Chapter One #3
“I wish they would try it. I’d leave right behind you,” my father warned.
“And I would be right there to turn you around,” my mother countered. “Leave it to him, he doesn’t need a reason to try to leave.”
My thoughts turned to how serious my father’s condition might be, and my somber expression met his tired gaze. “I’m going to make sure he stays right here and gets the best care.” I patted his hand.
For the next few minutes, I updated my parents on my life in D.C.
, though I left out the part about the upcoming promotion.
Now didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.
Besides, my father would use that as an excuse to send me packing, and Mama would harp on my promotion being another distraction to keep me from visiting home.
They meant well, but they also assumed that they were a burden on my life, which they never wanted to be.
While I loved them for that, they needed me.
I had to be there for them—at least until I was sure Daddy could be released and settled in the comfort of his own home.
When Daddy dozed off, Mama motioned for me to step out of the room, then led me to a conference room.
A few minutes later, a doctor and nurse entered.
Mama had arranged for them to discuss my father’s condition and care with us.
I tried to read them, but their poker faces were in place.
I couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad, so I braced myself for the impact.
Their introductions were sincere, but as soon as they finished with the pleasantries, they wasted no time getting to the reason for our meeting.
“Mr. Luke has a condition called aspiration pneumonia. It’s a lung infection that happens when food and liquids are inhaled into the lungs. This has caused inflammation and buildup,” Dr. Brady began. “We believe this was caused by complications of dysphagia.”
My heart sank. My father was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, or MS as it’s called, twenty years ago.
Since he was older, he struggled with leg tremors and falls, but with medication, infusions, and time, he improved.
The problem with MS is that its effects are widespread because it affects the central nervous system.
While it may start in one area, a person could develop complications elsewhere.
A couple of years ago, my father started having trouble swallowing food.
He often complained of a thick throat and would have severe coughing spells.
Soon after, he was diagnosed with dysphagia.
Hearing that this new condition was the cause was disheartening.
“What does that mean?” I had blurted the question before the doctor could finish explaining.
“We’re going to do the very best we can here.
We’ve started him on antibiotics to clear the infection.
We’ll keep him to monitor him, but I also want to discuss oxygen therapy and breathing treatments.
At his age, and given the severity of the condition, we want to help minimize its effects as much as possible.
I’ll be honest, it’s pretty progressive, so reversal is unlikely, but if we can help maintain a better quality of life, then that’s what we want to aim for,” Dr. Brady advised.
“Do whatever you have to do,” my mother said, her voice betraying the emotion she was trying to hide.
“It’s okay, Mama. I’m sure the doctors will do everything they can.” I gently rubbed her back. “Why don’t we go and check on Daddy?”
She nodded and stood. After we thanked the doctor and nurse, my mother walked ahead of me toward my father’s room, so I stopped the doctor to have a word.
“I didn’t want my mother to hear the answer if it was unfavorable, but I have to ask. Dr. Brady, what is the mortality rate for someone in my father’s condition?”
“Honestly, it varies. Some people make a full recovery. Some recover but still need the assistance of oxygen and feeding tubes. For others, it can be fatal. Given the age and severity of the condition, coupled with his MS and dysphagia, he has a long and difficult road ahead.” Sensing my dread, he patted my shoulder.
“But we’re not there yet. One step at a time. ”
Fighting back tears, I nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Brady.”
As I moseyed up to my father’s room, the door was open, and I stood there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, taking in the ease of my parents.
The way my mother hovered over him, and my father watched her like she was still the only woman he’d ever seen.
They shared a love that felt once in a lifetime, something I wasn’t convinced that I’d ever have for myself.
For a moment, I let myself believe he’d beat this, that things would settle back into the rhythm they’d always known.
But as I lingered in the doorway, something heavy pressed against my chest, whispering what I wasn’t ready to say out loud…
that I might be standing here, witnessing this rare, lifetime love for the last time.