April 30
Ron’s June 30
Carol sat at her desk in the early dawn light with her phone in her hand and a question she’d been rehearsing since the middle of the night.
The question was for Dr. Searcy. The question was whether it was ethical to ask a doctor to let a dying man hurt more so he could think more clearly on a day that wasn’t even real.
Dr. Searcy picked up on the third ring. She always picked up on the third ring. Carol had a theory that she let it ring twice on principle, so you’d know she was busy, and answered on the third so you’d know she cared.
“It’s Carol McDonald. I need to talk to you about Ron Drummond’s pain protocol.”
“Go ahead.”
“May 4. Five days from now. We need him lucid. Present. Sharp enough to hold a conversation, sit upright, recognize faces. We need him to be Ron.”
Dr. Searcy was quiet. She could hear her breathing, which meant she was thinking, which meant she already understood what she was asking.
“You want me to lower his pain management.”
“For a few days. Drop to the minimum, let the fog clear. He might hurt a bit more. I know that. But he’ll be there.”
“Carol.” Dr. Searcy’s voice was careful. It was the tone doctors took when they were about to say what a patient’s family wouldn’t want to hear. “He’s on the current protocol because without it, the pain is significant. We’re talking about a man with compression fractures, neuropathy, and a heart that’s running on stubbornness. If we pull back the pain management, he’s going to feel all of that.”
“I know.”
“He’ll feel it and he won’t understand why. He’ll think things have changed. He’ll ask questions.”
“He always asks questions.”
“And what do you tell him? ‘We adjusted your medication so you’d be alert for the fake holiday we built for you’?”
Carol closed her eyes. She’d known this was coming. She’d rehearsed answers. None of them were good enough.
“I tell him we’re trying a lower dose to see how he responds. Which is true. Medication reviews happen. He won’t question a dosage adjustment.”
“And the real reason?”
“The real reason is that in five days, a town he loves is going to line up on Main Street for a man who thinks it’s July 4. And if he’s sedated, or foggy, or half-asleep in his chair, he won’t see any of it. He’ll miss the only thing he’s been living for.”
Dr. Searcy didn’t answer right away. Carol waited. She was good at waiting. Twenty years of this job had taught her that the silence after a hard ask was where the real decision happened.
“Two days,” Dr. Searcy said. “I’ll scale back starting the third. By the morning of the Fourth, he should be clearer. But Carol, if he’s in distress, we go back up immediately. No negotiations.”
“Agreed.”
“And you’ll update me that day. Repeatedly. If things go wrong—”
“—You’ll be the first person I call.”
Another pause. “You know, I’ve been doing this for thirty years. I’ve had families ask me for lucidity windows before. End of life. One more clear conversation. One more chance to say goodbye. It’s not unusual.” She paused again. “But I’ve never had a whole town ask.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Carol said.
“Apparently,” the doctor said. “And Carol?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens on the Fourth, whatever you’ve all built for him, I hope it’s worth it.”
Carol hung up and sat at her desk for a while. Morning shift hadn’t started rounds yet. Through the window she could see the parking lot, the road, and beyond it, the first curve of the river.
She thought about Ron. Asleep right now, probably. The crossword on his nightstand. The painted window. She thought about five days from now, when the fog would lift and the pain would come in and Ron would sit up straighter and look around with those clear blue eyes and be himself again. Fully, sharply, painfully himself.
She thought about what that would cost him. And she thought about what it would give him.
Diana appeared in the doorway. “Morning. Anything I should know?”
“Dr. Searcy is adjusting Ron’s pain protocol. Starting tomorrow. He’ll be sharper but less comfortable for a couple of days.”
“Does Dr. Searcy know why?” Diana asked.
“It was her call,” Carol said. “I asked. She decided.”
Diana held her gaze. Then she nodded once and went to start her rounds.
Carol picked up her coffee. Cold. She drank it anyway.
Five days, she thought. Please let this work.
New chapters posted every Monday and Thursday until April 23.