Page 38 of Never Forget

“Don’t tell me you’re tired of us already.”

I turn around to see a man who looks to be in his mid-fifties, with olive skin and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He’s wearing a white coat over navy scrubs, a badge that says ‘Doctor Keane’ hanging from the breast pocket. He smiles as he approaches the bed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lester. I take it you’re feeling well?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” Grandfather says, straightening his posture. Somehow, even in a hospital gown and grippy socks, he manages to look almost regal.

The doctor studies the monitor for a moment, then reviews something on the tablet in his hand.

“Your oxygen levels are still improving, and the antibiotics seem to be doing their job. So that’s all good news. Do you mind if I take a listen?” He holds up his stethoscope questioningly.

Grandfather nods his approval for him to go ahead, looking more than a little chuffed. He probably thinks it makes him look weak to be examined in front of me and Grandmother. We both avert our gazes to help him feel more comfortable, but I’ll be damned if I’m leaving. I need to hear from a medical professional whether he’s truly okay or not.

While the doctor works, I take a moment to peek out the door. It seems someone brought Scott a chair. He’s sitting in the hallway right next to the open door. I wonder how much of my grandparents’ ragging on me he heard, but he seems pretty distracted by his phone.

“Your lungs sound significantly better than they did when you were admitted.”

I look back at my grandfather, who manages to look smug.

“Which means we’re headed in the right direction,” the doctor says, tapping something on his screen. “But we’re not there yet.”

Grandfather’s smile falters.

“Does that mean he’ll need to stay much longer?” I ask.

The doctor looks up at me. “You must be the grandson.”

I nod. “I’m afraid my grandparents have downplayed my grandfather’s condition.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” the doctor says kindly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, setting his tablet down and reaching to shake my hand and introduce himself.

Dr. Keane leans against a small counter and folds his arms. “Your grandfather was admitted with severe shortness of breath, fever, and syncope. We diagnosed acute pneumonia, and he is improving, but we’ve exposed some larger concerns during treatment.”

My grandmother’s expression tightens when I cut my eyes to hers.

“What concerns?” I ask the doctor, giving him my attention again.

“Because of his underlying COPD, his lungs aren’t recovering as quickly as we’d like. He’s weaker, his endurance is reduced, and his oxygen levels drop significantly with even the smallest amount of exertion.”

“I can hear you, you know. I am sitting right here.”

“I know you are, Mr. Lester. And I’m sorry this isn’t what you want to hear, but I can’t discharge you until I know you’re under the right care.” Dr. Keane looks back at me and continues. “My recommendation would be either a short stay in a skilled nursing facility⁠—”

Grandfather immediately shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

The doctor doesn’t react except to soften his expression when he looks at my grandfather again. “I know this isn’t ideal, but you need significant assistance.”

“I’ve managed perfectly well for eighty-four years.”

“And yet you still managed to end up in my hospital.”

Grandmother shifts in her chair. “We can manage at home.”

Dr. Keane looks at her kindly. “Mrs. Lester, with all due respect, if your husband had another episode and collapsed, are you physically capable of stabilizing him? What would you do if an ambulance weren’t able to reach you in time?”

Silence.

Grandmother looks away first, a tear streaking down one cheek.