Hope Idiotic | Part 29
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
POP WAS GETTING WORSE. The cancer in his lung had minimized, but all that carpet-bombing poison the doctors used left him nauseated, without appetite. Even the THC pills weren’t helping. They were one hundred dollars each, and Lou suggested that Pop simply buy a dime bag from Aaron, save the money and smoke it out of his pipe. The Ensure was the only thing Pop could choke down without wanting to vomit. He was spending all day in his bedroom watching old television shows like The Rifleman, The Honeymooners and Zorro. Although the chair he was in was only three feet away from the TV, he had the volume cranked. Grams was tired of it, so she bought him some wireless headphones to wear. He cranked those up to full blast, too, but at least with the headphones, Grams could go about her business downstairs without the noise pollution.
Lou understood that Pop found comfort watching old TV shows. They were from a time long before he was sick. Back when he was young with a young family. Back when he worked at a successful family business every day with his own father. He had probably seen every episode of every show he watched countless times over the years, so there was familiarity. And familiarity is always a better alternative to the painful unknown that comes when cancer is killing you.
Lou made a point to drive out to the ’burbs and visit his grandparents several times a week. Michelle never gave him hell for that. She knew what it was like to have sick grandparents. That she understood.
“Sure, you can go upstairs and see him,” Grams said after she and Lou chatted a bit. “Good luck getting him to take off those headphones and turn away from the TV to have a conversation, though.”
For the first time since the diagnosis, Pop looked sick. Not just thin and tired, but actually sick.
“When was the last time you got up and walked around the house?” said Lou. “It’s been gorgeous outside lately. Let’s take a walk around the block.”
“I haven’t been anywhere but this chair, the bathroom and that bed,” Pop said as he gestured to his and Grams’ bed behind him. “My leg hurts like hell. It hurts to walk the few feet I do. If I were to get down those stairs, I’d never get back up.”
“There are surely some exercises you can do while sitting here all day. Something to keep the body from going stale.”
“I try swinging my legs. But it just hurts too much. It just hurts like hell.”
Yeah, things were getting bad. Pop was never a complainer, and he surely never used crass words like “hell.” All of Lou’s life, he’d never seen his grandfather in a bad mood.
“Have you ever lost your temper?” Lou had asked him a few years before.
“Once. With your Aunt Elise.”
“What happened?”
“We had just brought your father home from the hospital and your aunt, who was two years old at the time, had stopped going to the bathroom. She was making herself sick.”
“What do you mean she stopped going to the bathroom?”
“She wouldn’t poop.”
“Like she was stressed about the new baby?”
“Must’ve been. Well, I tell you, she hadn’t pooped in a couple of days, and she’d developed severe constipation. Our doctor said we should give her a suppository to break everything up.”
“Gross.”
“Grams was tending to your father, so I was the one who had to give her the suppository. I lifted her legs and put it in and, she just pushed it back out. This went on for, oh, maybe ten minutes. She was crying. I could hear your father crying. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my night sticking things up the rear end of my daughter, and I felt like crying. I pushed the suppository in another time, and she pushed it back out. That’s when I’d had it. And I yelled, ‘Dammit, Elise! I’m trying to make you feel better!’ She stopped crying. Your father stopped crying. The whole house went silent, and I slipped the suppository in one last time. That did the trick.”
“So, in a way, you scared the shit out of her.”
Pop laughed. “I wouldn’t say it that way, but yes, I did.”
It had been fifty-nine years since that happened, and while Grams was tired of his crankiness, Lou felt that it was completely warranted. He knew that Pop felt like hell and hadn’t been outwardly annoyed in almost six decades. Bemoaning over the sickness was totally acceptable. What really was strange was when Pop bemoaned about Aaron.
“I just don’t know what to do about your brother,” he said. “He has no direction and doesn’t seem to want to even try to get any. If he were making an effort, I wouldn’t be so upset. But he’s not. And he’s a liar. He lied to me. He has lied about quitting smoking and about the drugs he does, and I’m sick of it. He has no respect for anyone and doesn’t think about anyone except himself. I’m furious with him, and I’m terribly disappointed in him.”
Lou never told Aaron any of that. A lack of confidence from Pop would give Lou all the reason in the world to get his life in order, but Aaron would just be mad about it and dive deeper into the abyss of his own misery. This was why the timing of the play was so important. Lou wanted to have something to show Pop that his life was improving; that all of the hard work—and continued hard work—was going to pay off. Lou needed Pop to witness that he wasn’t a drunken loser before Pop died. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them if he didn’t. Lou wasn’t in the position he wanted to be in at the end of Pop’s life, but he was better than before.
✶
A WEEK LATER, POP WAS IN THE HOSPITAL. Benjamin called Lou that morning and told him. Lou drove out that afternoon. Benjamin, Grams and Aunt Elise were sitting around Pop, who was lying in the bed. The room was full of forced casual conversation. Dr. Caplan, Pop’s doctor, came in. He was the son of a close childhood friend of Pop’s who was also a doctor, but had retired from practicing medicine a few years ago. The younger Caplan inherited many of his dad’s patients, including Abraham Bergman, who used to give him rides to school.
“Here’s the deal, Abe,” Dr. Caplan said as he tossed Pop’s chart on the foot of the bed. “There’s cancer in your leg. A lot of cancer. It’s bad.”
“What does that mean?” Grams asked.
“Oh, hello, Adina,” Dr. Caplan said. “I didn’t see you sitting over there.”
Grams rolled her eyes.
“What does it mean, Barry?” Benjamin asked the doctor in his most serious and intimidating voice.
“It means that the cancer is spreading, and it’s spreading fast. It’s taking up the majority of your leg right now, which explains the pain and why you haven’t been able to walk. But that’s a good thing, because if you were walking there’s a good chance you would have shattered your leg entirely. There’s not enough solid bone to support your weight.”
“Oh, Dad,” Elise said.
“What are my options?” Pop asked.
“You have two. We can do surgery on the leg and insert a metal rod to support you. You’ll likely need the use of a cane or a walker, and you may be limited in the amount of walking you can do, but it will prevent the leg from shattering every time you need to take a leak. The other option is to do nothing and let the cancer run its course.”
“Will getting the rod in my leg help prevent the cancer from spreading?” asked Pop.
“No. It will only allow you to have some limited mobility for the time you have left.”
“How much time do I have left?”
Dr. Caplan looked at Grams. “Time to consider hospice care.”
The silence in the room intensified. No one said anything for a couple seconds. Then Pop broke the silence with his typical cheerful and thoughtful sounding, “Well.”
“I’ll let you think about what you want to do and will be back in a bit.” Dr. Caplan exited the room leaving behind the chart he brought in.
Grams moved from the chair against the window to sit next to Pop on the bed. She held him and kissed his head. He put an arm around her. They didn’t cry; they just sat together quietly. Lou figured that they were realizing that they’d come to the moment they’d talked about years ago when sickness and death seemed forever away—impossible. Benjamin and Elise started their own debate about what their father should do. Lou noticed the chart Dr. Caplan left behind. He walked to the foot of the bed and picked it up. He flipped through it. It had all of the information about the cancer since the diagnosis. The last page was a listing of test results. In large, thick red pen, someone—probably Dr. Caplan—wrote, “This is BAD!!” in the middle of the page and circled it. Lou closed the chart and hung it from the foot of the bed.
He looked at Pop and Grams and smiled as his eyes welled with tears. He heard Grams whisper, “You promised you’d always take care of me, Abe. Who’s going to take care of me now?”
Pop and Grams were old-school in that 1950s-Father-Knows-Best sort of way. Pop never cooked a meal or did the laundry or cleaned the house. He never went grocery shopping or clothes shopping, except for his suits and for gifts during birthdays and Christmas. The domestic part of his life was run entirely by Grams. He took care of the financial providing for her. But that’s not what she was talking about.
They looked seventy years younger as they held each other on that hospital bed. Like two fresh-faced kids falling in love for the first time. The way Grams looked at Pop when she said, “Who’s going to take care of me now?” Lou knew she was talking about something deeper, something bigger. Who was going to travel with her and sit next to her at the theater and lay on the couch in his office reading while she read in the chair next to that couch? And who was going to share that tiny full-sized bed with her and golf with her and laugh with her? Who was going to love her? Who was going to take care of her when her time came?
“Addie,” was all Pop said to her as they quietly kissed.
Dr. Caplan came storming back in. “What’s it gonna be?”
“We’ll obviously go for the surgery,” Elise said.
“No,” said Pop. He looked into Grams’ eyes. “We’ll let it run its course.”
“What?” exclaimed Elise.
“We haven’t even discussed it, Dad,” Benjamin said.
“Your mother and I have,” said Pop.
“When? Where were we? Don’t your children get a say in this?” asked Benjamin.
“We know what we want to do. We’ll let it run its course,” Pop said. His eyes never left Grams’. “Get us some good hospice recommendations, please, Barry.”
“I’ll have the nurse bring you a list before you leave today. Take your time. Stay as long as you like. Enjoy the cafeteria food downstairs. Today is Friday. That’s pizza roll day.” Then he walked out, taking the chart with him.
✶
LOU WAS WAITING AT GRAMS AND POP’S HOUSE when the ambulance arrived to bring Pop home. While his dad and aunt checked out with their parents, he had spent that hour walking around their house. It was a house that he knew well; as well as his own. He could navigate it with his eyes closed. But this time, he looked more carefully at each photograph hung on every wall and made a note of how furniture was situated, how organized Pop’s office was and how that home was so absolutely Grams and Pop that it could never be anyone else’s. In the 30 years he’d known that house, little had changed. A new rug in the family room, an updated family photo hung, a new artifact from some trip somewhere placed on the fireplace hearth. It was clear that of all the things in the world, that house was the one thing that never really changed. It adapted, but only slightly. Grams even still used the same mixer she received as a wedding gift sixty-three years before. Lou walked around that house and took in the sounds and the smells—vanilla pipe smoke and Grams’ baking. The smell was the most specifically recognizable thing about it. For all that time that the house had not changed, Lou was wrenchingly aware that in a few moments it would never be the same.
When the ambulance pulled into the driveway, it came with a van from hospice care. Two men ushered in an adjustable bed with railings on its sides through the front door. Benjamin led the way and asked Lou to help unlock and open the double doors. Lou had never seen the second front door opened. He didn’t even realize it was possible. This bed, after all, was the first new piece of furniture brought through in over three decades. The men set the bed up in the family room. One plugged it in so it could be adjusted while the other walked Benjamin through the rental agreement and other paperwork. The couch had to be pushed back a little. There were deep divots that were a brighter color than the rest of the rug from years of being covered by the couch legs. The five-inch section of the rug that sat under the couch was also lighter and fluffier than its foot-trafficked majority. Grams came in and suggested the bed be positioned so that Pop could face the television. The hospice men clumsily rotated the hulking thing. The weather was absolutely perfect as the EMTs wheeled Pop out of the ambulance and into the house through the garage.
“Nice day for a game of golf,” Pop said to them. Neither responded.
The paramedics lifted him from one bed to the other, packed up and rolled out along with the hospice men. They were replaced by a young nurse from the hospice care company. She worked with Grams and Elise to adjust things so that Pop was as comfortable as possible. Benjamin fetched the wireless headphones from upstairs and began fiddling with the television.
“I won’t be in here forever, right?” Pop asked the nurse. “I mean, I can out of this and at least get into a wheelchair or hobble around some, right? You’ve seen people get out of these beds, right?”
“Sure. It could happen,” the nurse said.
Lou knew she was lying. Pop probably knew it, too. But, his spirits were high, considering he would never walk outside again. He would never do a lot of things again.
✶
POP WAS SPENDING MORE TIME SLEEPING THAN ANYTHING ELSE BY THE MIDDLE OF THE NEXT WEEK. He would come into consciousness for twenty minutes or so and then, without warning, drift back to sleep. His moments awake were wracked with pain, and he started asking for a drop or two of morphine. This caused him to sleep even more. Someone was always in the family room with him, reading or watching the TV that stayed on at all times, so that he’d have someone to talk to when he did wake up. Or so that someone was there to offer a drop or two of morphine.
Lou drove out on Father’s Day. The usual backyard barbecue with the whole family wouldn’t be happening, but the whole family would be at Grams and Pop’s house anyway. Lou arrived in the morning before anyone else. Grams was upstairs getting showered. Pop was just barely awake when Lou walked into the family room.
“Hi, boy,” he said.
“Hi, Pop. How’re you feeling?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, not too shabby for an old guy.” Then he drifted to sleep, which is how he stayed for the rest of the day. The only reaction anyone saw from him was when he winced in his sleep. Grams was at the ready with the morphine.
By Wednesday, Pop was barely alive. Despite everyone’s best efforts, bedsores were forming. He had to have his diaper changed several times a day. He was no longer waking up, but rather opening his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling. To Lou, it looked as if Pop were actually staring through the ceiling and at something else. Something beyond this life. Maybe he was just stoned on morphine. Maybe the two things went hand in hand.
After Lou helped Benjamin change Pop’s diaper and address the bedsores, he sat down next to him and took his hand. Benjamin joined his sister and mother in the kitchen.
“Pop. It’s okay. You can go,” Lou said. “Everything here is fine. Dad will take care of everything. I’m going to be okay. Aaron will be okay. You don’t have to feel like this anymore. You can go. It’s okay.”
Lou overheard the kitchen conversation. His play opened on Friday night. Grams was concerned about the timing of Pop’s impending death.
“If he dies tomorrow, we’ll have to wait until Sunday because we can’t have a funeral on a Shabbat. But I don’t want him dying tonight because that’ll put a real damper on Lou’s opening night. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t listen to them in there,” Lou told his grandfather. “Don’t worry about my play. I wish you could see it, but don’t worry about it.”
Eventually, Elise went home. Benjamin did, too. Michelle wanted Lou to come home, but he wanted to stay with his grandfather. Grams joined him in the family room. She sat down in a chair on the other side of the bed and took her husband’s hand. The day before, Lou and Benjamin turned the bed around so Pop could look outside through the large, sliding glass doors whenever he did open his eyes and maybe wasn’t looking at heaven. The sun was setting, and it shined right into the family room covering it in calming warmth.
“This was his favorite time of the day,” Grams said. “Abe, you should see the sunset. You should see all that your children have done for you. You’re missing all of it.”
“This is a terrible time of the day,” said Lou. “The sun puts a glare on the TV. You can’t see anything.”
“We never watched TV at this time.”
Pop winced.
“He needs a shave,” Lou said. “He’s probably going crazy having not had one in a few days.”
Lou reached for the electric razor that was resting on the tray next to the bed and started to shave his grandfather’s face. But Pop winced, which Lou took as a signal to stop. He and Grams sat on either side of the bed holding Pop’s hands. The sunlight in the room began casting longer shadows up the wall as it slowly sank below the backyard where Pop used to play catch with his grandkids. His breathing became erratic and labored. Lou stood, still holding his hand and kissed him the forehead and said, “It’s okay.” He sat back down as Pop’s breathing eased. And then, silence.
Grams looked at Lou. Lou looked at Pop. Grams stood up. Lou placed his ear to Pop’s chest. It sounded like nothing. No lungs inhaling or exhaling, no heart pumping the blood, only the sound of emptiness—lifelessness. Lou looked at Grams.
“He’s gone,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead and looked at him. Tears streamed down her face. “Oh, Abe… My sweet, Abe.”
Lou let go of his grandfather’s hand. “I’ll go tell Dad,” he said. Then he hugged his grandmother and walked next door.