Chapter 6
Chapter Six
I stared at the latest lab results and doctor’s notes from Dad’s patient portal at the UT Medical Center. Mom had been more than happy to hand this over to me, claiming it was like trying to read another language. Even when she’d brought the printouts to appointments or called the nurses, the explanations only left her more confused.
I copied the notes into my AI program, typing out a prompt to translate them into plain English that even a stressed-out daughter could understand. This program was my secret weapon—a paid subscription with all the bells and whistles. I’d used it for everything from debugging a tricky piece of code to comparing the ingredients in high-end cosmetics and finding out what lower cost brands had the same ingredients. I’d even joked once that it was better than therapy. Now, it was my lifeline for Dad’s care.
My heart twisted as I scrolled through the AI-generated summary. First off, Dad had been wrong when he told me he was “for sure” going to die. The doctors weren’t saying that—not yet. The Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was back, and yes, it was more aggressive this time, but they had a plan. They’d harvested stem cells from his previous remission and that would allow him to endure chemo this time without destroying his bone marrow. Yep, Knoxville’s Cancer Institute really was the shit, just like Michael had said.
I fought back a grin when I read some of the things that the AI offered to improve his mood: hobbies like knitting or model-building, journaling, or joining an online support group. I almost snorted. Dad? With knitting needles? Yeah, that was going to happen. And journaling? I’d be lucky if he didn’t toss the notebook across the room. I guess that would be better than having him stab me with a knitting needle.
I remembered he used to be on a bowling team. The idea of his old bowling cronies coming over… that had potential. I made a mental note to check with Mom about which friends were still around and willing to visit.
When I read over some of his symptoms like mouth sores, itching and rashes, fatigue, vomiting, swelling lymph nodes that could be painful, or pain in his extremities, I just felt bad for him. He was going to have it rough. He’d only started the chemo three weeks ago, according to the doctor’s notes he was only on his first cycle, and he would need at least five cycles. If he was lucky, maybe only four.
Fuck.
This was going to be a hard road.
I transferred the information from my laptop to my tablet so I could go to talk to Mom. Getting up from my old wooden desk chair, I grimaced. I so needed a massage or a chiropractor. Thinking about the setup I’d had at my office and my home office with my Aeron chair made me want to cry. Maybe I should just buy one and have it shipped here . Damn, if I was going to stay here for the long haul, I probably should.
Mom wasn’t in the living room, dining room, or the kitchen. When I looked out in the carport I saw that her station wagon was gone. How had I not heard her leave?
“Isla! I need you.”
Well, that I could definitely hear. I went down the hall and knocked on my parents’ bedroom door. “Dad, Mom’s not here. Can I help you?”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She took the car.”
A coughing fit started, the sound ripping through the air like sandpaper against raw skin. I winced but waited it out. Each ragged wheeze made me want to storm in and do...something. Anything. Not that I had a clue what that would be.
When the coughing finally stopped, I knocked again.
“Dad, can I please come in?”
“All right.” I could hear the reluctance in his voice.
When I opened the door it took everything I had not to grimace at the smell of sick. You could tell that somebody had recently vomited in the room. That, along with the smell of sweat and dirty sheets made it impossible to breathe in through my nose. I saw that Dad was sleeping on the left side of the king-sized bed. The right side of the bed was carefully made, a silent testament to Mom’s vigil beside him every night.
“Can I open a window?”
“No, that makes me too cold.” His tone was curt. Nothing new there.
“During Chicago winters I sleep with a weighted blanket. Why don’t I order you one of those to try, then you can have the window open? It’s May, so we’re having nice nights.”
“What in the hell is a weighted blanket?”
Yep, I remembered that scowl. It had been pointed my way for years.
“It’s really soft on the outside and has plastic pellets on the inside that will apply more weight on you, making you warmer. It’s great,” I grinned. Hopefully my speech would convince him.
“Pellets? Why in the hell would I want to lay under something that is basically a bean bag chair? Think about it, Fallon, that’s just not logical.”
Dad’s face, which used to be ruddy with health, was now pale and thin as he berated me. Somehow, his putdown didn’t have the same effect. I couldn’t tell if it was because he seemed so much weaker, or if I finally had my head screwed on straight.
“All I can tell you is that it works for me and tens of thousands of other people across America.”
“Sounds like a bunch of suckers to me.”
Okay, that one hit hard. Maybe I was still susceptible to him belittling me. Dammit, get it together, Fallon . Come to think of it, if he was going to play like that, then I could be upfront about things, couldn’t I?
“Dad, I just think that this room needs to be aired out a bit.”
He squinted up at me. “Why?”
Aw, to hell with it. He was always blunt. “There’s a little bit of a sickroom odor in here. I just think if we opened a window for a little bit, it would freshen things up.”
He wilted. I couldn’t believe it, I saw him pull into himself, his shoulders shrank, and his head sank down until I couldn’t see his neck. It was as if he were a turtle.
“Are you saying it stinks in here?” This time his voice quavered.
“No, I didn’t say it stinks. I’m just saying it doesn’t smell fresh, is all.”
He stared at me for long moments. “In that case, open both windows all the way. Open up the curtains, make sure we get a cross-breeze.”
“First, let me get you another blanket, before we do that. I’ll even see if I can rustle up two.”
I headed out the door and went into the empty bedroom. I could swear that Mom had a couple of bins in the closet with more bedding to go on the third guest bed. Not that she’d ever had two guests come and stay. I took a sniff in this room and figured it could use a good airing out too, so I opened two windows before opening the tote bins and grabbing the blankets for Dad.
When I got back to his room he was pushing himself up on his elbows, straining to sit up against his pillows.
“Do you need some help?”
“I’ve got it,” he snarled.
Yep, there’s the Dad I know and love .
“I’ve got your blankets.”
“Put them on the end of the bed, I don’t need them now.”
I sighed. “Is there anything I can get you to eat?”
“I’m fine.”
I turned my head and walked over to the window so I wasn’t watching him struggle to sit up. I knew that would only piss him off more. I watched a robin hop from branch to branch in one of our trees.
“Actually, food would be good.”
I turned around and saw that he’d pushed himself up so that he was resting against two pillows and the headboard.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”
He gave me a crooked grin. “How about a bacon cheeseburger from Pearl’s.”
I barked out a laugh. “Uhm. No. Try again.”
“Soup would be good. But not that godawful pea soup your mother likes, that shit is nasty. Chicken noodle.”
I agreed with him, pea soup was nasty. “Anything else?”
“Buttered crackers? Maybe some juice?”
“What kind of juice?”
“Apple.”
“Give me ten minutes to warm up the soup, and I’ll bring it all in.” I smiled. Now that he wasn’t growling I figured I could try with the blankets again. “Are you sure you don’t want the blankets covering you up?”
He shivered.
“Yeah, I’ll take just one blanket for now.”
I unfolded the red wool blanket and tucked it around him. “Better?”
“Better.”
“Okay, I’ll go get started on your lunch order.”
“Don’t give me any fancy city crackers either, I want saltines.”
I grimaced, but turned back to look at him and smile. “Will do.”
“Good,” he jerked his chin at me. Then winced as he struggled to adjust the pillow behind him. Dammit, in some ways he was the same old dad I remembered, but seeing him so weak and withered? It about broke my heart.