When one lives in the shadow of Alzheimer’s disease, it’s hard not to think of that quote from the movie “Forrest Gump”: “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

One never knows what the day will bring. This is particularly true when trying to care for someone with dementia. Some days are a proximity of good; other days are excruciatingly difficult.

With that said, anytime I have to take my husband, Tony, to any kind of appointment, it comes with more than a little anxiety and trepidation. What if he has a bad day?

If I’m honest, most of the time we get through these appointments with minimal problems, but that hasn’t stopped me from worrying.

Recently, I had to take him for a dental checkup and teeth cleaning. Yes, we’re still trying to keep up with that even after hitting the decade mark in his disease progression. Dental health has been key to keeping him relatively healthy all these years, and I’m going to keep trying until it becomes impossible. That day is probably sooner rather than later.

These trips can be difficult before we even get to the dentist’s office, which thankfully is only about five minutes away from our house. Sometimes Tony doesn’t want to leave the house, or he refuses to get into the car. Whether that’s obstinacy or it’s from not remembering how to do it, I can never be sure.

However, this time it went well. We made it to the office and checked in. Then, he started to do his babbling. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to get him to quiet down.

I could tell that the other people in the waiting room didn’t know what to make of this white-haired guy who was babbling in a sing-song voice. I did appreciate the one woman who looked me square in the eye and smiled. I can’t tell you how that helped me. Clearly, I was doing what I could.

The next hurdle to overcome was to get him to sit in the exam chair. We’ve had the same hygienist since before Tony was diagnosed, so she knows him. It also helps that she had an aunt who also had early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, so Tony’s antics don’t faze her in the least.

After trying just about everything I could think of doing, I got him to sit down long enough for me to lift his legs and swing him around to sit properly. Once he figured out that it was a comfortable chair, he settled in.

The cleaning itself went surprisingly well. Sure, I had to help guide him to open his mouth on cue, but between the hygienist and me, we communicated with Tony well enough to get the job done. However, X-rays were out of the question, since Tony can’t understand what he is required to do. Like it or not, Tony’s disease demands that we make concessions.

Having gotten through the cleaning and getting a good review from the dentist, Tony was doing well. I thought for sure that it would be smooth sailing once we got out of the office.

I was wrong. For reasons that I’ll never know, Tony decided that he just didn’t want to get into the car so that we could head home.

As I was trying to make him understand what was going on, the woman who smiled at me came up and offered to help, telling me that she was a psychologist. Unfortunately, no amount of explaining to Tony what we wanted him to do was going to make him respond. I’ve learned that the hard way.

No, what Tony needed at that very moment was to walk away from the car for a little bit and then try again. Tony’s other caregiver calls it a “reset.”

I did my best to explain that to the nice woman who only wanted to help. Of course, it probably didn’t help that once Tony and I got down the sidewalk, Tony decided that he also didn’t want to turn around to go back to the car. Instead, he wanted to yank my arm. The nice woman then suggested something else that she could try.

I took a deep breath and assured her that we’d be OK. I did appreciate her encouragement and smile, though. Once I got Tony back to the car, he got right in, and we were on our way.

Of course, he then decided that he didn’t want to get out of the car once we got home. It was time for another deep breath.

You never know what you’re going to get from moment to moment with this disease.

Of course, I’m not sure chocolate has anything to do with it.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.