Read Online Let Him Live by Lurlene McDaniel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lurlene McDaniel
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sob.
“They’re doing all they can, Peggy. We just have to wait,” the man beside her said.
Meg sucked in her breath. This had to be the potential donor’s family. Meg lowered her gaze, trying to make herself as small and as inconspicuousas possible, wishing she’d chosen any room but this one to wait for her father.
“He’s still alive,” another woman said. “The police said he was alive when the ambulance left the accident.”
Meg experienced a wave of horror. The person they were talking about wasn’t alive. She’d heard her father mention brain death on his car phone. She felt guilty withholding the information, but knew there was nothing she could do or say.
“Remember when Blake was little?” the woman asked. “Remember how he’d drive his trike to the end of the driveway for hours on end? Then, when he got his driver’s license, he was happy. So full of life.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Mama,” a young woman said.
“Do I remember? How could I not remember? He was my baby.” She broke into quiet sobs, and the man beside her put his arms around her.
Meg felt desperately sorry for them. Death meant going away forever. It meant leaving families and friends behind. It meant leaving a hole in time and space that only that one special person could fill up. She understood that part—understood it very well. She began to grow queasy.
Two men and a woman entered the waiting room. Meg could tell at a glance that they were medical personnel. “Dr. Burnside!” the woman cried. “How’s Blake? How’s my son?”
The doctor took her hands and pulled her toher feet. “Peggy, I want you and your family to come into the conference room with me. I want my colleagues to talk to all of you.” He nodded toward the other man and the woman.
“Are they surgeons? Does my Blake need some special kind of operation? Whatever he needs, doctor, do it.”
“Come, let’s go where there’s more privacy.” Dr. Burnside’s gaze flicked over Meg.
Her cheeks burned, and she stared stonily into space. Once they all left the room, Meg released her breath, startled that she’d been holding it all this time. The room seemed too quiet, and she wished her father would come. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She had no idea how long the operation to remove the boy’s—she couldn’t bring herself to say his name—organs would take. Not long, she figured. She knew how critical a factor time was in transplantation.
Just a little bit longer, Donovan
, she told herself. His wait was practically over.
Meg lost track of time, but when her father appeared at the doorway, she was surprised. Somehow, it didn’t seem long enough for him to have completed his tasks. There was no liveliness about him either, no undercurrent of raw energy, as she often saw when he was facing a transplant surgery. “Are you finished?” she asked haltingly.
He came over and sat heavily in the chair beside her. For the first time, she noticed lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. “There isn’t going to be any surgery,” he said.
“There isn’t? Why not?”
“The family refused to grant permission.”
His words hit her like stones. “B-but they have to. Don’t they know Donovan’s dying?”
Her father took her hand. “Honey, they don’t know Donovan. All they know is their eighteen-year-old son is dead.”
“Didn’t you try to change their minds? Didn’t you tell them how important it was?”
“Organ donation is voluntary, Meg. People can’t be forced.”
She felt panic well up inside her. “So, what will they do with him? Just shove him into the ground? Just let his organs go to waste when they could be put into someone else and help him live longer?”
“You can’t think about it that way. You have to understand and respect their feelings.”
“Well, I don’t!” Meg tore her hand from her father’s and stood. Her legs felt rubbery, but she began to pace. “It’s not fair. Why
“They’re doing all they can, Peggy. We just have to wait,” the man beside her said.
Meg sucked in her breath. This had to be the potential donor’s family. Meg lowered her gaze, trying to make herself as small and as inconspicuousas possible, wishing she’d chosen any room but this one to wait for her father.
“He’s still alive,” another woman said. “The police said he was alive when the ambulance left the accident.”
Meg experienced a wave of horror. The person they were talking about wasn’t alive. She’d heard her father mention brain death on his car phone. She felt guilty withholding the information, but knew there was nothing she could do or say.
“Remember when Blake was little?” the woman asked. “Remember how he’d drive his trike to the end of the driveway for hours on end? Then, when he got his driver’s license, he was happy. So full of life.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Mama,” a young woman said.
“Do I remember? How could I not remember? He was my baby.” She broke into quiet sobs, and the man beside her put his arms around her.
Meg felt desperately sorry for them. Death meant going away forever. It meant leaving families and friends behind. It meant leaving a hole in time and space that only that one special person could fill up. She understood that part—understood it very well. She began to grow queasy.
Two men and a woman entered the waiting room. Meg could tell at a glance that they were medical personnel. “Dr. Burnside!” the woman cried. “How’s Blake? How’s my son?”
The doctor took her hands and pulled her toher feet. “Peggy, I want you and your family to come into the conference room with me. I want my colleagues to talk to all of you.” He nodded toward the other man and the woman.
“Are they surgeons? Does my Blake need some special kind of operation? Whatever he needs, doctor, do it.”
“Come, let’s go where there’s more privacy.” Dr. Burnside’s gaze flicked over Meg.
Her cheeks burned, and she stared stonily into space. Once they all left the room, Meg released her breath, startled that she’d been holding it all this time. The room seemed too quiet, and she wished her father would come. Maybe she should have stayed home after all. She had no idea how long the operation to remove the boy’s—she couldn’t bring herself to say his name—organs would take. Not long, she figured. She knew how critical a factor time was in transplantation.
Just a little bit longer, Donovan
, she told herself. His wait was practically over.
Meg lost track of time, but when her father appeared at the doorway, she was surprised. Somehow, it didn’t seem long enough for him to have completed his tasks. There was no liveliness about him either, no undercurrent of raw energy, as she often saw when he was facing a transplant surgery. “Are you finished?” she asked haltingly.
He came over and sat heavily in the chair beside her. For the first time, she noticed lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. “There isn’t going to be any surgery,” he said.
“There isn’t? Why not?”
“The family refused to grant permission.”
His words hit her like stones. “B-but they have to. Don’t they know Donovan’s dying?”
Her father took her hand. “Honey, they don’t know Donovan. All they know is their eighteen-year-old son is dead.”
“Didn’t you try to change their minds? Didn’t you tell them how important it was?”
“Organ donation is voluntary, Meg. People can’t be forced.”
She felt panic well up inside her. “So, what will they do with him? Just shove him into the ground? Just let his organs go to waste when they could be put into someone else and help him live longer?”
“You can’t think about it that way. You have to understand and respect their feelings.”
“Well, I don’t!” Meg tore her hand from her father’s and stood. Her legs felt rubbery, but she began to pace. “It’s not fair. Why
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