Chapter 76: Chapter Seventy Six: The Diagnosis

(Lior's POV)

I sat between my father and my stepmother in the hospital waiting room, staring at the closed door in front of us.

My father's leg bounced beneath the chair.

He had been doing that for almost twenty minutes. Every now and then, he coughed and reached for the cigarette pack in his pocket before remembering where he was and putting it back.

I watched him.

He looked tired. Not the kind of tiredness that a good night's sleep could fix.

He looked worn down.

The hospital made it more obvious. Under the bright white lights, I could see how much weight he'd lost. His face looked thinner than I remembered, and there was a faint yellow tinge around his eyes.

I looked away.

The door opened.

“Mr. Lawson?”

My father stood up.

The doctor looked at his chart before looking at all three of us. “Please, come in.”

We followed him into the office.

I sat down across from the doctor while my father and stepmother took the seats beside each other.

The doctor pulled up my father's results. “I've reviewed the blood work and imaging we've done so far.”

My stomach tightened. “And?”

The doctor looked at me. “Your father's liver has sustained significant damage from years of alcohol consumption.”

My father shifted in his seat.

The doctor continued. “At this point, we're not dealing with simple fatty liver disease or mild inflammation. Your father has advanced liver scarring. What we're seeing is consistent with decompensated cirrhosis.”

The word sounded heavy. “Cirrhosis?”

“Yes.”

I swallowed. “What exactly does that mean?”

The doctor turned the monitor slightly toward us. “The liver is remarkably good at repairing itself, but repeated injury over many years can cause permanent scarring. As the scarring progresses, the liver loses its ability to perform its normal functions.”

He pointed at the images.

“Your father's liver has reached a stage where it's struggling to compensate for the damage. That's what we mean by "decompensated.””

I stared at the screen. “Can it be cured?”

The doctor was quiet for a moment.

“Established cirrhosis isn't something we can simply reverse with medication. But that doesn't mean there's nothing we can do.”

I held onto those words. “Then what can you do?”

“We can treat the complications, protect whatever liver function remains, prevent further damage, and address the cause.”

His eyes moved toward my father.

“The most important thing is that he stops drinking alcohol.”

My father sighed. “I've already cut down.”

“Cutting down is better than continuing to drink heavily,” the doctor said, “but given the severity of his liver disease, the goal needs to be complete abstinence.”

My father looked away.

“You heard him.” I said.

“I heard him.”

“Then stop drinking, please.”

He didn't answer.

The doctor continued. “Because he's been drinking heavily for a long time, we also don't want him attempting to stop without medical guidance if there's a risk of withdrawal. Depending on his history, withdrawal can be dangerous. We can help him stop safely and connect him with the appropriate support.”

I nodded. “What happens if he keeps drinking?”

The doctor's expression became more serious. “The damage can progress more quickly. His liver function can deteriorate further, and the complications of cirrhosis can become life-threatening.”

My fingers tightened together. “What complications?”

The doctor began listing them. “Fluid can accumulate in the abdomen, which is called ascites. He may develop swelling in his legs. His skin and eyes may become increasingly yellow because his liver can't properly process bilirubin. He may bruise or bleed more easily because the liver produces proteins involved in blood clotting.”

I glanced at my father.

He already looked yellow.

The doctor continued. “He may also experience severe fatigue, loss of appetite, nausea, weight loss, itching, dark urine or pale stools.”

The doctor paused a second, before continuing.

“There are more serious complications we need to watch for. Confusion, changes in behavior, excessive sleepiness or difficulty staying awake can indicate hepatic encephalopathy, which happens when toxins build up because the liver isn't clearing them properly.”

My eyes went back to my father. He had complained about being tired. According to my step mom, he had been sleeping more.

He's very close to what the doctor was saying.

“There's also a risk of internal bleeding, particularly from enlarged veins in the digestive tract. Those can rupture and cause severe bleeding. Kidney function can also deteriorate. And patients with cirrhosis have an increased risk of serious infections and liver cancer.”

My stomach twisted. “Is he going to die?”

The question came out before I could stop it.

My stepmother turned away.

The doctor didn't give me the easy answer. “He is seriously ill.”

My heart sank.

“But being seriously ill isn't the same thing as having no chance. Some patients remain stable for years with appropriate treatment and complete abstinence from alcohol. Others deteriorate much more quickly, particularly once complications become difficult to control.”

I swallowed. “So you don't know how long he has?”

“No. I can't give you a reliable timeline from this information alone.”

The uncertainty somehow frightened me more.

“What are we supposed to do?”

“We take this one step at a time.” The doctor pulled another sheet of paper toward himself. “First, we need to manage his current complications. We need regular blood tests to monitor his liver and kidney function. He'll need imaging and ongoing surveillance for liver cancer. If the abdominal fluid becomes significant, we'll treat it with medication and, if necessary, drain it.”

He wrote something down.

“He also needs proper nutritional support. Adequate calories and protein are important in cirrhosis, especially because malnutrition and muscle loss can make outcomes worse.”

I listened carefully.

“What about a transplant?” I asked, as the idea came to my head.

The doctor looked at me. “Transplant evaluation may become appropriate depending on how his condition progresses and how well he responds to treatment. But that's not a decision we can make today. First, we need to stabilize him and address the alcohol use.”

I nodded.

I was trying to remember everything.

The doctor handed me a written note. “This contains some basic nutritional guidance and the follow-up instructions. I strongly recommend working with a dietitian who understands liver disease rather than trying to design his diet yourself.”

I took the paper carefully. “Okay.”

My voice sounded strangely small.

The doctor looked at my father. “And you need to take this seriously. Cutting down isn't enough anymore.”

My father stared at the floor. “I understand.”

I wasn't sure he did.

But I had heard enough. My father wasn't simply sick, he had a damaged liver that had reached the point where his body was struggling to compensate.

And he was still drinking.

When we stepped out of the doctor's office, I took a deep breath… then another. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.

My stepmother touched my arm. “Lior.”

“I'm okay.”

I wasn't. But I didn't want to cry here.

I looked at the nutritional note in my hand.

“The doctor said he needs proper nutrition. I'll look into a good meal plan.”

My stepmother nodded.

“I'll find out what foods are appropriate, what portions he needs, and what he should avoid. I'll manage that until I find a dietician.”

She looked at me.

“Can you manage the cooking according to the meal plan?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

My stepmother called a cab for herself and my father.

Before they left, I crouched slightly in front of my father.

“Please stop drinking.”

He looked at me. “I'll try.”

I didn't trust his words but I nodded anyway.

“Call me if you feel worse.”

“I will.”

I watched them get into the cab.

I stood there until the car disappeared from sight. Then I ordered another one for myself.

I needed to go home, I needed to think of a way to handle this.

__________

The moment I got home, I dropped my bag on the couch and opened my laptop.

I placed the doctor's note beside me, then I started researching.

Decompensated cirrhosis, alcohol-associated liver disease, ascites, nutrition, protein, sodium, vitamins, medication, complications, warning signs… I opened one page after another, and I wrote everything down.

Then I started making a shopping list.

Foods he could eat; things for breakfast, things for lunch, things for dinner, snacks and drinks to divert him from alcohol, nutritional supplements.

Then I started budgeting; I calculated the cost of groceries, then medical appointments, then tests, then medications, then possible emergencies…

The numbers kept getting bigger, and my handwriting became messier.

I stared at the page. There was too much, too much information, too much money, too many things that could go wrong, too many things I couldn't control.

My breathing became shallow.

I pushed my chair back. “No.”

I stood up.

I couldn't do this right now.

I walked out of the house, meeting the quietness outside

I went down to the edge of the lake and squatted near the water.

For a while, I just stared.

A small toad hopped across the grass. I watched it stop near the water, then it blinked.

I laughed quietly. “Must be nice.”

The toad looked completely unbothered.

No hospital bills, no sick parents, no complicated relationships, no terrifying diagnoses, no responsibilities.

Just a toad.