I did a full nursing assessment on my father and didn't like the results.
He had several abrasions on the palms of his hands from catching himself in the fall, as well as a small bump on his head. They were minor, so I wasn't too worried about them. His heart rate was too fast and he had a low grade fever, but the most concerning thing I found were his lung sounds.
Every breath crackled and wheezed. Add in his weakness and loss of energy, I was fairly confident he had pneumonia again.
I hated the way my chest tightened around my heart. We'd found his cancer because of pneumonia. It was the reason he'd gone to the clinic two years ago and they'd seen concerning shadows in his lungs. It was the first test in a long line of doctor appointments, specialist appointments, and chemo and radiation treatments.
And now he had it again.
Dad had dozed off while I listened to his lungs, and I let him stay there, sitting upright in his chair to go talk to my mother. Mom stood in the kitchen, watching me carefully. Her mouth was a thin line and her arms crossed.
“So?” she asked as I walked over.
“I think he's got pneumonia,” I said softly.
She blinked back sudden tears, but none fell. I knew that this was perhaps the hardest on her. This man was her everything. They'd married at eighteen, had one daughter after years of trying, and had been through everything together.
“What do we do?” she asked me, her eyes going to the easy chair.
“I'm going to call Dr. Matthews and have him meet us at the clinic. We need to do a chest x-ray to make sure it is pneumonia. If it is, he'll write a prescription for antibiotics. We'll do a breathing treatment in the office, and that will make him feel a lot better.”
My mother nodded, taking in a deep breath. She stoically lifted her chin up and squared her shou
lders. My mother was a strong woman.
“Okay. I'll get the car.” She uncrossed her arms and hurried to her purse. I saw her quickly wipe at her eyes as she went to the garage. I called Jacob and told him what I suspected. He promised to meet me at the clinic immediately.
I closed my eyes and took a breath in. This wasn't easy for me. This wasn't just another patient. This was my father. This was the man that danced with me at every cousin's wedding because I didn't have a date. This was the man that taught me how to change a tire and catch a fish. This man loved me and I adored him.
I went and gently touched his arm. “Dad? Time to wake up. Dr. Matthews needs to see you.”
He snorted as he slowly woke. “I just want to sleep,” he mumbled.
“I know, but you don't want to disappoint Dr. Matthews,” I said, pulling on his arm.
He sighed, but got up. “My shoes are by the door.”
I held his arm, surprised at the amount of weight he rested on me. He struggled with his steps, his body obviously exhausted. I helped him to the door and we slid on a pair of slippers rather than dealing with shoes. Mom waited outside for us, the car door open and ready for him.
Dad slept on the way to the clinic. Mom and I tried some light easy conversation for a few minutes, but neither one of us was really interested in actually talking. She put on the radio to an oldies station and we drove without saying anything.
Dr. Jacob was waiting outside the clinic when we arrived. He'd kept on the scrubs from earlier, but had smoothed his hair and wore shoes now. I felt better just seeing him.
“Good evening, Mr. O’Leary,” Jacob greeted my father. He helped my father stand from the car. Jacob took most of his weight, supporting my father even when his legs gave out. My father was weaker than I had thought.
My mother and I followed behind the two men into the clinic. My mother kept a calm face, but she alternated between twisting her wedding ring around on her finger and tugging on her purse strap. She was far more nervous than she was letting on, too.
Inside, Dr. Matthews set my father up at the x-ray machine. My father struggled to keep upright as the machine buzzed. I could hear his labored breathing and my own lungs tried to compensate for him.
For the first time, I really felt that my father was sick. I knew he had cancer. I'd seen the x-rays. I'd gone to the chemo appointments with him. I'd talked to all his doctors, but had never felt this real before. He'd always been so strong, so big, and so indestructible. He was a rock in my life. In my mind, he was as invincible as Superman and twice as strong. I remembered him throwing me up above his head and catching me. In my mind, he was still capable of doing that despite the fact I was well over thirty years old.
To see him struggle to stand was at odds with the man I held in my mind. It was impossible that the two men where the same, and yet I knew they were.
I had to turn away and close my eyes. I didn't want to see this. Not yet. Not ever, really.
“Hannah, will you set up the breathing treatment?” Dr. Matthews asked, coming out into the hallway. His eyes were kind as he put his hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah. Sure. Sorry, I didn't even think about starting it,” I said, trying to shake myself out of daughter mode and into nurse mode.