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Dr. Carmichael clears his throat. “Mr. Brooker. Your mother isn’t physically sick. This you can be relieved about.”
Dad blinks. “Of course. Sorry, Mom.” He slumps in the chair and rubs his cheek.
The doctor clears his throat. “It’s not her fault she believes she’s dying. It’s real to her. The mind can play tricks. Not unusual at her age. Her aches and pains could be symptoms of something serious. But she won't believe me, despite the number of negative test results. Therefore, I thought it best to involve the family and encourage Jean to take mild medication to alleviate her stress. Or she might make herself physically ill.”
My mind is all over the place. Gran isn’t sick? Well, not dying anyway. She doesn’t need to live in that box she calls home. Does she need the wheelchair?
“Excuse me, Dr. Carmichael.” I inch my chair forward. “Can we backtrack a moment? What’s the extent of her physical ailments? How is arthritis affecting her lifestyle?”
“She’s taking medication for arthritis. It’s not rheumatoid arthritis, so that’s good.”
I frown. I don’t know much about arthritic pain. “Is the wheelchair necessary?”
Gran slams the table, and it wobbles. “You’re not taking my chair from me. I need it.”
Dr. Carmichael tilts his head. “She’s rented the chair from a drug store. We didn’t issue it.”
Dad snaps his head to Gran. “So you can walk fine if you want to?”
“I do have arthritis in my knees. That’s not my imagination.” She narrows her gaze at the doctor.
“True. The medicine will help reduce the pain, and staying off her feet will reduce the inflammation. I would prefer she continue to work on strengthening her muscles, so we’ve made a compromise for her to participate in regular physiotherapy exercises. It won’t affect her knees.”
“That’s one thing she’s told me about.” Dad looks pointedly at Gran as if he’s the parent. “I knew she has a physiotherapist, but I didn’t know she could walk perfectly fine.”
A flicker of something passes over the doctor’s features, but he quickly puts on his professional mask. “I wouldn’t say perfectly fine. The arthritis is a real problem, and the medicine only does so much.” He turns to me. “Maybe once she’s on her new meds, she’ll feel confident to enjoy life and get back into socializing like she used to.”
I nod. “Are you saying Gran doesn’t need to be in the nursing home?” I rub my cheek.
The doctor lifts his chin. “She told me she felt unsafe living by herself. That her family might find her dead after several days.”
The revelation hits me in the gut. That’s a terrible fear to live with, dying alone. Even though we’ve found out she’s well, Gran struggles with this belief. That must be so hard for her when she’s usually firm about being independent.
“Won’t happen.” Dad interrupts. “You said she’s healthy. Physically.”
Dr. Carmichael nods at Dad and returns his gaze to me. “You’re right. She doesn’t need to be in a nursing home, but until her mental health improves, she needs people around her. She likes how the nurses are an emergency button away.” He smiles at Gran. “Apparently, you like pressing that button often, Jean?”
Gran chuckles. “Better safe than sorry.”
The doctor squeezes Gran’s wrinkled hand. “That’s what they’re there for. Now, how about you try a new medicine to help settle your mind? Your sleep will improve as well.”
Gran darts a glance between Dad and me before curling her bottom lip outward. “I suppose I can try it.”
“Excellent.” He opens his file and fingers through the papers and extracts a script. “Let’s do a six-week trial. We can evaluate your progress on a two-week basis until then. We can slowly reduce the dose if you want to stop the medication at any stage. But you need to give it the full six weeks. I believe you’re going to feel a lot better.”
Gran dips her head to the table. “Okay. I’ll trust you.” She lifts her head and gives her classic cheeky grin. “Does this mean you’ll visit every two weeks? I expect a lollipop.”
He laughs. “I can manage that.” Dr. Carmichael scrapes back his chair as he stands. “I’ll email a copy of your script to the nursing home. They’ll give you one tablet at night.” He waves a finger at her, smiling. “No lollipops if you don’t take it.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure. They don’t like us having candy. I get a lecture from the staff. But now it’s doctor’s orders.”
Gran will be out of there soon if I have my way, and she can have all the candy she wants. I just need to work out how to provide a safe place for her.
And I need to break the news to Lauren. She’ll be relieved Gran isn’t dying. But now, we don’t need a fake engagement. It’s not like we can carry on the story for the next five years. Gran will get over it, and now she has the time to do so.
But will I ever get over Lauren? And do I want to?
11
