Chapter 230: Don't Want Treatment
Frank slept at home until the next day before finally recovering and clearing his head. Leaning against the wall, he made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself.
Anyone who's ever drunk heavily knows the feeling—when you wake up the next day and pee, it reeks of alcohol.
"Damn it."
Frank cursed as he looked down at the color of his urine. The symptoms of his cancer seemed to have worsened.
"Maybe I should go get checked out at the hospital," he thought.
Frank had avoided the hospital before because he couldn't afford treatment. Without a confirmed diagnosis, he could still cling to hope—maybe it had all been a misdiagnosis.
After all, back then, his body still seemed healthy. He could run, jump, and do everything like normal.
Part of his reluctance came from his past life experience, too.
Frank hated going to the hospital—just like a lot of people. Even when something hurts, he'd rather tough it out than go in for a checkup. If the pain got really bad, he'd just go to a pharmacy and buy some medicine. As long as the pain went away, he'd assume it was nothing serious. He simply didn't want to deal with hospitals.
He didn't know if others were like that, but he definitely was—and he didn't even know why. He just didn't like hospitals.
So for all these reasons, Frank had never gone in for an exam.
Back in New York, his health still seemed fine.
But after moving to New Mexico, something changed. Whether it was the climate or the cancer getting worse, Frank began noticing abnormalities in his body.
Now, he finally had money. Even if it was dirty money, it could still be used to pay for exams or treatment. Cash was cash—hospitals weren't banks; they didn't ask where your money came from.
But every time Frank thought of Walter—he lost all desire to get tested or seek treatment.
Frank had watched Walter go through it—injecting drugs into his veins, growing weaker by the day. In just a few weeks, Walter had wasted away beyond recognition. Most of his hair had fallen out, he was constantly vomiting, and he couldn't keep any food down. He lost over twenty pounds in just one week.
Every day, Walter had to take more than a dozen prescription pills just to deal with the side effects of chemotherapy—anti-nausea, pain management, all of it.
And the chemo? It barely worked. Almost no effect at all.
Frank had looked up information on cancer treatment. Chemotherapy inflicted severe damage on the body. It was, in most cases, a doomed battle—only a tiny fraction of patients ever recovered. Every success story was basically a miracle.
Yes, treatment might extend life by a few months, maybe a couple years, but the pain and suffering was immense—like waiting for death in a living hell.
Walter went through all that agony, paid such a high price… and it had achieved virtually nothing.
Frank's own symptoms were far worse than Walter's had been. The treatment would likely be even more ineffective, and even more painful.
If that's how it was going to be, Frank would rather not be treated. He wanted to enjoy the time he had left—just like Walter—leaving as much money as possible for his family before he went.
In truth, many people shared this mindset—especially middle-aged and elderly people. They didn't want to spend money or become a burden on their children. Even if they discovered something was wrong, they'd hide it and avoid telling their families, enduring the illness in silence.
The heart of a parent is always the same.
Frank splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up, then headed downstairs.
"Want some coffee?" Lip asked, sipping from his mug as he saw Frank coming down.
"Yeah, pour me one," Frank replied.
"Your tolerance is getting worse," Lip remarked casually.
"Sorry. Yesterday was supposed to be a celebration," Frank said with a wry smile.
The two of them had shared a rare moment of connection the day before—almost like a real father and son.
"It's fine. You were just talking nonsense." Lip shrugged.
"Karen's going to college," Frank suddenly said.
"Huh?" Lip looked confused.
"She skipped a grade. She's starting at the University of Chicago this fall," Frank said.
"What's that got to do with me?" Lip asked, turning his eyes to the TV.
"I know you still care about Karen. You've seen how much she's changed. She's not the same as she used to be."
"If you want to win her back, you're going to have to change too. You can't keep standing still."
"You said you didn't have any direction in life, right? You felt lost? Then set a goal—just a small one. Go to college. Graduate. Get a degree. Then try to win Karen back."
"What you do after that, you can figure out later," Frank said.
"…" Lip stayed silent.
"You don't have to worry about the money. I've got over 200,000 dollars now. That's more than enough to cover your education. There'll be more coming in, too. So whatever you're afraid of—it won't happen."
"Your siblings? They're not your responsibility. That's my job as their father. You just need to live your own life," Frank said.
After yesterday's heart-to-heart, Frank had a pretty good sense of what was going on in Lip's mind.
"Two hundred grand?! Where the hell did you get that kind of money?!" Lip asked, stunned.
"Don't worry about it," Frank said.
"Does Fiona know?" Lip pressed.
"She's known for a while. I already invested 50 grand into Kevin's bar," Frank said.
"You invested in that dump? I've seen the books—helped Kevin sort them myself. That place wouldn't even sell for 50 grand," Lip frowned.
Kevin was a lovable meathead, and Veronica wasn't much better when it came to math.
Taxes were a nightmare for them. Even when Lip was barely ten, he was already helping with Kevin's tax filings.
Since Kevin took over the bar, Lip had been helping manage the books, so he knew it wasn't profitable—it was basically just breaking even at best.
"I've got my own plans for the bar. In a couple days, I'll bring someone over. You'll hand over all the financial records to her, do the handoff, and then you won't have to worry about it anymore," Frank said.
Hearing that, Lip didn't press the issue. Frank's stake in the bar had nothing to do with him anyway.
"So you really do have 200 grand," Lip muttered.
"Yeah. And there'll be more. You've got enough to go to college now. You just need to ask yourself, without all the baggage—do you want to go?" Frank said.
"I'll think about it. I'll talk to Professor Hurst," Lip replied.
Professor Hurst—the University of Chicago professor who had caught Lip taking tests for other students last winter.
He had admired Lip's intelligence and had stayed in touch over the past six months. Lip would often go to him for help, especially when he needed hard-to-find equipment parts.
The police tracker device Lip invented? Some of the components had come from Professor Hurst.
"Just give it some thought. No matter what you decide, your old man's got your back."
"But… when it comes to relationships, you'd better think it through. Mandy's a good girl. If you really don't have feelings for her anymore, you should break it off as soon as possible."
"If you're still tangled up with Mandy, there's no way you'll ever get Karen back," Frank said.