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Authors: Katie Ganshert
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change her life for the better.
The woman pointed to the tabbed signature lines. “We just need you to sign.”
Robin tried to focus on the sheet in front of her but couldn’t make anything out except fuzzy black print. What if the doctors were wrong? What if there was a chance he would recover?
A chair creaked. “Robin?” Bethany said. “Are you okay?”
The woman leaned forward and held out the pen. According to her, people were waiting for Micah’s organs right now. People whose lives would be saved, or improved, all because of Micah’s death. Maybe knowing this should have offered comfort. Maybe it should have brought a sense of meaning to such a loss. Some sort of twisted silver lining. But it didn’t. She wanted Micah’s organs to stay with him. She wanted him to wake up and pull her to his side and whisper that he loved her, that he was sorry for putting her through this. Especially now.
She covered her stomach with her hand. Micah didn’t know. Maybe if he knew, he’d wake up. The woman lifted the pen higher. Robin shifted away from the offensive offering.
Lord, I can’t do this .
“Mrs. Price? I’m so sorry you have to go through this, but we need your signature if we’re to move forward with the procedure.”
The procedure? What they were about to do to her husband couldhardly be called a procedure. She clamped her mouth shut, squeezed her eyes closed, and turned her face away, fighting off the dizziness swirling in her head. Without thinking, she pushed her chair from the table and stood. “I’m sorry.” She clutched her hand to her chest and tried to suck in oxygen, but the thick air refused to comply. “I just need …”
Bethany placed her hand on Robin’s elbow.
Robin swayed, then regained her balance before turning away from the gray-suited woman. She stumbled down the hall, past the waiting room filled with Micah’s family, and slipped inside his room. She leaned against the wall, heart beating like a fast-paced concerto. She didn’t look up until she heard someone move.
Dr. Markson’s presence startled her. He stood over Micah’s bedside with a file in his hand, and for one brief and frantic moment, she thought he’d turned off the machines before she had the chance to tell Micah the news. But the whoosh ing of the ventilator soothed her fear.
Dr. Markson moved to her side.
She looked from Micah to the doctor, and the words she’d wanted to say since they’d performed all those tests poured from her mouth. “How do you know?”
Technology was always advancing. Always improving. Was it really that unreasonable to think Micah might recover someday? “How do you know he won’t wake up?”
Dr. Markson tucked the file under his arm.
“I was looking on the Internet, and there are stories. Stories of people who woke up from comas months, even years later.”
The doctor examined her kindly. “Micah’s not in a coma, Robin.”
She shook her head and took a good, long look at her husband. Three bags of fluid hung near his bed. Blue tubing ran from a large white machine and attached to his mouth.
A sob bubbled in her throat.
Wake up!
The words echoed through her. Micah didn’t move.
“We’ve run every test there is to run.”
She knew. She’d watched doctors shine lights in Micah’s eyes and stick tongue depressors down his throat, all the while holding out for good news. But it never came. No corneal or gag reflex. She watched them inject radioactive isotopes in Micah’s bloodstream to measure the blood flow in his brain. When the results came back, she’d demanded they do it over. Nothing changed the second time around.
“I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t one hundred percent positive, but Micah’s gone.”
His words, though not the first time she’d heard them, stole her breath. “I need a moment.”
Dr. Markson nodded and left the room.
She approached Micah’s bedside, recalling the first night of their honeymoon, when she’d touched his arm
The woman pointed to the tabbed signature lines. “We just need you to sign.”
Robin tried to focus on the sheet in front of her but couldn’t make anything out except fuzzy black print. What if the doctors were wrong? What if there was a chance he would recover?
A chair creaked. “Robin?” Bethany said. “Are you okay?”
The woman leaned forward and held out the pen. According to her, people were waiting for Micah’s organs right now. People whose lives would be saved, or improved, all because of Micah’s death. Maybe knowing this should have offered comfort. Maybe it should have brought a sense of meaning to such a loss. Some sort of twisted silver lining. But it didn’t. She wanted Micah’s organs to stay with him. She wanted him to wake up and pull her to his side and whisper that he loved her, that he was sorry for putting her through this. Especially now.
She covered her stomach with her hand. Micah didn’t know. Maybe if he knew, he’d wake up. The woman lifted the pen higher. Robin shifted away from the offensive offering.
Lord, I can’t do this .
“Mrs. Price? I’m so sorry you have to go through this, but we need your signature if we’re to move forward with the procedure.”
The procedure? What they were about to do to her husband couldhardly be called a procedure. She clamped her mouth shut, squeezed her eyes closed, and turned her face away, fighting off the dizziness swirling in her head. Without thinking, she pushed her chair from the table and stood. “I’m sorry.” She clutched her hand to her chest and tried to suck in oxygen, but the thick air refused to comply. “I just need …”
Bethany placed her hand on Robin’s elbow.
Robin swayed, then regained her balance before turning away from the gray-suited woman. She stumbled down the hall, past the waiting room filled with Micah’s family, and slipped inside his room. She leaned against the wall, heart beating like a fast-paced concerto. She didn’t look up until she heard someone move.
Dr. Markson’s presence startled her. He stood over Micah’s bedside with a file in his hand, and for one brief and frantic moment, she thought he’d turned off the machines before she had the chance to tell Micah the news. But the whoosh ing of the ventilator soothed her fear.
Dr. Markson moved to her side.
She looked from Micah to the doctor, and the words she’d wanted to say since they’d performed all those tests poured from her mouth. “How do you know?”
Technology was always advancing. Always improving. Was it really that unreasonable to think Micah might recover someday? “How do you know he won’t wake up?”
Dr. Markson tucked the file under his arm.
“I was looking on the Internet, and there are stories. Stories of people who woke up from comas months, even years later.”
The doctor examined her kindly. “Micah’s not in a coma, Robin.”
She shook her head and took a good, long look at her husband. Three bags of fluid hung near his bed. Blue tubing ran from a large white machine and attached to his mouth.
A sob bubbled in her throat.
Wake up!
The words echoed through her. Micah didn’t move.
“We’ve run every test there is to run.”
She knew. She’d watched doctors shine lights in Micah’s eyes and stick tongue depressors down his throat, all the while holding out for good news. But it never came. No corneal or gag reflex. She watched them inject radioactive isotopes in Micah’s bloodstream to measure the blood flow in his brain. When the results came back, she’d demanded they do it over. Nothing changed the second time around.
“I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t one hundred percent positive, but Micah’s gone.”
His words, though not the first time she’d heard them, stole her breath. “I need a moment.”
Dr. Markson nodded and left the room.
She approached Micah’s bedside, recalling the first night of their honeymoon, when she’d touched his arm
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