“Yes, and?” I reply.
“We have made some alterations, which should make life a little easier. Less incidents related to aggression and so on, at least. The medication does take a few days to take effect, and we always monitor each person carefully when starting a medication like this before we send them home. So Hank will be staying another few nights with us. Then, if all goes to plan, he can go home. We’ve already had this discussion with Hank, so, how does that sound to you?”
“Um, good, I guess. What happens if it doesn’t work?”
“That isn’t usually a problem. But in the rare case that he doesn’t respond to the medication, we would try an alternative route.”
“Oh, okay.”
All of this is over my head.
His demeanor is . . .
He just keeps talking about Dad like he’s not even here.
“Great!” He slaps his thighs, and I jump in the seat.
“That’s it?” I ask, glancing to Dad, who’s staring out the small window instead of being part of a conversation that is about him.
“Yes, was there something else?” The doctor stands, adjusting his lab coat.
“No, I guess not.”
He waves a hand toward the door, and I rise from the chair. Dad sits rooted to the spot, oblivious to the doctor and me leaving.
“Sandy will be back for your—Hank shortly. I’ll see you in two days. Sandy will book you in for then.”
He disappears from the room, but I can’t bring myself to leave. To just leave Dad in this empty room by himself, staring at nothing.
So I stay planted in the doorway until Sandy shows.
“Oh, hey. You must be Celeste. It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“Hi, likewise. How’s he really doing?”
She gives me an empathetic smile. “Doctor Baron isn’t the warmest man on the planet, but he’s brilliant at his job.” She stops beside me, folding her arms. “He’s doing pretty good, all things considered.”
“That’s great,” I say, but the words almost lodge in my throat.
She turns and rubs my arm. “This is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do, hon. Watch a loved one you’ve known your entire life fade away from you in slow motion. It’s a real kick to the gut.”
I scrunch my face up, trying to stem the tears piling up behind my eyes from falling.
“You are doing an incredible job, sweetheart. This kind of thing is heart-wrenching.”
“You sound like you are talking from experience.”
“My mom. She passed two years back, but the last five were really hard.”
And just like that, nothing about our everyday feels as hard anymore. The thought of losing my father trumps any difficult moment.
“The best advice I can give you is to have someone, even if it’s just one person, that you can call day or night if you need support. And—this last one is a must—do something for yourself every single day. If your cup is empty, there is no way you’ll come out the other side of this, after giving everything day after day, and not need therapy if you don’t take care ofyouregularly.”
“I—”
“Don’t forget those two, okay? They were literally my lifesavers.”
I huff a strained breath. Quin, my person to call day or night, is my lifesaver. Dramatic? Maybe. True? One hundred percent, in so many ways.
