The Color of a Memory (The Color of Heaven Series) (10 page)

“It’s David,” he said. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Cathy’s house. What’s going on?”

“Oh, God. It’s bad. You better get down to the hospital right away. They just took Alex away in an ambulance.”

My heart rate skyrocketed. “
What
? What happened? Is he all right?”

“I don’t know,” David replied. “He was in the building when the floor collapsed but they pulled him out. He’s in bad shape, Audrey. He’s unconscious.”

“Oh, no…” I cupped my forehead in a hand. My gaze shot to Cathy who was sitting on the sofa with Wendy on her lap.

“What is it?” she asked.

I shook my head at her and finished talking to David. “Thanks for calling me. I’m heading to the hospital now. Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” he replied.

We ended the call and I shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Can you watch Wendy? Alex was in the building when the floor collapsed. They just took him to the hospital.”

“Of course,” she replied with concern, standing up with Wendy in her arms. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“Not right now.” I crossed the room to grab my jacket and purse. “I’m sure they’ll be needing help at the hospital, so I might not be back for a while. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

With that I kissed Wendy on the forehead and hurried out the door.

Chapter Twenty-five

I arrived in the ER and I found Alex in the trauma room. He was lying on a backboard with a neck brace and had just been intubated.

“What’s happening?” I asked. “What can I do?”

Dr. O’Brien shot me a look. “You should wait outside, Audrey.”

I stared at him with stricken eyes. “No. I need to be here. Let me help.”

“No way,” he firmly said, then he paused, and his voice softened. “You can stay, but only if you stand back.”

I quickly nodded and backed up against the door.

My heart had been pounding with absolute terror since I left Cathy’s house. Now that I was here, I understood why Dr. O’Brien didn’t want my help. As I watched him work quickly and skillfully on my husband, my stomach burned and I feared I might be sick.

“There’s a large contusion at the left temple,” Dr. O’Brien said, “and an open wound in the occipital area. There’s some movement with the bone so it looks like an open skull fracture.”

I covered my mouth with a hand to keep from crying out because I knew how serious that was, and I was afraid they’d force me to leave if I became hysterical.

I had thought, coming in here, that I could maintain my composure—I was well accustomed to urgent trauma cases—but this was very different. It was my husband on the table. My
husband
.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” Dr. O’Brien said, leaning over him. “Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

Alex offered no response.

The doctor pressed on Alex’s nail beds and used his knuckles to bear down on his sternum. Again there was no motor response, not even any show of posturing.

I watched as the team set up the portable X-ray machine and took pictures of Alex’s chest, pelvis, legs and C-spine. Both his legs had been shattered, but thankfully there was no internal bleeding, nor any damage to his spine.

Dr. O’Brien addressed a nurse, Maureen, one of my closest friends in the ER. “We need to prep him for a CAT scan.”

Just then, the clerk, Jeremy, pushed through the door. “We have three more traumas coming in, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Dr. O’Brien turned to me. “Can you keep it together, Audrey? Can you go with Jeremy?”

“Yes, I’m fine, but why don’t I take Alex to the CAT scan?”

“No,” he replied. “Maureen will do that, but you can help with the other traumas if you’re sure you’re up for it.”

I heard sirens wailing outside the ER and watched the team rush out of the room. “I’m sure, but I’ll need to know what’s going on with Alex. Will you promise to keep me informed?”

“I will.”

I accepted his reply and forced myself to focus on the urgent cases that were about to land in the ER. Quickly I ran to change into a pair of scrubs.

* * *

One of the trauma cases turned out to be a coworker of Alex’s named Jim who had been a guest at our wedding. He was the least serious case—brought in for smoke inhalation and a broken collarbone—and he was able to relay some details about what happened to Alex.

Jim said there were no flames in the area where Alex had been injured. He’d gone in looking for one of the other firefighters they’d lost contact with. Alex had found him in a restroom with a woman who was locked in a stall, petrified and refusing to come out.

That’s when the ceiling collapsed on top of them. Alex had pushed the other firefighter out of the way when a steel girder came down. The woman was rescued, but they had to bring in the Jaws of Life to rescue Alex.

As far as Jim knew, Alex had been knocked unconscious and hadn’t woken up, not even when they were pulling him out of the wreckage.

* * *

Though I maintained a professional focus for the next hour, in my mind I was screaming.

“Any news?” I asked Maureen when she returned to the floor.

“Not yet,” she said, “but the radiologist is looking at the scans now.”

My chest throbbed. The fact that Alex’s legs were shattered meant a long, arduous road of treatment and recovery—but that was the
best
case scenario.
What if there was irreparable damage to his brain? What if he never woke up at all?

A short while later, Dr. O’Brien found me in the supply room where I had gone to fetch some sterile coated sutures.

“Audrey, can I talk to you?” He shut the door, which caused my stomach to drop.

Somehow—I don’t know how—I found the courage to face him squarely.

“We’ve looked at the scans,” he told me, “and the news isn’t good.” He paused and looked down at the suture packages in my hands. “You probably shouldn’t be working right now.” He took them from me and set them back on the shelf. “We can handle things from here. You’re going to need to focus on your family.”

Taking a deep breath to smother the panic rising up inside me, I dropped my hands to my sides. “Why? Tell me the truth and please don’t sugarcoat it. I need to know everything.”

Though it was not easy to hear, I was thankful that he spoke frankly.

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” he said, “but your husband has suffered a massive brain trauma. There’s blood and clot everywhere, and it’s going to be impossible for him to come back from damage that severe.”

My hands began to shake, but I strove to keep my voice steady. “Surely there must be
some
hope? Is there not even the smallest chance that he could come out of it?”

Dr. O’Brien shook his head. “I’m sorry, there’s none. His entire left hemisphere is pulverized. I can show you the scans if you like. His brain just isn’t salvageable. He’s not coming back.”

It took a moment or two for the words to sink in, then my entire body turned to pulp and my knees buckled. I dropped to a sitting position on the floor and began to weep.

Dr. O’Brien knelt on one knee before me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. He was a good man.” He gave me a moment to get over the shock and collect myself, then he reached for a box of tissues on the shelf beside us and opened it. He handed me one and I blew my nose. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Is there anyone we should call?”

“I already called Alex’s parents,” I told him. “They were in Boston today but they’re on their way here now.”

I wiped the last few tears from my cheeks, then Dr. O’Brien offered a hand to help me rise.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been very kind.”

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke gently. “I know it’s hard to think about this right now, but outside of Alex’s brain injury and his legs, his body is healthy and strong. He was a hero in this lifetime, Audrey—but he could still save more lives if you’re willing to consider organ donation. I hope you’ll think about it.”

I nodded my head, but my mind had gone blank. I wasn’t capable of making a decision like that—not now when I couldn’t even fathom the idea of losing my husband, the man I loved…the father of my child.

I was in shock.

As I walked out of the supply room, all I could do was focus on finding a place to sit down before I collapsed again.

Two Years Later

Another Life…

Chapter Twenty-six

Nadia Carmichael

If there is one thing I believe in, it is the strength of the human heart.

My name is Nadia Carmichael and I am the grateful recipient of a gift from a man named Alex Fitzgerald—a man who died and gave his heart to a stranger.

Just over two years ago, when I was pregnant with my daughter, Ellen, I contracted a mysterious virus that attacked my heart muscle and sent me into cardiac failure.

To this day I am still amazed that my own heart managed to function long enough and well enough for me to give birth to my beautiful baby by C-section. And then, within a month I was lucky enough to receive word that a suitable donor heart had become available.

If not for that heart, and the miracle of modern medicine, I would not be alive today and my daughter would not have a mother.

Well… Someone would have stepped into that role—my twin sister, Diana, most likely—but it wouldn’t have been me. I would never have known the joy of watching my baby take her first steps and utter her first words. And there was still so much to look forward to.

Nor would I be a married woman today, because my husband Jesse had come along many months after my transplant. We met when I was finally beginning to feel healthy again, like a normal person, believing there was hope that I had, at long last, come out the other side of that ordeal—even stronger than before.

But there is still more story to tell. A great deal more, in fact.

And it all started with a dream.

* * *

There are many different kinds of dreams. Some occur when we sleep, when our minds create stories we can observe as if we were watching a movie. Others occur during the day when we are fully awake and in complete control of where our imagination takes us. Then there are dreams that are wishes—and those sorts of dreams can help us set goals and achieve great things.

I once dreamed I would meet Prince Charming, that he would arrive in a white stretch limo and rescue me from my minimum wage existence. I was seventeen at the time, but it proves to me that dreams do come true, because I
did
meet Prince Charming—though he came for me in a silver Volkswagen Jetta.

That was enough. It was quite perfect, actually. Or rather,
he
was perfect.

Jesse and I have been married just over a year now, and until he came along, I never imagined how good life could be.

* * *

Not long after my heart transplant, I began to have a recurring dream that I was flying. Usually I flew towards dark, starry skies, then coasted smoothly and quietly over cities, mountains, or fields.

I never felt afraid, and when I woke I was often in a relaxed and peaceful state.

Eventually I began to recognize the locations beneath me, and one night I realized I was flying over the transplant center—the very place where my life had begun anew.

Maybe I’m superstitious by nature, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I was somehow connecting with the spirit of my donor. Was he flying through my window at night to check on his old heart? Did I somehow sense his presence in my dreams? Was he taking me places?

Then, about eight months after my transplant, I attempted to connect with his family by sending a letter of gratitude. I had to do this through the Donor Network, because personal identities of donors and recipients are kept confidential, unless both parties specifically and independently express a desire to meet.

When I finally sent my letter, this is the reply I received:

To the recipient of my son’s heart,

Thank you for your letter. It meant a great deal to us to learn that something good came from my son’s passing—that you are alive now because of the choice he made to donate his organs. We have heard from some others as well, so it appears his generosity has helped more than a few people.

Thank you again for telling us about your improved health. We were pleased and uplifted to hear it.

We wish you all the best.

Sincerely,

The Donor Family

Recognizing the family’s desire to move on—and their lack of interest in meeting me—I did not try to contact them again, and instead focused on moving forward with my own life as well.

Except for one small moment of weakness…

After discovering my donor’s obituary online—and learning about his career as a firefighter and the wife and child he left behind—I strapped Ellen into her car seat one day, got behind the wheel, and drove to Mr. Fitzgerald’s home town.