Page 222 - James Caan - The Real Deal

The Real Deal

‘I don’t know how he got here, but by rights he shouldn’t be able
to get out of bed and we need to operate on him right away.’ He
said they needed to make an incision in his neck so he could be
hooked up to a machine that would cleanse his blood for him.
‘That’s the bad news. Would you like some good news?’
I didn’t need to answer.
‘This hospital is a specialist in renal care. There isn’t anywhere
better in the world that your dad could be right now.’
What were the chances that the hospital I had helped keep open
would be the one that would save my dad’s life? The coincidence
was overwhelming and I just sat there unable to take it in. Look
at the way God pays you back, I thought. I was given a tour of
the renal unit and met all the specialists, but all I could think about
was that test tube of black blood. It looked like it had been taken
from a corpse.
My dad’s treatment took about six hours, and as I waited for
him I realised I was scared, relieved and stunned all at once. What
if my brother hadn’t got on a plane? What if we’d taken him to
Mum’s GP? What if I hadn’t heard that appeal on the radio for
Barts a couple of years earlier? It was too much to get my head
round.
I stayed with Dad until midnight and then went back the next
morning. He had been such a force in my life for so long and
seeing him so weak was difficult to adjust to. After three or four
days he had visibly brightened, even though he knew he would be
a dialysis patient for the rest of his life.
He was taken to a general ward to recuperate, and on his way
there he passed a framed copy of the paper reporting on the day
Alexander Mann had raised the money. The next time I went to
see him, he asked me about it. Can you imagine how proud he was
of me? It was one of the most emotional conversations of my life.
When he’d been back in the country a couple of months my dad
asked me to do him a favour.

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