As March winds down, I feel spring ease into my soul. The winter's search for a diagnosis and treatment for my father's health issues is finally over. His symptoms were so similar to dementia, and with every test that was run, my fears increased. Was this an inevitable spiral downward for him? Would he lose all moments of clarity? It was terrible to witness his confusion, his loss of bladder control, his inability to walk, but I hung onto the hope that the doctors would be able to find a cause. There were trips to the emergency room, admissions to the hospital, MRIs, MRAs, EKGs. Nothing showed a current health problem. And yet, something was going wrong, terribly wrong inside of him. Finally, the neurologist ordered one final test. It would determine if he had a spinal fluid leak which could be causing a build-up of pressure around his brain. For this, he had to be admitted to the hospital again, and I worried about his weakened physical state. Would the test be too hard on him? Was I asking too much to find some answers? I talked with my husband late into the nights, called my siblings, looked for advice and strength from my friends. I asked my father what he wanted to do. He said we should go ahead with the test. It meant we would have to celebrate his 85th birthday at the hospital, but was OK with that, too. When he was wheeled out of his room for the spinal tap, I felt drained. The results took days, very long days it seemed. But finally, we had some answers. He had hydrocephalus - fluid on the brain - and there was an operation that could relieve the problem.