CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Patient's Conditions.

With Jasmine Carter, Harrison was learning that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. By the time breakfast arrived, Harrison had already changed his mind twice.

The first time, he decided he would refuse the meal simply because Jasmine had ordered him to eat. The second time, he decided he would eat everything just to prove he could do what he wanted. In the end, he stared at the tray for nearly ten minutes.

Jasmine stood beside the window, reading something she browsed about.

“You said you would eat half,” she reminded him without looking up.

“I know what I said.”

“Then begin.”

Harrison glanced at the tray. The meal was simple; oatmeal, scrambled eggs, toast, and a glass of juice. Nothing about it suggested that the hospital kitchen had made any effort to impress him.

“I want something else.”

“Then I will inform the dietitian.”

“Now.”

“it will take some time.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Waiting is part of being a patient.”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed, “You seem to enjoy reminding me that I am one.”

“You seem to enjoy forgetting,” Jasmine replied.

He reached for the toast while Jasmine turned away before he could accuse her of watching. The first bite was dry, the second was worse. He chewed slowly, his expression suggesting that the toast had personally offended him.

“Is it now acceptable?” Jasmine asked.

“No.”

“Try the eggs.”

Harrison looked up, “Do you speak to every patient this way?”

“Only the ones who argue with food.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh which Jasmine noticed but did not respond. When he finished half the toast and several spoonfuls of oatmeal, she removed the tray.

“Good.”

“Do not praise me.”

“I was not praising you Mr.Cole”

“Everything with you is documentation.”

“Documentation prevents confusion.”

“Or create it,” Harrison added

She ignored the comment and recorded his input. His breathing was still shallow, but there was no visible distress.

“Are you feeling any pain?” Jasmine asked. 

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“That is not specific.”

“Then write everywhere.”

Jasmine studied him, “On a scale of zero to ten?”

“Six."

“Does it worsen when you move?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We will assess your mobility slowly.”

Harrison’s expression changed,  "I thought we already discussed this.”

“We did.”

“I am not sitting on that hard chair,"  he said looking at the chair in irritation.

“You are if you want the discharge to be considered.”

Jasmine checked the chart again.

“Dr. Lawson ordered gradual mobilization if your observations remained stable. They are stable.”,

“That does not mean I agreed.”

“Your agreement is not required for an explanation. It is required before we proceed with the activity.”

He looked at her.

She continued, “I will not force you out of bed. But I will explain why it is necessary, assess whether you can tolerate it, and obtain your cooperation.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will document the refusal and inform the doctor.”

Harrison leaned back. Before he could answer, a nurse entered with a portable chair. Harrison looked at it as if she had brought an insult. The nurse stopped near the door. Jasmine raised her hand signalling her to come inside 

“Good morning Jasmine,” the nurse said, approaching Jasmine.

“Good morning nurse,” Jasmine replied.

“This came in for Mr. Cole. This is also a written letter of approval for his ambulation.”

Harrison’s eyes moved between them. The nurse maintained her gaze on Jasmine while Jasmine approached the bed.

“Mr. Cole, you have been in bed for several days. Remaining immobile increases the risk of weakness, poor circulation, pressure injuries, and other complications. Sitting out of bed for a short period is part of your recovery.”

“I can recover while lying here.”

“You can also become weaker while lying here.”

“I am not weak.”

“You required assistance breathing yesterday.”

His expression hardened.

“That is not an insult. It is a clinical fact.” Jasmine said keeping her voice steady.

For a moment, Harrison said nothing then he pushed the blanket away.

“Fine. Five minutes.” 

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Ten.”

“Six.”

“Ten.”

He glared at her. The nurse who was standing there tried to understand what was going on while Jasmine stood looking at Mr. Cole expectantly, waiting for his consent before proceeding.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Ten.”

The nurse moved to the opposite side of the bed while Jasmine explained each step.

“First, sit upright slowly. Tell me if you feel dizzy.”

“I know how to sit.”

“You have to do it slowly.”

Harrison pushed himself up. The movement immediately pulled at his injured side and his face tightened. Jasmine placed one hand near his shoulder without gripping him.

“Pause.”

“I’m fine.”

“Pause.”

He stopped.

“Breathe normally.”

“I am breathing normally.”

“You are holding your breath.”

He released it sharply while the nurse adjusted the pillows behind him.

“Any dizziness?” Jasmine asked.

“No.”

“Pain?”

“Yes.”

“Still six?”

“Seven,"  he said squeezing his face.

“Give him a moment,” Jasmine said looking at the nurse. Harrison stared straight ahead. His breathing sounded louder now, and sweat appeared near his hairline. He hated that they could see it, he hated the fact that standing had become an event requiring two nurses and a medical explanation. Most of all, he hated that Jasmine remained calm. She did not look frightened, pitiful but simply waited.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Do what you have to do,” Harrison replied.

Jasmine and the nurse assisted him to the edge of the bed. His feet touched the floor, and a sharp wave of pain moved through his body making him grip the mattress.

“Stop,” Jasmine instructed.

“I can stand.”

“You are not standing yet.”

“I said I can.”

“And I said stop forcing it.”

Harrison’s face had gone a little pale. Jasmine checked his pulse and watched his breathing.

“One hundred and twelve,” she said.

The nurse glanced at the monitor. Jasmine waited until his pulse began to settle.

“Do you feel faint?”

“No.”

“Then we will stand on three.”

“Do not count me like a child,” Harrison said, giving her a cold look.

“Then stand when I say three.”

“One.”

He frowned.

“Two.”

His hands tightened against the mattress.

“Three.”

With assistance, Harrison stood. For two seconds, he remained upright then his knees weakened. The nurse held his arm while Jasmine supported his upper body.

“Let’s sit him back down,” Jasmine said.

“I can stay up.”

“No.”

“I can…”

“Sit.”

They lowered him carefully into the chair. Harrison breathed heavily, his pride visibly wounded. Jasmine bent slightly so she could see his face.

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

“Shortness of breath?”

“A little.”

“Dizziness?”

“No.”

“Your body is telling us that you need to slow down.”

“My body is not in charge, I am in charge here.”

“It is currently winning the argument.”

He looked away. They allowed him to remain in the chair for some minutes, as ordered. During this time, Jasmine monitored his breathing, pulse, and level of comfort while Harrison said nothing. The silence was not peaceful. It was filled with his anger for the assistance, the pain, and the fact that Jasmine had been right. They helped him stand again and walked round the room. When the ten minutes ended, they helped him return to bed.

This time, he did not argue. After he settled against the pillows, The nurse removed the chair while Jasmine documented the activity.

“Assisted ambulation completed,” she read quietly. 

“The patient tolerated sitting and ambulated for ten minutes. Mild exertional dyspnea noted. Oxygen saturation decreased to ninety-two percent and improved with prescribed oxygen. Further mobilization will be gradual.”

Harrison watched her. “Does that report make me sound helpless?”

“It makes you sound like a patient recovering.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not same Mr.Cole”

He looked toward the window. The door opened again, and a hospital administrator entered with a folder. She was dressed in a black suit and carried herself with the careful confidence of someone accustomed to delivering decisions made by people above her.

“Mr. Cole,” she said. “I’m Denise Harper, from patient services.”

Harrison’s expression turned impatient.

“What now?”

“I need to discuss your discharge planning.”

“I’m not being discharged today.”

“Not today. We are beginning the arrangements so there will be no delay when the medical team clears you.”

“What arrangements?”

“Home assessment, medication coordination, follow-up appointments, equipment if required, and private nursing support.”

“I don’t need private nursing support.” Harrison said, his gaze shifting toward Jasmine.

Denise opened the folder. 

“Your medical team has recommended temporary assistance after discharge, especially because of the respiratory event and your current mobility limitations.”

“I have a private physician.”

“Your physician will not be expected to remain with you around the clock.”

Harrison’s face hardened.

Denise continued, “You may choose an agency-approved private nurse, or the hospital can coordinate a suitable placement.”

“I will choose.”

“That is acceptable, provided the nurse meets the clinical requirements.”

“Who decides what is suitable?”

“The medical team and hospital administration.”

“And she?” Harrison said, looking at Jasmine.

“What about me?” Jasmine said, raised her eyes from the chat.

“Are you part of the decision?”

Denise glanced at her.

“She is your assigned nurse during the day and evening shifts in the hospital. Any private nursing arrangement would need to be discussed separately.”

“Then I want her,” Harrison said readjusting himsellf on the bed.

The room became quiet. The nurse who had just returned with a glass of water, stopped near the door.

“No, I don't agree to that.” Jasmine said, looking at him.

“I was not asking you.” Harrison’s eyes narrowed.

“You cannot select me as your private home nurse without discussing the arrangement with the hospital and requesting my opinion.”

“Then they will discuss it. Your opinion doesn't matter here.”

Denise closed the folder slowly.

“Mr. Cole, private nursing assignments depend on availability, qualifications, scheduling, and consent.”

“Her schedule is irrelevant.” Harrison said.

“It should be considered Mr. Cole,” Denise Harper replied.

Harrison’s gaze remained fixed on Jasmine. “You work every shift except night.”

“That is my current hospital assignment,” Jasmine replied.

“Then continue it at my home.”

Jasmine’s expression did not change. “I have not agreed to that."

“You are assigned to my care.” Harrison said.

“In the hospital.” Jasmine replied.

“Care is care,” Harrison added.

“No, it is not. The setting, responsibilities, hours, and conditions are different,” Jasmine said.

Denise nodded. “She is correct.”

Harrison looked between them. “Fine. What are the conditions?”

Jasmine placed the chart down.

“Professional boundaries. A clear schedule. Appropriate staffing. Access to necessary medical equipment. Respectful communication. And the authority to perform my duties without interference.”

Harrison gave a short laugh, “You want authority in my house?”

“I require authority over your nursing care.”

“And if I disagree?”

“Then I cannot accept the assignment.”

His expression became unreadable while Denise made a note in her folder.

“We will arrange a meeting with the hospital administration, Dr. Lawson, and the discharge coordinator. No private arrangement will be finalized until your medical condition is reviewed and the terms are agreed upon.”

Jasmine picked up her chart again.

“This conversation is over!” Harrison thundered.

“See you soon Mr. Cole,” Denise Harper said, as she got up and walked away.

       But as Denise and the other nurse left the room, Harrison kept staring at Jasmine making sure she wasn't aware. He had expected her to accept. He’d expected his money, his luxury, his status to make it an easy yes. Instead, she’d put conditions on his offer before he’d even made it.

      Harrison realized that choosing Jasmine would not mean controlling her. It might mean allowing her into his home while accepting that she would still refuse to obey him and that was a price he was not yet sure he was willing to pay.