The battle is in full swing.
On the one side, we have an imposing, tall, large man in his early 80s, someone who has all his adult life felt in charge of his destiny, confident that science has all the answers, generous and intelligent and safe in his knowledge that a folded banknote slipped into some hand will open doors when in a tight spot. Someone who never had to bother anybody for support or explanation and certainly has no intention to do so, now of all times, definitely not his offspring (who are his minors if anything), whose patience with casts and physiotherapy and clinical examinations and medical opinions of young (!) doctors has run out. Definitely.
On the other side, we have his eldest child, a primary school teacher (tsk tsk), quick-tempered, confident that she sees the bigger picture with all the answers and that he has generally lost it, incl. the ability to ever drive his big shiny silver car again, unwilling to allow him make mistakes and thus bring shame on the family (who?) and demolish his good name (and hers) and really really pissed off about his weight gain.
The referee: da baby boy, ignored. As yet.
I duck for cover. The blessings of being born in the middle.