What exactly am I to do?

He came shuffling from the bedroom where he had gone to sleep and found me, still working on the computer. I dread the sound of him coming because I know he is going to tell me some new reason why he has to get out of this house.

“Do you see this?” He hold up his hand with the fingers curled nearly shut. “My hand was frozen like this. Locked. I couldn’t move it.”

His face has “that look”. Haunted, bleary eyed, almost motionless even when he’s talking and trying to be dramatic.

I don’t know what to say. “It’s a movement disorder, Parkinsonian problem. How do you want to remedy the situation?”

“There is no remedy. I have to get out of this place.” He teeters and catches himself as he turns and shuffles out again.

I think for a while and follow him into the dark room. We talk. I’m desperate. He’s desperate. In frustration I tell him to get his clothes on and get in the truck. I’ll take him somewhere remote and we’ll both sleep there tonight. He refuses my offer. The truck is not grounded, so it wouldn’t do any good.

He’s so good at throwing something crazy back at me, almost like a test, but he doesn’t think it’s crazy at all. “We need to call Mayo Clinic and see what they do for this. They’re here in the Midwest where there are lots of dairy farms with grounding problems. They probably have people with this and know what to do.”

This sounds ridiculous to me, and I know what Mayo Clinic will think when they see his diagnosis, but it is something I can do. I can ask. Will that satisfy him? I tell him they aren’t going to get back to him tonight.

He knows that. “They’ll probably just tell me to get away from the house.”

Yeah, probably.