“Ask Google. It seems to know everything.”
Tiana smiled. “Has Dr. Best been in?”
“No, but Dr. Mediocre has.”
Pops’ affection for creative sarcasm was legendary, but Tiana still marveled at his ability to conjure original comebacks with every audience, every single day, when asked how he was doing. His repertoire spanned everything from “Ask Siri, she’s got my vitals” to “I’m running Windows 98 on this meat suit—expect bugs.” Last month he told a rounding intern to “Page Dr. Kevorkian, see if he makes house calls,” which had backfired when she was called in for a group therapy meeting and Pops was given a pamphlet about “Wellness Through Positivity.” But somehow, the classics—Dr. Mediocre, Dr. Worst, and Dr. So-So—never got stale for him despite using each moniker at least fifty times, if not more. He rolled them out with the deadpan precision of a vaudeville veteran, and if the jokes made even one nurse snort her coffee, he’d consider it a day well spent.
This morning, Tiana found his humor more comforting than usual. The banter softened the sharp edges of guilt cutting into her from the Niko incident, and for a moment, she let herself feel normal. She had barely settled into the battered vinyl visitor’s chair, still holding her purse like a shield, when the door opened.
As if on cue, Dr. Best breezed in. The man looked more like a sitcom doctor than anyone Tiana had ever met. He had a perpetual five o’clock shadow, a receding hairline he fought with defiant gel, and a smile that radiated genuine warmth, even when he was about to drop a medical bombshell. He wore that smile now.
“Mr. Matthews, I heard you’ve met with my colleague Dr. Mediocre earlier today, but if you have a few minutes, I’d love to go over some things with you and Ms. Matthews as well.”
Pops sat up a little straighter and got that twinkle in his eye. He always respected people who matched his sarcasm game.
“Sounds good.” Tiana grinned as Dr. Best pulled up the rolling stool and swiped across his tablet. “I wanted to speak to you both because your last round of labs, plus the imaging, all point to LVRS being the best, maybe only, way forward. I wouldn’t recommend surgery unless I truly believed it’s his best option. There are no guarantees, and the risk is reasonable, but the alternative is grave.”
Tiana nodded sharply, not trusting herself to speak. She also felt the use of the wordgravewas in bad taste. She had already played out every scenario, every insurance denial, and every dollar sign in her head. She also knew, with bone-deep certainty, that if she hesitated for even a day, it could be the difference between hope and hospice.
She’d read every article on COPD, every treatment. She’d watched the oxygen saturation numbers dip and rebound, like a battered float bobbing in choppy surf.
“Let’s get it done,” Tiana blurted out. She had power of attorney over Pops’ health after a pretty serious bout in the hospital two years prior.
She didn’t want to use Brock’s money, but if she had to, she would. It would be a last resort, but it was there. It was a poisoned safety net.
Dr. Best smiled, but there was a gravity to it. “We’ll start pre-op labs and get you on the schedule. I’ll have my nurse get you a full packet. Lots of reading, Tiana, so sharpen up your pen.” He stood, gave Pops’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and excused himself with a quip about searching for Dr. Better in the breakroom.
When Dr. Best left the room, Pops grumbled, “I’ll be fine. I don’t need nobody cutting me open. I’m an old man. No need to prolong the inevitable.”
Tears threatened to fill Tiana’s eyes, but anger overrode any other emotion. She hated when Pops spoke like that, it infuriated her. “You’re getting the surgery. I need you here, with me.”
Pops squinted at her. “What’s he done?”
“What?” She blinked. “Who?”
“Who do you think? The Big Blond Wolf.”
Pops never liked Brock. He’d seen past his fake smile and “good guy” facade.
Tiana didn’t see the point in correcting Pops that she was upset about his mortality and not her ex. She figured she’d endured ten years with the man, she may as well get some use out of him. If Pops thought she was upset about Brock, it would give him somewhere to direct his anger. And angry Pops was somehow always a healthier Pops, she didn’t understand why, but that was the case.
“He came to my class this morning.”
“And…”
“And…what?”
“And did he say something? Do something?”
“No, he…” She nearly said he couldn’t because Niko was there, but maybe he wouldn’t have even if Niko wasn’t there. “…didn’t.”
Pops tipped his head down towards her. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Were you going to say he didn’t because Niko was there with you?”
Her mouth dropped open. “How did you…?”
