strode away, Kayla pressed her eyes closed. I’m too harsh, Lord. I’ve grown tough because I do this every day. I forget that for some people the simplest forms of care are mountains to be scaled. School me in my faults so I don’t get caught up in his. Give me patience. Compassion. Mercy.
“Are you all right?”
Kayla jerked. “Fine. Just saying a prayer.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay. Pete and I have prayed together. Did you want to join me?”
“No.”
No doubt there. Marc laid the well-wrung rag above his father’s eyes. “Is that right?”
Kayla eyed the cloth. “It’s fine.” Settling into the adjacent chair, she waited for the doctor to return her call. “You’ll want to flip it soon. It’ll heat up fast.”
“I’ll say.” Frowning, Marc redipped the cloth, then wrung it out. “He’s burning up.”
Kayla reached for Pete’s hand. “You haven’t given him aspirin or acetaminophen for the fever?”
“Not yet. I thought of it, but I don’t know what things cause reactions. Drug interaction.” He lifted a shoulder, frustrated. “I assumed it would be okay, but then I couldn’t get the doctor, youwere late and I wasn’t sure what to do.” After a hefty pause, he glanced her way. “I panicked.”
“You did.” She refused to cut him any slack while she administered Tylenol. “But this won’t be the only crisis he throws your way and you’ll get better at assessing them.”
“I don’t want to.”
Kayla thought hard before phrasing her next question. Marc’s answer could mean a complete reevaluation of Pete’s care. Not all families were meant to provide hospice. “You don’t want to be responsible for his hospice care or you don’t want to get better at crises?”
“The answer is C. All of the above.” A frown darkened his face as Marc reapplied the cloth. “I don’t want him to die.”
Not much choice there. Swallowing a sigh, Kayla worked to keep her expression placid. “We all die. It’s as natural as birth, just not as celebrated.”
Marc’s shoulders stiffened. “People don’t have to die this young. They make choices that invite cancer.”
Obviously the source of Pete’s cancer was a spot of contention. “Your dad smoked.”
“Nearly two packs a day.”
Kayla cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
She had no platitudes for him. She understood his anger all too well. Hadn’t her mother made choices that ended in her death at the hands of a madman? Oh, yeah, she understood Marc’s disappointment. Sympathized with it. His dad played the odds and lost, but at least he’d had his love for thirty years. Kayla would have given anything for that.
The room stayed quiet until the doorbell broke the silence. Kayla stood. “I’ll get it.”
Marc looked grateful. A definite improvement. “Thanks.”
Kayla returned with Dr. Pentrow.
Marc stood. “A house call?” His voice thickened with uncertainty.
Dr. Pentrow walked to his side and clapped him on the back, man-to-man. “I had to drive this way so I swung by thepharmacy, picked up the prescription and figured I’d drop it by. How’s our patient doing?” He swept his look from Marc to Kayla.
“Uncomfortable,” Kayla answered. “Looks like a UTI. We’ll have to train someone with his bag care. I think he’s grown too frail to handle it.”
The doctor nodded. “Marc can do that. He’s doctored almost as many animals as the local vets, right, Marc?”
To Kayla’s surprise, Marc agreed readily. “If someone shows me how, I can take care of it.”
Sure. Minutes ago he was crying about not wanting to handle care at all, now he was Clara Barton in Levi’s. Please. She shot him her arched-eyebrow look, the one meant to make him feel like a chauvinistic jerk.
His jaw tightened.
Good. The days of bowing and scraping to doctors while nurses were treated like poorly paid servants disappeared long ago. Marc DeHollander might have every right to be upset by his
“Are you all right?”
Kayla jerked. “Fine. Just saying a prayer.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay. Pete and I have prayed together. Did you want to join me?”
“No.”
No doubt there. Marc laid the well-wrung rag above his father’s eyes. “Is that right?”
Kayla eyed the cloth. “It’s fine.” Settling into the adjacent chair, she waited for the doctor to return her call. “You’ll want to flip it soon. It’ll heat up fast.”
“I’ll say.” Frowning, Marc redipped the cloth, then wrung it out. “He’s burning up.”
Kayla reached for Pete’s hand. “You haven’t given him aspirin or acetaminophen for the fever?”
“Not yet. I thought of it, but I don’t know what things cause reactions. Drug interaction.” He lifted a shoulder, frustrated. “I assumed it would be okay, but then I couldn’t get the doctor, youwere late and I wasn’t sure what to do.” After a hefty pause, he glanced her way. “I panicked.”
“You did.” She refused to cut him any slack while she administered Tylenol. “But this won’t be the only crisis he throws your way and you’ll get better at assessing them.”
“I don’t want to.”
Kayla thought hard before phrasing her next question. Marc’s answer could mean a complete reevaluation of Pete’s care. Not all families were meant to provide hospice. “You don’t want to be responsible for his hospice care or you don’t want to get better at crises?”
“The answer is C. All of the above.” A frown darkened his face as Marc reapplied the cloth. “I don’t want him to die.”
Not much choice there. Swallowing a sigh, Kayla worked to keep her expression placid. “We all die. It’s as natural as birth, just not as celebrated.”
Marc’s shoulders stiffened. “People don’t have to die this young. They make choices that invite cancer.”
Obviously the source of Pete’s cancer was a spot of contention. “Your dad smoked.”
“Nearly two packs a day.”
Kayla cringed. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
She had no platitudes for him. She understood his anger all too well. Hadn’t her mother made choices that ended in her death at the hands of a madman? Oh, yeah, she understood Marc’s disappointment. Sympathized with it. His dad played the odds and lost, but at least he’d had his love for thirty years. Kayla would have given anything for that.
The room stayed quiet until the doorbell broke the silence. Kayla stood. “I’ll get it.”
Marc looked grateful. A definite improvement. “Thanks.”
Kayla returned with Dr. Pentrow.
Marc stood. “A house call?” His voice thickened with uncertainty.
Dr. Pentrow walked to his side and clapped him on the back, man-to-man. “I had to drive this way so I swung by thepharmacy, picked up the prescription and figured I’d drop it by. How’s our patient doing?” He swept his look from Marc to Kayla.
“Uncomfortable,” Kayla answered. “Looks like a UTI. We’ll have to train someone with his bag care. I think he’s grown too frail to handle it.”
The doctor nodded. “Marc can do that. He’s doctored almost as many animals as the local vets, right, Marc?”
To Kayla’s surprise, Marc agreed readily. “If someone shows me how, I can take care of it.”
Sure. Minutes ago he was crying about not wanting to handle care at all, now he was Clara Barton in Levi’s. Please. She shot him her arched-eyebrow look, the one meant to make him feel like a chauvinistic jerk.
His jaw tightened.
Good. The days of bowing and scraping to doctors while nurses were treated like poorly paid servants disappeared long ago. Marc DeHollander might have every right to be upset by his
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