My grandmother's hair is stringy and thin and dirty, forced back into a sloppy pony-tail.
Her GP looks at me. "I don't know how to get through this, and I know you don't know how either." She was referring to my grandmother's denial of the fact that she has dementia. She explains that this is part of the disease.
As we're all leaving the room, the GP looks at me again, and says, "I hope when you and I are this old, we aren't as stubborn."
"I had a psychotic episode, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with me," I offer.
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