A sharp knock sounded on the door, and our heads turned to find that a doctor had joined the party.
He gave me a warm smile. “Glad to see you awake, Jett. How are you feeling?”
I grunted. “Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Sorry to say, but that’s to be expected for at least a few days.”
“Great.”
With a tablet in one hand, he stepped up to the opposite side of the bed from where Daisy was seated. “I’m Dr. Terrier, and your son has already warned me that you’re not the biggest fan of lengthy medical explanations, so I’ll keep things simple. You’ve had a mild heart attack, and thanks to the quick action taken by your son-in-law, we were able to treat you quickly. While you were unconscious, we did a procedure that cleared the blockedartery, so after a few days of monitoring, you can go home with some moderate restrictions.”
“What kind of restrictions?” My gaze darted to Daisy. “I take care of my wife, and she’s got dialysis three times a week.”
Dr. Terrier’s lips pressed together. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to drive for a month.”
“No.” I groaned, trying to sit up. “That’s not going to work. She needs me.”
Sympathy filled the doctor’s eyes. “I understand this is upsetting and a disruption to your life, but it seems like you have a decent support system.” He gestured toward my children and their spouses.
Aspen was the first to speak up. “I’ll take Mama to dialysis.”
I blew out a breath. “Sweetheart, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“What about work?”
My daughter stepped forward, grasping my hand. “That’s the beauty of being your own boss. You get to make your own hours. I want to help, so please let me.”
I wanted to scream and shout that Daisy was my wife, my responsibility—more than that, I was desperate to soak up every minute we had left together—but I had a feeling that it would fall on deaf ears.
Then the guilt set in that our children now had two sick parents to care for, stealing focus from their own families. And I hated putting them in this position.
“Fine,” I grumbled, turning my attention back to the doctor. “What else?”
Dr. Terrier took this as his cue to continue. “Now that you’ve had a heart attack, there’s a twenty percent chance that within the next five years you will have another. Survival rates drop after each consecutive cardiac event,so our focus will be on preventing a repeat occurrence. The best way to do that is by managing your health with a combination of medications, along with diet and exercise.”
My nose wrinkled. “What kind of diet?”
“You’re gonna want to cut down on your sodium and sugar intake and limit the amount of red meat you eat, while prioritizing fruits and vegetables, whole grains, lean meats, and healthy oils.”
“Sounds fucking terrible.”
Daisy nudged my shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”
I cringed at the reminder that her diet had changed drastically these past few years, and my reluctance to join her in a healthier lifestyle was likely what had landed me in this hospital bed.
Penny chimed in from the corner. “We’ll find ways to jazz it up and make it less bland, and I bet Reagan would just love to get creative in the kitchen.”
This just kept getting better. Now we were dragging our ten-year-old granddaughter into caring for us. She should be enjoying her childhood instead of being stuck in a kitchen, cooking for her aging grandparents.
Overwhelmed and possibly more stressed than ever at the idea of being a burden to my family, I let my eyes drift shut, saying, “I’m tired.”
“Of course. We’ll let you get some rest,” Dr. Terrier replied.
There was a shuffling of feet near the door, but I called out, “Mac, if I could have a word?”
Surprised, my son-in-law spun around, pointing a finger toward his chest. “Me?”
