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“Well, Mr. Winters, it looks like you’ve gained eight pounds, you haven’t attended more than half your rehab sessions. I’m going to send you to our dietician for some recommendations there, your daughter can come too. You’ve got to take better care of yourself. I absolutely do not recommend you return to work at this point. See the nutritionist, go to six rehab sessions and I’ll reevaluate in two weeks,” she said.
“Um, excuse me,” I said. “I like the idea of the dietician. We’ll do that. But—I wondered if you had any resources in the hospital for cardiac rehab patients who have a drinking problem. Because part of the issue here is that he doesn’t want to go to his sessions when he’s got the headache and indigestion, he has every morning. I’ve tried clearing out all the booze in the house, believe me.”
“You can’t make him quit,” she said, not unkindly, “there’s no one sneakier than an addict. I’ll have the nurse give you the contact info for the Al-Anon group that meets on Tuesdays. But, Mr. Winters, this seems to be the root of the problem,” she said.
“A man can’t have a drink every now and then? This is a bunch of bullshit,” he said.
“It isn’t only the drinking,” she said. “It’s the fact that your daughter can’t do this for you. You have to take initiative and be responsible for your own wellness. If you want to live, you’re going to quit drinking and go on a regimen of low impact exercise and a diet. You have to do this yourself. So if you make up your mind to do it, I’ll see you in two weeks to discuss your recovery and possible return to work. I suggest strongly that you consider your options, because if you continue as you are, there isn’t a great deal I can do for you if you’re not willing to help yourself,” she said sternly.
I wanted to stand up and cheer and applaud. I also wanted to cry, because I didn’t like facing the fact that I couldn’t control this. Nothing I did, no matter how many low-sodium, low-fat, low-sugar dinners I cooked or appointments I went to, could save him. I didn’t have that power. He had to save himself, had to want to try. He was a pain in the butt, but he was my father and the closest thing I had left to my mom. I bit my lips and escorted him out. He muttered all the way to the car about how ‘uppity’ that doctor was to talk to him like that.
“It’s her job. She’s trying to help you get well,” I said.
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She should go get her a husband and leave the doctoring to a man,” he said.
I gripped the steering wheel unnecessarily tight and let it go. I wasn’t going to change him. I had tried. I reached back for my purse and offered him a banana, “I thought you might need a snack after the doctor.”
“No, put it back,” he said querulously.
“I know you didn’t like what she said. But we have a shot at making the next two weeks count. You could be back behind the counter before you know it,” I said encouragingly.
“I know, I know. I just wish Ryan would take some time at the lumberyard. I could relax and focus on my wellness like they keep telling me to,” he said.
“Dad,” I said as evenly as I could. “I showed you the numbers. The delivery program is boosting our receipts, and the yard is doing better than it has in like three years. You may think Ryan is the answer, but the fact is, the lumberyard is fine. So you need to concentrate on getting well. That’s the problem that needs to be taken care of, not anything to do with the yard. And really, it bothers me that you keep bringing it up.”
“My little girl shouldn’t be working so hard. It’s my son’s place to take over the business and run it well and make me proud. I’m sure you’ve done the best you can. You’re a fish out of water. I used to tell your mother when she’d work on the bookkeeping that it would only confuse her. Leave that to the men. You should be back at college planting flowers and finding you a husband. If your mama’s heart hadn’t been set on your going to school, I would’ve set you up working at Langford’s nursery for a while until you got married and settled down. You would’ve been better off. But there was no reasoning with that woman once she got something in her head,” he said, smiling.
“She knew what I needed. She listened,” I said, choking up. “And if you would listen to your doctor or to me or anyone, you wouldn’t be in such bad shape! You want to talk about worry? Try working at the lumberyard all day and coming home to take care of the house and you and finding out you wouldn’t even get on the bus to go to therapy! I can’t do this for you, so please, please try harder,” I said, my voice breaking. “You don’t have to admit I’m doing a good job at the lumberyard. You don’t have to see that Ryan’s acting like a big toddler all the time. You don’t even have to appreciate what I do. Just take care of yourself. That’s all.”
