did, Dad. You need to see a doctor. This is more than just a cold.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “Write me a prescription, then. Give me some antibiotics and a couple of pain pills. I’ll be just fine.” His breath smelled like a distillery, stale liquor spilled on concrete floors and never mopped.
Susan blanched. “Christ, Dad, you need food, not alcohol.” Her rage settled deep in her chest. She would have thought that losing his license would teach him a lesson, but apparently, Dr. Steve MacGregor was his own man and intended to drink himself to death. Or maybe he truly believed he was invincible. It wouldn’t surprise her. “I can’t write you a prescription, Dad. I’m not a doctor yet.” And may never be. It was this behavior precisely that made her a joke in the medical community. Like father, like daughter. How many times had she heard that over the past few years?
“Isn’t there something you can do?” her mother asked. “He would be so embarrassed if he had to go to the doctor in this condition.”
Susan scoffed. “He wouldn’t be in this condition if it weren’t for you. Can’t you see what’s happening here? He drinks his meals, he’s lost too much weight, and there’s something desperately wrong with his health. Whether or not that’s related to the drinking is irrelevant. I can’t help him because I don’t know what’s wrong. We have to get him into the ER.”
She watched her mother’s expression shift to anger. “You think this is my fault? All I’ve ever done is take care of everyone! And in return, I become a horrible, sadistic person who ruins everyone’s lives.”
“Don’t play the victim here, Mother. And don’t pretend we’re talking about anything else. I’m only focused on one thing right now, and that’s the fact that Dad has to be treated or he’ll die, right here in this bed.” She was sick of her mother’s selfishness and self-absorbed attitude. Everything in the world revolved around her, and if attention was focused anywhere else, she’d find a way to draw it back to her. “Now, can you help me get him to my car? You don’t even have to come with us if you’re too embarrassed to be seen with him.”
But her mother just crossed her arms and turned away. “I’m not going to help you. My sciatica will act up, and then I’ll be the one in the hospital.”
Susan’s father flopped one hand on top of hers. “It’s fine, honey. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’d rather just die here. Pour me another finger of whiskey, and I’ll drink until I’m not breathing anymore. Then your mother can call for the coroner to carry me, and neither one of you have to hurt your backs.”
Furious, Susan shoved her father away, stood, and stormed out of the room. She reached in her pocket as she walked away. Her mother skittered along behind her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling 9-1-1.” Susan was going to get her father the help he needed, regardless of his indifference and her mother’s neurotic behavior.
“Don’t you dare! I don’t want those people in my house!”
Susan whirled, and her mother nearly crashed into her. “ Those people ? I hate to tell you this, Mom, but I’m one of those people. And it’s my duty as a paramedic, not to mention as his daughter, to get him the help he needs. If you get in the way, I’ll lock you in a guest room until it’s done.”
Her mother huffed and puffed and made indignant noises but finally just went into the bathroom and slammed the door without another word. The operator answered, and Susan asked for an ambulance, reciting the address, as well as her credentials. The bus arrived in less than ten minutes, and it took Susan and the two large men to move her intoxicated father to the gurney, where they strapped him down tight.
Her mother came out at the last minute in a full face of makeup and with her hair done. She climbed into the
He waved a hand in dismissal. “Write me a prescription, then. Give me some antibiotics and a couple of pain pills. I’ll be just fine.” His breath smelled like a distillery, stale liquor spilled on concrete floors and never mopped.
Susan blanched. “Christ, Dad, you need food, not alcohol.” Her rage settled deep in her chest. She would have thought that losing his license would teach him a lesson, but apparently, Dr. Steve MacGregor was his own man and intended to drink himself to death. Or maybe he truly believed he was invincible. It wouldn’t surprise her. “I can’t write you a prescription, Dad. I’m not a doctor yet.” And may never be. It was this behavior precisely that made her a joke in the medical community. Like father, like daughter. How many times had she heard that over the past few years?
“Isn’t there something you can do?” her mother asked. “He would be so embarrassed if he had to go to the doctor in this condition.”
Susan scoffed. “He wouldn’t be in this condition if it weren’t for you. Can’t you see what’s happening here? He drinks his meals, he’s lost too much weight, and there’s something desperately wrong with his health. Whether or not that’s related to the drinking is irrelevant. I can’t help him because I don’t know what’s wrong. We have to get him into the ER.”
She watched her mother’s expression shift to anger. “You think this is my fault? All I’ve ever done is take care of everyone! And in return, I become a horrible, sadistic person who ruins everyone’s lives.”
“Don’t play the victim here, Mother. And don’t pretend we’re talking about anything else. I’m only focused on one thing right now, and that’s the fact that Dad has to be treated or he’ll die, right here in this bed.” She was sick of her mother’s selfishness and self-absorbed attitude. Everything in the world revolved around her, and if attention was focused anywhere else, she’d find a way to draw it back to her. “Now, can you help me get him to my car? You don’t even have to come with us if you’re too embarrassed to be seen with him.”
But her mother just crossed her arms and turned away. “I’m not going to help you. My sciatica will act up, and then I’ll be the one in the hospital.”
Susan’s father flopped one hand on top of hers. “It’s fine, honey. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’d rather just die here. Pour me another finger of whiskey, and I’ll drink until I’m not breathing anymore. Then your mother can call for the coroner to carry me, and neither one of you have to hurt your backs.”
Furious, Susan shoved her father away, stood, and stormed out of the room. She reached in her pocket as she walked away. Her mother skittered along behind her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling 9-1-1.” Susan was going to get her father the help he needed, regardless of his indifference and her mother’s neurotic behavior.
“Don’t you dare! I don’t want those people in my house!”
Susan whirled, and her mother nearly crashed into her. “ Those people ? I hate to tell you this, Mom, but I’m one of those people. And it’s my duty as a paramedic, not to mention as his daughter, to get him the help he needs. If you get in the way, I’ll lock you in a guest room until it’s done.”
Her mother huffed and puffed and made indignant noises but finally just went into the bathroom and slammed the door without another word. The operator answered, and Susan asked for an ambulance, reciting the address, as well as her credentials. The bus arrived in less than ten minutes, and it took Susan and the two large men to move her intoxicated father to the gurney, where they strapped him down tight.
Her mother came out at the last minute in a full face of makeup and with her hair done. She climbed into the
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