A Surgeon to Heal Her Heart

Dr. Wilton held up his hand to stop her rant. “I’m not saying you aren’t providing excellent care. You are. But you aren’t a nursing facility meant to provide around-the-clock care for a dying woman.”

Carly gasped at his adjective. “Don’t say that.”

He gave a pointed look, one that was full of empathy and pity and a need to fulfill his professional duty to lay out the facts as he saw them.

“Your mother may live years, but, statistically, she isn’t going to be with us much longer. Deep inside, your nursing experience will have taught you that.”

He was wrong, again. Her nursing experience had taught her that miracles happened all the time.

“She’s just had a few bad days, that’s all.”

Dr. Wilton sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do, but my recommendation remains the same. I feel the best thing is for your mother to be admitted to a nursing facility.”

“I disagree and I’m not willing to do that.”

As if he’d known that was what she was going to say, he slowly nodded his head back and forth. “What you’re doing is admirable, but not in your best interest.”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about what is best for my mother. If you can honestly tell me she will get better care in a nursing facility, then I’ll give due consideration to your recommendation. But you can’t tell me that because you know I am a trained registered nurse who has the skills to provide my mother with the care she needs in her home where she is going to feel safest and most comfortable. We both know dementia worsens when the environment changes. Moving to a nursing facility might rob her of the few good days she has. I won’t do it.”

His expression somber, he regarded Carly long moments, then shrugged. “Then let me call in hospice care to help you.”

Hospice? Had he lost his mind?

“No. She doesn’t need hospice care.”

“I didn’t say she did.”

Ouch. Carly winced. “You think I need help? That this is killing me?” She glared at the neurologist. “I don’t find that funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m being realistic, using logic instead of emotion, which you aren’t able to do due to the circumstances. If this were someone else, you’d advise them the same as I’m advising you.”

“I wouldn’t,” she denied—not if she knew they were doing all that could be done.

“At least think about what I’ve told you.” He printed out a prescription. “This is the new dosage for your mother’s medication. I hope it works miracles, Carly. For your sake as much as your mother’s.”

Carly dropped the prescription off at the pharmacy, sat in the parking lot with her mother for forty-five minutes while waiting for the call that the prescription was ready, then drove back through the drive-through.

“That will be…” The clerk named a price way above what Carly was expecting.

“That much? You’re sure? Did her insurance pay anything?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s what took so long. The pharmacist contacted your mother’s doctor about a prior authorization on the medication. Unfortunately, her prescription plan still denied coverage.” The woman gave Carly an empathetic look. “Do you want to wait about filling it? Or I could call Dr. Wilton back and see if he could change the medication to something else, something covered by her insurance.”

Her mother had already been on all the Parkinson’s medications her insurance covered, was still on a few of them.

Carly glanced over at her mother, at the constant tremor, at her glazed-over look that said she just wanted to be in her own bed rather than in the uncomfortable car seat. Carly would like to have taken her mother home rather than her having had to wait to pick up the medication, but she couldn’t leave her mother alone.

Nor could she easily buy this new medication.

But what if this was the dose that would make a difference? That would give her more good days?

Carly sucked in a deep breath, mentally figured her bank account, her incoming bills, and knew she was emptying her rainy-day fund with her next words, but said them anyway. “Ring up the prescription. I’ll pay for it out of pocket.”

The woman nodded, as if she’d known that was what Carly would say. “There is a manufacturing coupon that knocks off fifty dollars. I’ll print and apply it for you.”

“Thank you,” Carly said, thinking she might throw up at how she’d just spent her meager savings. How could a medication cost almost four figures for a mere month’s supply, anyway? That it did just seemed ridiculous.