Read Online Mitigation by Sawyer Bennett - Free Book Online Page B

with her church, and she does volunteer work. Oh, and she
loves to garden. She always said she was happiest when her hands were
about three inches deep in soil.”
    “Tell me about
her church,” Matt says. “What sorts of things does she do
there?”
    And it goes on and
on. Matt sits there, using all of his skills he’s acquired as
an attorney, and he questions me like I’m a witness with a
juicy piece of information that he’s trying to discover. He’s
trying to help me discover what my mom would want. Except he’s
amazingly gentle with his questions, like he’s leading a small
child on the witness stand.
    Matt gets me to talk
for almost an hour straight, and things start to get clearer. My
mother loved life too much to ever want to live life in a bed, stuck
to a respirator.
    “What about
you, Matt? What would you want if this happened to you?”
    “If I was just
like your mom? I’d want to be let go.”
    I nod, because
that’s exactly what I would want, too.
    Matt and I head back
to the room and wait for the doctor. I marvel at how Matt seems to be
at ease in this situation, and I can only guess that has come from
years of dealing with people, such as lawyers, judges, and doctors. I
think it’s probably very hard to get Matt Connover flustered
about anything. He’s a rock, and it’s something I sorely
needed today.
    While we wait for
the doctor, Matt and I work a crossword puzzle together. Every once
in a while, I’ll take a break and walk over to my mom. I’ll
stroke her cheek or hold her hand for a bit.
    I start my goodbyes.
    The doctor finally
comes, and I introduce Matt as a “friend”. Dr. Fritz is a
neurosurgeon and was called in last night to evaluate my mom. He’s
a warm and outgoing guy, maybe in his mid-fifties, and I don’t
think I’ve ever met a doctor more personable. But he’s
very grave when talking to me about my mom’s condition. He uses
a lot of large words that I don’t understand, but at the end of
the conversation, he pats my knee gently and says, “Bottom
line… there is almost absolutely no hope of your mother
regaining brain function.”
    Matt reaches out to
take my hand, and I’m grateful for the contact. He turns to the
doctor and says, “Put it in a percentage for us to understand,
Dr. Fritz.”
    The kind doctor
looks at Matt seriously. “Less than a one-percent chance. I
mean… far less than one percent. It would be a medical
miracle.”
    Less than one
percent. A medical miracle. The thing that sucks about that
phraseology is that it still implies there is some hope, no matter
how infinitesimal it is.
    “If it was
your mother… what would you do?” I ask.
    Dr. Fritz gives me a
knowing smile, and I can tell this is not the first time he’s
been asked that question. “Miss Dawson, if my mother was in the
same exact circumstances as your mother… there’s no
question. I’d discontinue extraordinary measures and let her
go.”
    Taking a deep
breath, I nod. I know what has to be done.

Matt checked us into
the The Hermitage in downtown Nashville and immediately sent me to
take a hot shower while he ordered room service. It took a whole lot
of fighting on his part, but he finally got me to agree to sleep in a
hotel rather than in a chair in mom’s room. My time with her is
running short, and I want to be with her every minute. I feel guilty
now... at this very moment, as I stand under the hot water and let it
cleanse my body. I feel guilty because I only have precious hours
left with my mom, but here I am in the comforts of a swank hotel.
    The only reason I’m
here is because Matt gently reminded me that my mother is essentially
gone already. That she has no comprehension, and she wouldn’t
know if I was sitting by her side or sitting in a hotel. But the real
kicker—the way Matt got me—was he told me that based on
what he’d learned about my mom that day, she wouldn’t
want her daughter suffering and would want her to get some rest.
    I caved, and now
here