Page 40 of Shame

I get into explaining everything the doctor said a few days ago. I try to repeat everything he said, not sure I pronounced words right, but whatever. When I’m done, I remember she’s more familiar with all of this than me and I didn’t have to explain it like she’s five.

“It’s a common procedure. I’ve worked with many people who’ve had it done,” is her response.

“So, you think I should have him do it?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “If this were my father, I’d do it. It’s possible he’s having pain and can’t express it. If he were to have a heart attack, we may not know because his symptoms could present as agitation. Not that this would prevent that entirely, but it would help.”

“I’m just worried about him going through surgery.”

“Surgery is never fun for anyone. There are always risks, but in this situation, I think this procedure is worth it. The doctors know what they’re doing, and they’ll monitor him appropriately.”

I sigh a breath of relief, staring down at the other half of my sandwich.

“Thanks, Irene. I’ll see you later.”

I finish eating the rest of my food before I call Dr. Anderson’s office to tell the receptionist that I’ve decided I want my father to have the procedure. I’d already been leaning toward doing it after what the doctor said, but with Irene agreeing, I know it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want my father in pain, and I don’t want him suffering. What if his agitation is being caused by pain we don’t know about? Maybe having the procedure will make him feel better. Or maybe this is all wishful thinking and nothing with him will change—ever.

My feet are killing me by the time I get home. I need to make time to get new shoes. Maybe I’ll get that done this Sunday now that I won’t have to travel to and from the laundromat. That frees up roughly three hours for me. Not only this week, but for the foreseeable future. Had I taken the time to look at the washer myself, maybe I would have figured this out sooner. Seems like a simple enough fix. Too bad I still have a full sheet of paper of things to fix around the house.

“Do I have enough time to shower?” I ask Irene.

“Is that man of yours coming over?” she asks with a raised brow.

“Maybe,” I say with a grin.

She laughs. “Hurry up and get your butt in the shower, girl.”

I gather everything I need for my shower, picking out another sundress to wear when I get out. Maybe a little weird since it’s later in the day, but I don’t want him to think I don’t care what he thinks of me. I could lounge around in pajamas, but I like how he looked at me in the dress yesterday. Kind of wish he would have used it to his advantage while we were kissing in the kitchen, but I appreciate him being respectful. If my father were in his right mind, he’d appreciate it too.

I wash my hair and scrub my body, exfoliate and shave—something I rarely do because I don’t have the time or the need. But things got a little hot and heavy yesterday, and I wouldn’t be opposed to them getting hotter and heavier tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone, and I have no qualms about having sex with Kaison. Not a single one.

Truly, I thought things would move a lot slower with us. I meant what I said when I told him I wanted to do the friend thing, but that didn’t last very long. How am I just supposed to be friends with a man like him?

When I’m out of the shower, it’s nearly nine, meaning he’s going to be here soon. I quickly get dressed and towel-dry my hair. I brush my teeth and put on some moisturizer. Irene is gathering her things when I get out of the bathroom.

“He had a bit of a rough time before bed, but he’s been settled about an hour now. Hopefully he’ll stay that way.”

“Thank you, Irene.”

I follow her to the front door and wave when she gets into her car. I stand there a moment after she leaves, wondering if I’ll hear the rumble of Kaison’s bike since he should be here any minute. Not wanting to look desperate or like a creep, I close the door and sit on the couch. It would be weird if he showed up, and I was standing in the door waiting for him. When nine comes and goes, I figure he must have gotten caught up with something, so I head into the kitchen to make us a snack. It’s getting to the end of the week, so I don’t have much left, but there is some fruit and cheese that I put on a platter and grab some crackers to go with it. I bring it to the living room and put it on the coffee table. I pick at some grapes while I search for something to watch.

The movie we watched last night was good. Kept me interested. I missed some parts because of us talking, but that’s okay. I liked learning about him and would rather do that than watch any movie.

He told me he wasn’t picky with movies because he hardly watches them, so when he gets the chance to, he enjoys them no matter what they are. I settle on Ocean’s Eleven because I haven’t seen it in years and don’t remember a thing, but I do know it should keep our attention. Though, I’m not sure that’s what I want tonight. I’d much rather take him into my bedroom and lock the door.

I stare at the monitor, at my father’s sleeping body, and a wave of guilt hits me. There have been many times I’ve wondered if this is what it’s like being a parent. Second-guessing everythingyou do. Guilt hitting you at the most random times for no reason at all.

How do I know I’m doing the right thing? What if this procedure goes wrong and something happens to him? That’ll be on me. What if keeping him here is dangerous? What if he is better off in a home and the only reason I want him here is to keep my guilt at bay? It’s bad enough now, putting him in a home will only make it worse. How will I live with myself? But if it’s for his own good, is there a reason to feel guilty for that?

Dad didn’t put me in a home. He didn’t give me up. Even when I was getting into trouble at school every day for no reason other than I was trying to be a brat. I’m not sure why I acted that way when I was a kid. Maybe because everyone else in school had both their parents, while I only had my dad. He made up for it, though. He sure acted like both parents—he was always enough. But when I was a kid, I didn’t understand that. It was more about the image than anything else, especially because half the kids called him my grandpa. It made me angry. I never told him that, though.

Once we moved, things got better. As I grew up, I grew out of it. He was still there, still as forgiving and patient as ever. Because no matter what I did, he was always patient and understanding. I owe him the same respect. I do think this procedure is the right thing to do but sending him to a home is wrong. I can’t do that to him. I won’t. It’s bad enough he already has a limit on his life because of the Dementia. Maybe he has seven years left. Maybe he has three. Add in this heart thing and it’s probablyless. Sending my father away is not the right thing to do, not at all. He deserves to spend his last days in the house he grew up even if he doesn’t realize it’s where he is. Some part of him must feel comfort here, right?

When I glance at the clock, it’s past 9:30. Where is Kaison? Should I call him? Did he forget? Fall asleep? I don’t know enough about him to guess what he could be up to.

I click out of the movie to find something else to watch while I wait. I’m sure he’ll show up. He probably just got caught up in something.

Scrolling through the live TV options, I don’t see a single thing that catches my attention. It’s a bunch of infomercials and shows I have no interest in. I settle on the news because maybe I should keep up with what’s going on around here for once. It’ll give me something to talk to the customers about, since most of them chat about stuff going on and I never know what they’re talking about. I click the channel, then drop the remote to the couch as I get up to get some water. I stop abruptly in the doorway when something from the TV catches my attention.

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