The Family Business 3 (The Family Business #3)(52)
“I heard what the doctor said. Maybe it’s time you let him go,” she whispered, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder—except that it wasn’t comforting in the least.
“So now you’re trying to tell me to pull the plug too? To kill my husband?”
“Chippy, he just doesn’t seem to be here anymore. Not in the way he would want to be. Do you think LC even hears us? Does he know that you’ve been here nonstop, pleading and praying for him to wake up?”
I stepped back to put some distance between me and Donna as I reached out and pushed the call button above LC’s bed.
A nurse’s voice came over the speaker. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I need to see Dr. Whitmore as soon as possible.”
“I’ll let him know,” she replied, hanging up.
“So, does this mean you’re going to do it?” Donna asked. In spite of everything she’d just been advising, she seemed surprised. “Is that why you’re requesting the doctor?”
I turned to face her, trying to calm myself down before I spoke. She had known LC a long time, but I was his wife, and I didn’t see myself asking for her opinion. Before I went nuts on her, though, I reminded myself that she was a friend and we had already shared so much pain together.
“I’m not sure exactly what I plan to do, but if—and that’s a big if—”
“Mrs. Duncan.”
I stopped speaking when Dr. Whitmore entered the room with his clipboard in hand, ready to console me with his charming bedside manner.
“Thank you for coming.” I spoke, my relaxed tone concealing the emotional storm raging inside of me.
He glanced from me to Donna, unsure if he should proceed.
“You can talk in front of her.”
“Have you made a decision about what you’re going to do? Like I said, after discussing your husband’s condition with his team, we’re not sure it’s beneficial to keep him on the machines.” He used that “doctor voice” that let you know that his opinion mattered more than yours, while pretending to leave room in case you thought differently.
“I have made one major decision.” I waited for him to lift his eyes from whatever he was reading on his clipboard. I needed his full attention, not just the half-assed kind reserved for relatives of hopeless patients. He noticed that I had stopped speaking and looked up at me expectantly.
“If my husband is going to die, it’s not going to be here,” I said. “He will die with dignity at home, surrounded by his family in the beautiful house he built and provided.”
Dr. Whitmore’s eyes widened. This was clearly not what he had expected to hear me say, and it took him a moment to compose his thoughts before he spoke. “That is a great scenario,” he finally said, “and one I am sure your husband would prefer. But do you have any idea how expensive it will be? Imagine the expense of transporting him to your home, and then add in the machines he would need. I’m sorry, but it’s not cost effective, and no insurance will cover it.” He wrapped up his little speech, looking like he was pleased with himself. Obviously this guy was used to families who blindly followed his advice, so I guess he thought it would be easy to make me see the error of my decision.
“Doctor, do I look like a woman who doesn’t get what she wants? Have you noticed the armed bodyguards we have posted at every exit and entrance of this hospital? Do you also notice that not one person has made an issue of it?” I stopped, seeing the wheels turning in his brain. He clearly hadn’t considered those things. I’m not sure if it had to do with us being black, but he sure had underestimated our power.
He forged ahead with his argument. “Even if you could get your husband home, it’s not a normal situation where he will only need a nurse practitioner. Your husband will still need a full-time doctor,” he stressed.
“Both my daughter and my son’s girlfriend are Registered Nurses, so the nurse thing I have covered, and the doctor—well, you’re going to be a great help.”
“Mrs. Duncan, I don’t know of any doctors who would leave their jobs to give your husband the kind of round-the-clock care that he needs,” he insisted. This man may have graduated from Yale Medical School, but he truly didn’t understand how the world works.
“Let me explain this to you, doctor. You are going to take a month’s leave of absence from the hospital. Then you are going to care for my husband—”
He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I raised a finger to let him know that wasn’t an option. He snapped his mouth shut again. Good. He was finally starting to understand.
“I figure after medical insurance and taxes, you take home under four hundred thousand dollars, and that’s only if your college loans are paid off. I’m going to pay you three hundred thousand dollars in advance to care for my husband for the next month.”
“Wait, what?” The great doctor was so stunned that he lost his ability to speak.
“Three hundred thousand dollars for one month, and no matter what happens with my husband, the money is yours. Now, I’m going to need you to order everything you require, including a night nurse.” I opened my purse and pulled out one of my AMEX black cards. “You can charge all the hospital equipment and transportation to this card.”
I held out the card to him, and he only hesitated for half a second before taking it from me.