they gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse, as they say,” John chuckled. “They asked me to head the Rehabilitation program here. It was a good opportunity to broaden my career from only the physical therapy side of things I was doing in Omaha. What are you drinking? Go grab a table. I’ll get the coffee and we’ll catch up,” John told him.
III
John Calhoun had been a childhood friend who lived around the corner most of Rob’s grade school years. They had often spent long leisurely days together in the summer, riding their bikes, creating forts in the woods behind John’s house, and playing baseball in the vacant lot on the corner. In the sixth grade, John’s family had moved across town and their adventuresome days together largely ended.
In high school, they had encountered each other again as opposition on their respective high school debate teams. They had even fought it out in the Iowa State debate semi-finals their senior year, with Rob’s team prevailing and going on to claim the state trophy.
Rob had last seen John at their ten year class reunion. John had married Kelly Kennedy, Rob’s class president and a champion swimmer. It had been fifteen years since that reunion. As with so many things in his life, coming back for the reunions after that just seemed like too much trouble to Rob.
A smiling John returned with the coffee. He looked younger than his 54 years, tanned, healthy, slender, and no gray at all in his sandy blond hair. “Well, I will repeat the question,” John said, “What are you doing here?”
Rob provided a short explanation of his dad’s blockage, the surgery, and his comatose status.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” John said sympathetically, probing for more details. They were details Rob couldn’t provide. He realized he was adrift in a medical world he didn’t really understand. He had to assume those caring for his dad knew what they were doing and had his best interest at heart.
“Here are a couple of things I would do, if I were you,” John told him with concern in his voice. “First of all, assume your dad can hear everything being said to him and around him. Talk to him about things you think may matter to him. Even if he can’t answer, assume he understands…and, don’t let anyone say anything negative about his status. Go out into the hall to talk to his doctor or nurses. They won’t think of it – you will have to insist on it.
“And, one more suggestion, tell the nurse you want to know what meds they are giving him. It is not unusual for older people to end up overly sedated without anyone looking carefully at the possibility that it is the drugs they are being given that are causing the cognitive impairment. Sometimes older people do not tolerate medications as well. Get the list and I will help you go through them, if you want,” John offered.
Rob nodded that he did.
“And, one more thing, “ John told him, a frown forming on his brow, “Don’t let them try to push him out of the hospital to Skilled Nursing or, even worse, Hospice care. It is way too early, but they are going to try to save Medicare money, so you have to stand your ground.”
“I understand,” Rob said, finding a topic he thought he knew something about. “The government has no business running a health care program. It is really time to privatize Medicare, or do away with it entirely – give people vouchers to buy their own insurance.”
John took a deep breath. He flashed on memories of debates against Rob years ago. Rob had been a formidable debater. He didn’t want to trigger that sense of battle. This was too important.
“Rob, I respect you and your opinion, but with all due respect, you’ve been misinformed about this. I live and work with these issues every day. The truth is, older people who currently have those private Medicare plans put themselves at serious risk. The plans look like you’re getting a lot for very little, but the devil is in the detail. If someone gets seriously ill, they get in trouble. The plans are often designed to avoid having to pay for enough rehab or other care to get back to one’s life. They are designed to dump people into a nursing home bed where Medicaid ultimately takes over and the insurance company then makes more money. God help us if elders only had vouchers…they wouldn’t have a chance!”
John realized his voice had gotten louder and more passionate. He had seen far too many older people denied a chance at life.
“Well, we can’t fund all these entitlement programs!” Rob lightly protested, realizing he was throwing rhetoric he had heard into the conversation, but didn’t really know what he was talking about.
“Rob,” John cleared his throat, “this is not a time to be arguing political positions. This is real life. This is your father’s life – and the lives of other peoples’ fathers and mothers.” John realized it was time to drop the subject.
“Try those things I suggested. I’ve got to run, we have a team meeting. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Whatever you do, expect the best. Expect your dad to recover. Don’t give into fear or negativity!”
Rob watched John’s white lab coat move effortlessly across the cafeteria and out the door. He thought about what John had said. Maybe he was long on rhetoric and short on really understanding what he was talking about. He would have to ponder that idea – but not now.
IV
There did not appear to be any change in the situation going on in his dad’s room. Rob took a seat beside the bed and tried to practice the suggestions John had offered. It was hard. He had not had particularly good communication with his dad when he was conscious and this was even harder.
“Dad, you’re getting stronger,” he started. “Before long you’ll be out of here and back to normal.” Rob found the words strangely increasing his own faith that it was true. “You have a lot of friends who really miss you.”
That gave Rob an idea. He retrieved the flower cards from the window sill and began to read them aloud.
“Charlie, we need you back here soon. We can’t keep growing without you. The Coffee Shop Gang. They really miss you, Dad. What is it you’re growing?” Rob inquired, not expecting an answer but looking for a hint of recognition just the same. None came.
“I remember the huge tomato patch you used to have out by the back fence. Everyone said they had the best flavor they ever tasted.” Suddenly Rob remembered something from the past and kept on talking. “Oh my gosh, do you remember the summer Terry Gibson and I raided your tomato patch and picked them all to throw them at the Davis twins around the corner? I can’t believe I would do that. I think you grounded me for a month. Unbelievable that I would do that!” Rob thought he saw a slight smile on his dad’s face – but then it was gone.
Maybe John knew what he was talking about. Maybe his dad could hear him. Hope increasing, Rob continued this strategy.
“You also got some beautiful purple flowers from Alice and Kathleen. Their card says, “As you always tell us, Charlie, just receive.” He watched his dad’s face. It appeared peaceful but there was no change in his expression.
“I met a couple of little ladies who seemed to live across from you. Do you think it was Alice and Kathleen?” Rob inquired. They said something crazy, something about you getting e-mails
