Stella’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Marshall’s skin was ashen. Grant came to an abrupt halt, and the color drained from his own face. His voice was halting when he spoke. “Is she…”
“She’s still with us, son,” Marshall said.
Grant closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. Stella came over to him, and they exchanged a long, comforting hug. They’d all been here before. And it was a place none of them had ever wanted to visit again.
“Oh, Grant, it’s such a nightmare.” Her voice broke on the last word.
He couldn’t agree more. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, then glanced over her head toward Marshall. “What have you heard?”
“Not much. They’re still doing tests. They think a clot may have caused a stroke. But now they suspect bleeding in the brain, as well. And they…they had to put her on a respirator. She was having trouble breathing on her own.”
Grant stared at the older man, his eyes bleak. Like Grant, Christine’s parents had never given up hope that someday their daughter would return. But for the first time, her father looked defeated. Grant felt the sting of tears, and he struggled to keep them in check. Lord, You’ve been with me through all the trauma over these difficult years. Please don’t desert me now, when I need Your strength more than ever, he prayed.
He guided Stella to one of the chairs that lined the wall, and the three of them sat in silence. Christine’s parents clung to each other, and now and then Stella reached for Grant’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Minutes passed, then an hour. And the little group keeping vigil grew. Andrew came next, with Pete, followed soon after by Kit and Bill. No one said much. No one needed to. All that had to be communicated was transmitted by look and by touch. Occasionally a nurse would stop by to let them know that Christine was still undergoing tests and that the doctor would speak with them as soon as the results were available, but other than that no one disturbed them.
As dawn spilled in through the windows, a white-coated figure at last appeared. Grant vaulted to his feet and strode toward the man.
“Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
The physician, who looked to be in his midforties, held out his hand. “I’m Mark Baxter. We’ve done an extensive evaluation on your wife and I have all the results.” He surveyed the group assembled behind Grant. “We can review them in my office, if you’d like.”
Grant turned to look at the people who had stood behind him and supported him day after day, month after month, since the accident, and shook his head. “This is my family, doctor. We’d all like to hear what you have to say.”
The man nodded and pulled up a chair while Grant took his seat. Although Grant didn’t grasp all of the medical terms or technical explanations for what had happened to Christine, he understood the most important thing. Even though her vital signs were stable, there was no brain activity and she was no longer breathing on her own.
While the doctor explained the situation, he’d made it a point to make eye contact with everyone in the group. But now, as he finished, he focused on Grant, softening his voice. “Mr. Kincaid, we can keep your wife physically alive for an indefinite period. But she isn’t going to come back. So it doesn’t make a lot of sense to maintain life support. However, the decision is yours.”
Grant stared at him, his face a mask of shock, and for a brief instant the doctor’s composure cracked. He reached out and placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder, his eyes compassionate. “I’m sorry to give you this news. Your wife is a beautiful young woman. I know how hard this must be for you. I’ll be here for the next couple of hours if you want to talk with me again. Just let the nurse know and she’ll page me.”
A jerky nod was the only response Grant could manage.
As the doctor exited, leaving silence in his wake, Grant turned to look at the people he loved.
“She’s still with us, son,” Marshall said.
Grant closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. Stella came over to him, and they exchanged a long, comforting hug. They’d all been here before. And it was a place none of them had ever wanted to visit again.
“Oh, Grant, it’s such a nightmare.” Her voice broke on the last word.
He couldn’t agree more. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, then glanced over her head toward Marshall. “What have you heard?”
“Not much. They’re still doing tests. They think a clot may have caused a stroke. But now they suspect bleeding in the brain, as well. And they…they had to put her on a respirator. She was having trouble breathing on her own.”
Grant stared at the older man, his eyes bleak. Like Grant, Christine’s parents had never given up hope that someday their daughter would return. But for the first time, her father looked defeated. Grant felt the sting of tears, and he struggled to keep them in check. Lord, You’ve been with me through all the trauma over these difficult years. Please don’t desert me now, when I need Your strength more than ever, he prayed.
He guided Stella to one of the chairs that lined the wall, and the three of them sat in silence. Christine’s parents clung to each other, and now and then Stella reached for Grant’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Minutes passed, then an hour. And the little group keeping vigil grew. Andrew came next, with Pete, followed soon after by Kit and Bill. No one said much. No one needed to. All that had to be communicated was transmitted by look and by touch. Occasionally a nurse would stop by to let them know that Christine was still undergoing tests and that the doctor would speak with them as soon as the results were available, but other than that no one disturbed them.
As dawn spilled in through the windows, a white-coated figure at last appeared. Grant vaulted to his feet and strode toward the man.
“Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
The physician, who looked to be in his midforties, held out his hand. “I’m Mark Baxter. We’ve done an extensive evaluation on your wife and I have all the results.” He surveyed the group assembled behind Grant. “We can review them in my office, if you’d like.”
Grant turned to look at the people who had stood behind him and supported him day after day, month after month, since the accident, and shook his head. “This is my family, doctor. We’d all like to hear what you have to say.”
The man nodded and pulled up a chair while Grant took his seat. Although Grant didn’t grasp all of the medical terms or technical explanations for what had happened to Christine, he understood the most important thing. Even though her vital signs were stable, there was no brain activity and she was no longer breathing on her own.
While the doctor explained the situation, he’d made it a point to make eye contact with everyone in the group. But now, as he finished, he focused on Grant, softening his voice. “Mr. Kincaid, we can keep your wife physically alive for an indefinite period. But she isn’t going to come back. So it doesn’t make a lot of sense to maintain life support. However, the decision is yours.”
Grant stared at him, his face a mask of shock, and for a brief instant the doctor’s composure cracked. He reached out and placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder, his eyes compassionate. “I’m sorry to give you this news. Your wife is a beautiful young woman. I know how hard this must be for you. I’ll be here for the next couple of hours if you want to talk with me again. Just let the nurse know and she’ll page me.”
A jerky nod was the only response Grant could manage.
As the doctor exited, leaving silence in his wake, Grant turned to look at the people he loved.
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