Song of Renewal (6 page)

“I’m Dr. Abrams, head of Neurosurgery and – ”

Garrison sprang to his feet in one frantic motion. “Where’s our daughter?”

“Please,” the doctor said quietly. “I know this is difficult, but try to be calm.”

“Is she….” Liza’s voice was a mere wisp of sound as she convulsed with chills.

“She’s alive, but barely.” The doctor ordered a passing nurse to get a blanket for Liza. “I want to be up front with you.” The man’s features and manner painted a grim picture. “Your daughter has sustained terrible trauma to the brain and is unconscious. At present, she cannot breathe on her own. We’ve inserted a breathing tube and hooked her to a respiratory machine. Right now, we know that there are injuries to both her back and legs. We’ll need more tests to show the extent of her internal injuries.

“The prognosis is… not good. I think you should prepare yourselves for the worst. Naturally, we’ll do everything we can to save her, but at this moment, I can’t promise anything other than to keep you informed.”

“What – ” Liza licked her dry lips. “What about Troy?” Another chill assailed her. The nurse entered and quickly wrapped Liza’s shoulders with a blanket.

Dr. Abrams was silent for a moment, head lowered, then he looked at her. “I’m sorry. He died instantly. The car hydroplaned before leaving the road and crashing into a tree. The impact was profound.”

“Oh my God!” Liza sobbed and buried her face in the blanket’s fold.

Garrison looked at her, his eyes dazed. “Does Troy’s family know?” he asked the doctor. Dr. Abrams said that they did and that they’d informed the staff that Troy was an organ donor. They wanted to honor that, to give someone else life. They were currently preparing for the organ procedures, as well as making arrangements with a local funeral home.

“Is your daughter an organ donor?” asked Dr. Abrams.

“No.” They both spoke at once. Then Liza said, “We – I’m not ready to – ”

“Right,” Garrison confirmed abruptly.

“I understand,” said Dr. Abrams.

Organ donor
. Liza squeezed her eyes shut.
The nightmare grows
.

The doctor leaned and took Liza’s icy hands in his. He spoke soothing words to her, then turned to Garrison and asked, “Are you all right?”

Garrison shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

Liza heard the anger in his voice and withdrew even more within herself.
Will I survive this?

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Dr. Abrams asked.

Garrison’s white lips tightened into a thin line and he looked at Liza, his eyes black as onyx. “Yes. Undo tonight.”

Liza gazed down into her daughter’s still, ghastly pale, swollen face and despair slammed her, sucked the breath from her. Tubes protruded from the young body in Frankenstein fashion. Seeing the hose down Angel’s throat nearly gagged Liza. Did it have to be so big and intrusive? How must that feel?
Oh God – my baby
.

Had she not known who Angel was by her wheat-blond hair alone, she could never have ID’d her.
How can I live with this?
I caused it all.
She swayed and then caught the mattress edge to steady herself.

Reality slapped her again. She could not depend on Garrison right now. The poor man now paddled his own canoe as hard as he could. Upstream. Over rapids.

Liza, too, would have to paddle hers alone.

Standing on the opposite side of the hospital bed, he’d not so much as glanced her way since their arrival in the antiseptic, dimly lit chamber.
Will he be able to forgive me?

Shock. Some people react this way. Liza felt an overwhelming sympathy for Garrison and resolved to be stronger. To face this thing. She must.

Much later, at three a.m., on doctor’s orders, they drove home to get some rest. The rain had let up. A dismal fog replaced it. “You won’t be of any use to your daughter or yourselves if you don’t get some sleep,” Dr. Abrams had pointed out. “Besides, you can’t go back to the ICU until morning.”

What he said was true. It only made sense to go home and pray that no call came through the night.

She turned to Garrison in the car. “Garrison, I wish they wouldn’t keep bringing up the subject of organ donation. At least two different physicians have broached it.”

Her husband grunted assent, looking so tormented that her hand automatically reached to touch his cheek. But he recoiled discernibly, turning his face to avoid contact. Taken aback, she faced the front of the car again and forced herself to calm down and not react. When they arrived home and he opened her car door, she didn’t flinch when he averted his gaze from hers and again evaded her touch.

Oh God, how she needed his arms around her. She pulled her feeble strength about her and put one foot in front of the other. Garrison simply needed to work things out in his own way. She knew he would soon adjust to the situation, as she
was struggling to do. In time. After all, their daughter’s survival was their top concern. Patience. That’s what it would take. And hope. Much hope.

chapter four

“How bad is the head injury?” Garrison asked Dr. Abrams and braced himself as if against a Hoover Dam burst. A long pecan-wood table and matching chairs centered the consultation room in which he and Liza met with the physician.

Garrison felt a tiny bit more inclined to face the truth after sleeping a restless three hours. He’d awakened to the smell of coffee at six o’clock to find Liza, gaunt and pale, huddled on the sofa, ignored coffee clasped in both white-knuckled hands.

Her sunken eyes had appealed to him, but he’d turned away and gone to shower, dress, and attempt to face the day. He felt gourd empty – except when sporadic anger and pain seized him. He tried to hold it at bay. Looking at Liza brought it on, so he avoided doing so. His emotions felt numb one moment and inflamed the next.

How could she have gone against his wishes
? His insides coiled tighter.

Dr. Abrams leaned against a corner desk, arms crossed. He looked world-weary with his receding hairline, thick blackrimmed glasses, and craggy features. “Our team spent most of the night battling tooth and nail for Angel’s life. We did all we could to stabilize her. But it’s still touch and go.”

“When will we know if – ?” Garrison’s voice trailed off and he blinked back moisture and a rising tide of dread.

Dr. Abrams cleared his throat. “I know it sounds cruel and uncaring to say that we’ll just have to wait and see, but in essence that’s what we have to do. I try to be up-front with my patients’ caregivers and you’ll be no exception. I can’t predict whether a particular head injury will cause death, though in Angel’s case, that’s not the only danger she faces.

“The initial critical period in the recovery of a head-injured patient is the day or two after, when the injuries may be so overwhelming as to cause death in the face of the most intensive treatment. That’s where your daughter is right now.”

Liza gulped back sobs, her shoulders shaking. Garrison stared at her, seated across from him at the long table. He shared her anguish, but he was unable to let go the way she did. His throat ached to bursting, but the tears shored up against the back of his eyes, making his head throb and his heart feel as though it would explode from his chest cavity.

“Please, I know this sounds trite, considering these circumstances,” Dr. Abrams said kindly, handing Liza a box of tissues, “but try not to upset yourself, Mrs. Wakefield. I’m not saying there’s no hope. I’m just preparing you for the reality of what lies ahead.”

“What are her chances of survival?” Garrison’s voice husked as he arose and paced to a window, one that overlooked a busy hospital parking lot. He took a deep, apprehensive breath and glanced at Liza, who looked like death warmed over. No, on second thought, not warmed over at all. She looked like the walking, breathing dead. Exactly the way he felt inside.

Dr. Abrams spoke solemnly. “We’re doing more tests to determine the extent of her head injury. There’s a chance the spinal cord may be involved. We already know that she has other bodily injuries, but we need more X-rays to determine exactly
what they are. We already know that there are several back and leg injuries.”

“Spinal cord? She won’t – ” Liza took a deep, unsteady breath, looking for the world as though she’d faint at any moment. “She won’t be paralyzed, will she?” Then she burst into tears.

Garrison swiped his hand through his hair and moved his neck around to loosen the tension.

“Paralysis?” Dr. Abrams shook his head. “Let’s not go there at this time. We’re trying to get Angel through this present crisis. To keep her alive. It’ll take all your strength to get through this, so take it an hour at a time. Okay?”

He started to leave the room, then turned back to face them. “If your daughter survives tonight, just remember that this will likely be a long, drawn-out process. Try to be patient. I know that’s easier said than done, but patience is important right now. I can’t overemphasize that. The next forty-eight hours are crucial. And her other injuries complicate things.”

The doctor dropped his head for a moment, then looked at them, expression grave. “If you’re praying folks, it’s time to get down to some serious business.”

Then he was gone.

Suspended…weightless….

Angel could see men in white gathered about the young girl on the table below. Doctors. That much she knew…but where was she? Floating overhead…yeah. Strange. How did she get here?

The activity below hooked her attention, held her spellbound.

They worked frantically and she wondered who it was over which they labored so…so desperately. She floated down a bit
for a closer look. Dear God! The patient looked remarkably like her, though the features were beginning to swell and turn all shades of blue and purple. Hard to tell, though she herself felt not a twinge of anything. She couldn’t be there and here, too, could she?

Of course not. One of the men took a strange-looking instrument with paddles in each hand. He pressed both of them to the young woman’s chest and gave an order.

“Surge!”

Immediately, Angel felt a gush of agony so immense she could not bear it. She began to swirl downward as the pain spread and spread, catching her on fire, plunging her into blackness….

Nothingness…gray mist surrounded her…light spilled through the school cafeteria window…Troy eating with her… “Here, eat more than that,” he said, grinning, forking over his extra roll.

Angel shook her head…her mouth watered for the bread, but Mama wouldn’t like it…fog descended...blackness….

Ballet music pulled her to her upstairs studio…her feet wouldn’t move….Mama won’t like it if I don’t practice…her teeth ground together in agony, but her feet and legs refused to budge…Mama won’t like it! HELP ME MOVE MY LEGS!

Blackness.

The hours merged and melted into one another. Liza felt that the long night away from Angel was the worst. “We nearly lost her,” Dr. Abrams told them the next morning. “But she’s stabilized. For now.” His reservation terrified Liza as she groped for something to cling to.