  Oh, those chairs.  I thought you meant kitchen chairs, dining room chairs, not those chairs. 
     They are the only chairs we've bought in years.  It's a minor thing but it's a telling example of what occurs with frightening regularity.
     I think Helen, Richard's friend of 30 years, his ex partner when he was in the drug squad, is annoyed that I'm not pushing him to have more tests or go see a psychiatrist.  I understand.  Despite the clean bill of health from the CT scan and ultrasound, something is going on.  But Richard is now quite annoyed if the subject comes up.  If I tried to get him to go see yet another person I suspect he'd dig in his heels.  He asserts, and it's true, that he's done everything required of him.  He's seeing a nutritionist and doing the exercises required.  He has gone to the doctor with my complaints (not his, he is certain nothing is wrong and that he's as sharp as ever) and followed up with the scans.  He has even gone to Tai Chi as of Monday.  That might be the making of things. 
      I found Tai Chi very difficult when I first learned it.  You are asking your body to move in unaccustomed ways which while not physically demanding is hard mentally.  That's why it's called a moving meditation.  It takes total concentration.  He's going to move mental muscles he hasn't had to in quite some time.
      So I'm trying to remain positive.  We're on a roll to get the house ready and move closer to the sea.  As I wrote to Helen, I feel as though I'm on a deadline.  Get all the hard work done before .... before what?  Before he loses it completely?  Yes, that's my fear.  That he has Alzheimers.  I thought that would show up on a scan so as there was nothing seen it is a relief.  Still, still....   So get the house ready to sell, find another place suitable for all of our furred and feathered family as close to the sea as we can afford to be.  We won't wait for the quarry to start.  We'll do this now while we can.  We've been here for 22 years.  The next move will be the last one. 
      I remind myself daily how fortunate I am.  And I am.  Right now, everything is fine and there's no point in scaring myself stupid by thinking about what might happen.  Today, this moment, it's gravy.