The boulevard of the dead and other stories

Letter to Oblivion

"First of all, you should know that memory is an essential mental process in the development of people: It is through memory that the rest of the processes work, but forgetting is not bad..." exclaimed the specialist, from the other side of her desk, looking at the different papers she was holding in her hand. In fact, it is something completely necessary. We could not lead a normal life if we remembered absolutely everything that happened in our lives.."

"And so...?"

"We will have to do tests to conclude that the situation Mr. William is going through are signs of Alzheimer's disease."

"I'm still here."

"Yes, Dad. We know," exclaimed my daughter, nodding her head absentmindedly. "Is there a cure, or some sort of treatment? In case the diagnosis is positive, of course."

I turned to look out the window, analyzing with presumed interest the road in front of the hospital, trying to hide the concern and discouragement I felt at the sight of my daughter, although, I was perfectly aware that she was even more worried than I was.

"I'm still here..." I said, not really knowing why.

"Yes." my daughter sighed irritably, looking down at her shoes, then turned to the specialist. "Is there any kind of cure for that kind of dementia?"

"Unfortunately, no. There is currently no treatment or cure, but there are some medications that help delay the process in the early years. But, it is one of the most researched topics biomedically..." he explained with enthusiasm, while typing, without being aware of my daughter's impatient looks, or how absent I was analyzing her. "It is very likely that at some point an effective treatment for this type of dementia will be found, and better yet, a cure.

"But not anytime soon."

"No one can say for sure."

"It may be."

"It is better to hope that they will find a solution someday," she commented, and with a quick movement, the specialist took all the sheets that had been printed and handed them to my daughter, while she took them and put them into a folder. "before not having any motivation."

While my daughter dedicated herself to reading all the contents of the printouts, I tried to catch a glimpse of what they said, although all my attempts were in vain.

"These documents, Miss Suarez, are some procedures and tests that we will carry out to give your father a diagnosis. Inside you will find the date and time they should return here, and the instructions they should follow, should they be necessary."

"A diagnosis?" I asked, distracted. 

"Yes, Mr. William. A diagnosis."

"But can't you deduce that?" I exclaimed, getting defensive, even though I knew it was part of the protocol."

"I can make a small opinion, Mr. Suarez, but it could not be as exact and concrete as it should be, since there would be many factors that I would be omitting."

"And what does this imply?" commented Sara, pointing to the folder.

"The diagnosis will consist of several evaluations and tests: your father's medical history will be taken into account, and his mental and psychological state will be evaluated. It is all part of this process. However, they will always have the right not to do so, or, to get a second opinion."

At this, I lowered my head, resigned: although there was the possibility of getting a second opinion, even a more positive one, I was sure that everyone would come to the same conclusion no matter how hard I tried to change or modify it. It was clear that the oblivion was growing, getting bigger and bigger. More and more frightening.