9. Naz #3
While the doctor works, I take a moment to peek out the door. It seems someone brought Scott a chair. He’s sitting in the hallway right next to the open door. I wonder how much of my grandparents’ ragging on me he heard, but he seems pretty distracted by his phone.
“Your lungs sound significantly better than they did when you were admitted.”
I look back at my grandfather, who manages to look smug.
“Which means we’re headed in the right direction,” the doctor says, tapping something on his screen. “But we’re not there yet.”
Grandfather’s smile falters.
“Does that mean he’ll need to stay much longer?” I ask.
The doctor looks up at me. “You must be the grandson.”
I nod. “I’m afraid my grandparents have downplayed my grandfather’s condition.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” the doctor says kindly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, setting his tablet down and reaching to shake my hand and introduce himself.
Dr. Keane leans against a small counter and folds his arms. “Your grandfather was admitted with severe shortness of breath, fever, and syncope. We diagnosed acute pneumonia, and he is improving, but we’ve exposed some larger concerns during treatment.”
My grandmother’s expression tightens when I cut my eyes to hers.
“What concerns?” I ask the doctor, giving him my attention again.
“Because of his underlying COPD, his lungs aren’t recovering as quickly as we’d like. He’s weaker, his endurance is reduced, and his oxygen levels drop significantly with even the smallest amount of exertion.”
“I can hear you, you know. I am sitting right here.”
“I know you are, Mr. Lester. And I’m sorry this isn’t what you want to hear, but I can’t discharge you until I know you’re under the right care.” Dr. Keane looks back at me and continues. “My recommendation would be either a short stay in a skilled nursing facility—”
Grandfather immediately shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”
The doctor doesn’t react except to soften his expression when he looks at my grandfather again. “I know this isn’t ideal, but you need significant assistance.”
“I’ve managed perfectly well for eighty-four years.”
“And yet you still managed to end up in my hospital.”
Grandmother shifts in her chair. “We can manage at home.”
Dr. Keane looks at her kindly. “Mrs. Lester, with all due respect, if your husband had another episode and collapsed, are you physically capable of stabilizing him? What would you do if an ambulance weren’t able to reach you in time?”
Silence.
Grandmother looks away first, a tear streaking down one cheek.
“This isn’t about independence. It’s about safety.”
“It doesn’t have to be long term,” I say, trying to soften the blow. Even though Dr. Keane’s tone couldn’t be softer, I know my grandparents and how hard they’re taking this. “If a facility is out of the question, what about a home health nurse?”
I’m confident that the doctor was going to suggest exactly that before my grandfather cut him off, but if I can make it seem like a negotiation, maybe he’ll feel like he has some control here.
The doctor nods, and I think he understands what I’m trying to do. “I think that could work. How would you feel about that, Mr. Lester?”
Grandfather scowls but looks like he’s considering it at least. He looks at my grandmother. “Linda?”
“How does that work? Where would she stay?”
“He, she, or they could stay in the room I had specifically built for this exact thing.”
My grandfather groans.
Grandmother sighs. “Nazario…”
“Hear me out, please. The house is finished. It’s been finished for weeks. It’s fully accessible and equipped for anything you could need.”
“We’ve discussed this.”
“To be fair, we’ve talked around it and then you shut me out and won’t tell me why.
I built that house for you, according to every specification and desire you mentioned.
If you’re getting winded walking to the bathroom, what do you imagine walking up all those old, rickety stairs is going to be like? What happens if you fall?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Please, just come stay for as long as it takes you to get better. I’ll hire a full-time care nurse.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No,” Dr. Keane says calmly. “You need medical support. What your grandson is suggesting is ideal. But if you’re unwilling to accept appropriate support at home, I can recommend some facilities.”
That’s the final blow that gets their attention. My grandfather looks horrified and offended by the idea.
“A nursing home?”
“A skilled nursing facility.”
“A nursing home.”
The doctor smiles politely. “You can call it whatever you like. The point is that you’re not currently safe living independently without additional assistance.”
“If you hate it, you can move back out once you’re fully recovered. I won’t argue or complain.”
“Nobody is trying to take away your independence, Mr. Lester. We’re trying to make sure you get to keep it.”
Grandfather sighs deeply, then wheezes out a cough. He looks at Grandmother, then back at the doctor, and then once more at me. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but his chin dips in a sharp nod.
My shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you.”