The Family Business 3 (17 page)

We'd had a consultation with the entire medical team in charge of Pop's care, including hospital executives who were probably there to make sure we didn't intend to sue. They were all pressing us to come to some kind of decision about his future treatment. The longer we listened, the more times we heard their fancy ways of saying the same damn thing: They didn't think our father would ever recover, and considering the alternative, they thought that he was better off dead. They hadn't put it in those direct words, but what they did talk about was atrophy. They said that he would gradually waste away from being bedridden. They presented charts and summaries of worst case scenarios, all offered to convince us that we really only had one decision.

Not one of the doctors could be one hundred percent certain about his brain activity. They may have been experts, but as far as I was concerned, they didn't know shit. Every time they did an MRI it came back differently, from no brain activity to slight activity and everything in between, which made it possible to believe that somewhere in there, the great LC Duncan was pulling some elaborate hoax.

“They're acting like they need Pop's bed or some shit,” Orlando said. He had been relegated to the dog house since he screwed up Vegas's plan and got Sasha snatched, so he'd been pretty quiet up until now.

“Fuck them. We will buy that hospital and put those same doctors out of work. He's going to wake up, and right now that's all we need to be focused on,” Paris fumed, pacing the length of the living room floor.

“You know what they're suggesting? There is no way I'm ready to do that,” Vegas said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Me neither,” I jumped in, adding my vote. Of course, Pop's death wasn't what anyone wanted, but I felt like I had even more at stake than they did. If he died, everyone would blame it on me and Sonya. I didn't know if I could survive the guilt, and I definitely didn't think our relationship could survive that.

Sonya caught my eye, probably reading my mind. She was across the room laying out a feast for our family.

“I talked with a Dr. Lindquist in Stockholm,” I told them. “He's one of the world's leading neurologists. According to him, there are all kinds of new treatments that aren't approved in America. He says we can't get caught up with the percentages that the doctors are giving us. His exact words were, ‘For every terminal diagnosis, there are people who have long outlived them.'”

“I just want him to get up off that bed and prove all these motherfuckers wrong, 'cause no way are we pulling the plug,” Paris added.

“That's not really up to you guys,” Harris announced as he walked into the room holding up a manila envelope. Rio was following behind him. “At least not according to these.”

“What the hell is that?” Orlando snapped.

“Hopefully nothing you can fuck up.” Vegas dug in again, pushing all Orlando's buttons.

“It's a health care proxy form that LC signed two years ago,” Harris answered, still holding on to the paperwork.

“What's a health care proxy?” Rio asked.

“It a legal document stating that in a situation like this, your father doesn't want to be kept alive artificially. He wants to be left to die.”

“And you let him sign this?” Orlando snatched the envelope out of Harris's hand and pulled out the document. “What kind of lawyer are you?” he asked, perusing the legal paperwork. I went and stood over his shoulder to read it along with him.

“I didn't
let
him do anything. Can any of you imagine trying to stop LC from doing something he wants to do? Ain't a lawyer in hell can control that man.”

I happened to believe what Harris was saying. LC was stubborn as hell. Orlando, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

“Ma would have never let him sign that. Must have been you,” he accused Harris.

“Well, to be honest, she signed one too,” Harris explained, shocking us all. “I wish you guys would stop acting like I'm the bad guy all the time, especially when I'm as loyal, if not more, than people who should be.”

I knew he was poking at me, but Pop would have wanted me to help keep the peace, and the way folks were acting, I needed to take that position seriously. So, I decided to give him that one.

“He ain't lying,” Orlando announced, looking down at the paperwork. “Pop did sign this. It's his signature.” He looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. “Maybe we should give this some thought.”

Vegas protested. “Oh, hell naw. You best believe Pop would not want to die with the mess you've made of things.” He was glaring at Orlando, who jumped up, ready to go to blows. I stepped in between them.

“We need to respect this document. We need to respect LC's wishes,” Harris insisted.

“Fuck you, Harris. And fuck you,” Vegas yelled at Orlando.

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” We'd been too busy engaged in the drama to notice when our mother entered the room. Suddenly everyone snapped into line, like little children scolded by Mommy.

I glanced over at Sonya, who was still moving around cautiously, getting our food ready. I could tell she wished she was invisible at that moment. Clearly my mother had seen her, but she didn't say anything.

London walked in with a tight scowl on her face, like she couldn't understand how we had upset our mother at a time like this. This was just one more example of why we all referred to her as Little Chippy behind her back.

“Your father is in that hospital fighting for his life, and you, Harris—I told you not to show that paper to anyone.”

“But we need to address this,” Harris said. “What could be more important at a time like this than figuring out how to let LC go?”

“Is that why we're here? To make a decision about Daddy?” Paris's words squeaked out. She looked like she was about to break down as she flopped onto one of the chairs and buried her head in her hands.

“Initially, that's one of the things we were going to discuss, but right now we can't,” Ma said calmly.

She went over to Orlando and stood behind him, gripping his chair. From my position it appeared like she was about to deliver one of her “Come to Jesus” speeches. We'd all experienced them.

“Orlando, you are supposed to be our leader, so I don't care what you have to do, but you boys have to do it together. You all are not only coworkers, but you are family. There are all different types of leaders. Orlando, you're the head of the family. Vegas, you are the heart and soul of our family, and we need both of those things. So you two need to work together.

“And Junior?” She turned her attention to me. “I'm not happy with your decisions lately, but you are grown, and I'm not so old that I've forgotten your father having to defy others when he chose me. But I need you to hear this: We are a family, and that means that you are not allowed to run off anymore. We're all in this together,” she said, making a motion to include Sonya.

“But what are we going to do about Daddy?” London posed the question we'd all wanted to ask our mother.

“If that health care proxy is what he wants, then that's what he's going to get,” Orlando said.

“Whoa, whoa!” Rio chimed in. “I don't give a damn what it says he wants. We all have to make this decision.”

“No! None of you are making this decision. You may all have a part in the family business, but when it comes to my husband, I am his health care proxy, and I'll make the decision.”

We looked at her expectantly. I don't know about the others, but I was praying she wasn't ready to pull the plug.

“I've listened to everything those experts have said and to all of your emotional pleas, but ultimately the final decision is mine and mine alone.” Mom took the paperwork off the counter and tore it up, making certain that Harris was watching.

“I know your father better than anyone else in this room, and I'm telling you that LC would not want this happening, not now. Not while Sasha is missing. She is a Duncan, and at one point or another she has saved every one of your lives, so bringing her home safe needs to be our priority. Only after Sasha is home will I sit you all down, and then I will tell you exactly what I am going to do about LC.”

“I know that this is difficult.” Donna stood next to me as we watched LC lying helpless in his bed, tied to God knows how many different tubes and machines. It had been days with no real progress, and I felt like as hard as I was fighting to keep it together, I was slowly going out of my mind.

“You do? You know what it's like to watch your husband of over thirty years lie in a coma and there's not a damn thing you can do about it?” I snarled at her, tired of every damn body trying to tell me that they knew how I felt. As far as I was concerned, unless they were standing in my shoes, no one understood a damn thing. Hell, I couldn't be sure that I even knew how I felt sometimes. My feelings were coming like tiny hurricanes of emotion, catching me off guard. I should have felt bad that Donna was bearing the brunt of my frustration, but I was too damn tired to care.

“Chippy, you know that's not how I meant it,” Donna apologized as best she could. “LC is important to me too.”

“Yes, he's important to a lot of people,” I replied, hearing the hostility in my voice. It wasn't her fault, but I just couldn't deal with people talking about LC as if he were public property, like some reality show star that everybody felt the need to spout opinions about all the time. Right now, my kids were about all I could handle outside of my husband, but I knew that didn't matter to Donna. She had appointed herself as LC's watchdog, and she wasn't going anywhere.

“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.

“I will have my attorney call you to handle your salary. Does that work?”

“Yes, absolutely.” By this point he was grinning from ear to ear like I was his fairy godmother. He was a greedy bastard, but he was also the best doctor in this place, and LC deserved nothing but the best.

“Damn! I underestimated you,” Donna said after the doctor left the room. “Now, who is this girlfriend that's a nurse?”

“Sonya. She's Junior's girlfriend and the reason all this mess has happened.”