The (First) Worst Day (How I Learned About Exit-Seeking Behaviour)

In September 2018 I attended a day-long writing conference in Toronto. The timing was perfect - it was two days before our flight to British Columbia for our cross-Canada train trip. 

The morning was uneventful; I took Doug out to breakfast, then left him in our hotel room watching an old movie he had previously enjoyed. I registered for the conference just in time for the first workshop, and was able to pop back between workshops and panels to make sure Doug was OK. It was the first time we’d been apart since I’d left my job several months previously, so I was nervous, but he was mostly fine. (He couldn’t find the bathroom, despite my having left the door wide open.)

(Conference slide: No one needs to suggest to me to write rather than clean!)

The hotel was built into a shopping centre and library, right next to a big square. There was a festival on that day with bouncy castles, face painting, singers, and jugglers.  I thought what a shame it was that Doug wasn't well enough to spend time sitting in the library, and then sitting outside on a bench watching all the fun & games, magicians, and musicians. There was also a tiny museum across the street; the previous year he’d have been able to go and investigate it. 

When I went back to the room after pitching my dementia novel to an agent, our Toronto Star friend was there, as planned. He took Doug out for lunch, and spent the afternoon with him while I had lunch & went to all three afternoon panels. At 5:00 pm I took Doug down to the food court in the mall and bought him supper, then we went back to the room and I snuggled him into bed, sitting with him until he had dozed off. 

I skipped the reception and went to the conference dinner (held in the hotel). I invited myself to sit at a table with space and it turned out that one of the other women had been at a writing masterclass with me the previous spring. It was also the ‘naughty’ table, with lots of laughter. So much fun. There was a good Keynote speech, then awards and a raffle. At 8:35 I snuck away, so I was back in the room at 8:40.

Doug wasn't there.

This story has a happy ending.

I phoned his sisters and our closest Toronto friends, in case one of them had come to visit him and take him out and I’d missed a text or phone call. No luck. So I reported him to the hotel. First they went through the entire hotel, and I walked though the now-empty shopping mall with the mall security. Fellow conference writers helped look through the parking lots and park across the street. At 9:10 I called the police, and they arrived within 10 minutes. The police were super efficient, thoughtful, gentle, and kind, and I was impressed with all of them. 

I had a photo of Doug from the previous day which was posted on the police twitter feed, and shared across social media. I was pleased I'd been too cheap to buy drinks with dinner, and was thus clear-headed. The hotel found Doug on their CCTV video, leaving the hotel at 7:47 pm. The missing persons report took a policeman and I about 20 mins to complete and there was only one answer I didn't know (if the scar on Doug's wrist was vertical or horizontal). I learned that exit-seekers tend to walk in as straight a line as possible. (Doug did exactly that, walking north, perhaps towards his childhood home.)

One funny moment: a policeman asked me if Doug was a good walker.  I said yes. “Yes, he is. We used to walk something called the Pathfinder March, which comprises 46 miles in a day, but was 50 miles for us once we’d walked to and from the starting line.”  “Oh!,” he said, looking startled. Later he told me that had been useful information as it meant they immediately widened the circle of search.

Doug’s sisters came to the hotel then went out looking by car. Two of my Besties jumped out of a hot tub in Markham and arrived with recent photos, snacks, and a thermos of tea. (Besties are the best!) “OMG,” said one of them. “I thought your mother had a stiff upper lip - !” 

Many conference attendees were sitting in the bar next to the lobby, and kept coming out to hug me, ask how they could help, and tell me they were praying for an HEA (happily ever after ending). (Writers are the best!)

Doug was found trying to cross a six-lane highway at about midnight, and we were reunited soon after. When he was escorted into the hotel lobby I let myself cry the tears I’d been holding in. 

Reunion after midnight: Bestie, Doug, Bestie, Me.

Another funny moment, after it was all over: the agent I'd pitched to came and gave me one more hug and said, “You know what?  Why don't you send me your dementia novel?”  I had no idea if this was ‘you know what you're writing about’ or ‘you deserve a win today’ but it made me smile. 

From that day on, until he moved into long term care, I took a photo of Doug every single day so I had exact details of the outfit he was wearing. I memorised (and also photographed) the scar on his wrist. I bought us matching hoodies so that if we were parted for even a moment I could ask bystanders to look for a male in ‘this’  hoodie. I bought trackers (designed to trace phones, remote controls, and backpacks) and put them in a pocket of every one of his jackets. I had a dementia lock installed on the front door. 

The happily ever after was not only that he was safe, and he was found. He slept through the night, and the next morning he had no recollection at all of the previous day.  And off we flew to BC, for what became our last holiday. 

Tofino sunset