Page 63 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne
I swallow past the burning and nod again, not trusting my voice. Not yet. Taking a breath, I straighten up and lift my chin. Even though I want nothing more than to stay curled into Danny, I step forward and his arms drop, releasing me.
Reaching for the door handle again, I don’t bother knocking, I know they’re expecting us, so I simply open the door and step inside.
Lois, the sweet woman who’s looked after my dad for the past several years, looks up at me from her seat beside Dad’s bed. She offers me a small, understanding smile and I cross the room, Danny at my side.
Dad is asleep, tucked up in bed even though it’s the middle of the day. “How’s he doing?” I ask, my voice rough to my own ears.
“He’s not in any pain, sweetheart,” she says softly as she rises from the chair. “This is Dr Carrick,” she introduces the plump woman standing beside her.
Middle-aged and with short brown hair, Dr Carrick is dressed in plain black trousers and a pale pink blouse under a dark grey jacket. An I.D. badge hangs from a lanyard around her neck.
She extends her hand. “Mr Everett?”
“Doctor Carrick.” I nod, shaking her offered hand. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Hayes.”
She shakes Danny’s hand next before moving back towards the bed and looking down at my dad. “I’m not sure how much Lois shared with you on the phone?”
“Just the basics,” I murmur. I slip onto the chair Lois has vacated and sit beside Dad, taking his hand gently in mine. His bones feel as fragile as a baby bird and his skin is dry and papery.
“I’ve examined your father several times since Christmas, and we’ve seen a steady deterioration,” Doctor Carrick says, her tone balanced somewhere between professional and sympathetic. “We’d just started to consider putting a palliative care plan in place, but there’s been a very sharp decline in the last few days. I’m afraid it’s time to make some decisions regarding his end-of-life care.”
I nod; knowing this was going to happen doesn’t make it any easier to hear. “There’s really nothing…?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Everett,” she says softly. “Your father is just coming to the end of his life. We could admit him to hospital and put him on intravenous fluids, but it will only prolong the inevitable. There’s nothing specific for us to treat. His body is simply shutting down and sometimes it’s just kinder to let nature take its course. We will make sure he’s comfortable and not in any pain, and he will just slip away.”
“Are you thinking hospice care?” I ask, and as my voice cracks on the last two words, I feel Danny’s hand on my shoulder grounding me.
Lois shakes her head. “It would be too unsettling for him. Although he’s not really aware, this has been his home for a while, and he should remain here where everything is familiar.”
She doesn’t elaborate and she doesn’t need to. “I don’t want to move him if I can help it.”
“I can see from his file you’ve already signed a DNR on his behalf.”
I nod again. “He… he made me promise, when he was first diagnosed, that when the time came, I would let him go.” Danny grips my shoulder tighter. It helps.
“How–” I break off when my voice fails me again.
“How long do you think Martin has?” Danny’s comforting rumble asks the question I can’t force past my lips.
“There’s just no way to know,” Dr Carrick replies with a small shake of her head. “But you may want to arrange some time off work.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Dr Carrick nods. “I’ll leave you with Lois. She has your father’s notes and will go over the palliative care we’re putting in place.”
I stare at her as her words sink in.
“Thank you for taking care of Martin,” Danny says so I don’t have to. She shakes his hand and offers me a sympathetic smile. A few moments later, I hear the door click.
“Danny, why don’t you grab the other chair and sit with Tris?” Lois picks up an arch lever file with rainbows and jelly bean stickers all over it and I recognise it as Dad’s care file. I remember the day Lois had him help her decorate his folder. He had picked every single rainbow from the sticker sheet and covered the blue file, then he’d added all the brightly coloured jelly bean stickers, except for the very last one, which he’d placed on the back of my hand. He used to call me Jelly Bean when I was a kid, and when he’d given me that sticker, I chose to believe it was because some little part of him remembered who I was to him.
I still have that sticker. It’s attached to one of my favourite bookmarks.
Lois grabs a rolling stool from nearby and sits, then scoots closer. Meanwhile, Danny had retrieved the extra chair from the corner of the room and placed it next to the bed; now he takes a seat next to me and picks up my free hand.
“And he’s not in pain?” I ask quietly as I watch Dad’s chest slowly rise and fall.
“No, love,” Lois answers. I feel Danny rub soothing circles on my back. “He’d be a lot more distressed if he was. He just sleeps a lot. Sometimes he opens his eyes, but you can tell he’s not really cognisant of anything around him.”