being so brief.”
“I see. Good luck.”
Toshiaki extended his right
hand and exchanged a handshake with this man called Yoshizumi, who was studying
Toshiaki’s face as if shocked at something.
“What is it?”
“Nothing... excuse me.”
Yoshizumi bowed once again
and, seeming to shield his eyes, left together with the coordinator and the two
other men into the prep room.
After a while, Kiyomi’s
stretcher was wheeled back into the OR.
“Please stay in the waiting
room,” a nurse called to them.
Kiyomi’s parents entered the
narrow waiting room and collapsed onto the couch. Seeing this, Toshiaki went
down the hallway to find a phone.
“Kiyomi... hold on just a
little longer,” he murmured, recalling the image of her stark white cheek.
Soon, he would take her to a warm place where he could tend to her always. He
would raise her. Kiyomi, I will never part from you .
Mariko was wheeled along on a
stretcher. Shigenori Anzai followed along, holding the hand of his anesthesized
daughter.
“I’m sorry sir, but you
cannot pass beyond this point,” informed one of the nurses, placing a hand on
his arm, as they reached the OR. The young doctor pushing the stretcher opened
the door. Anzai was not allowed so much as a peek inside as Mariko’s body was
wheeled in.
“Please leave everything to
us,” said the doctor before ducking out of sight.
Anzai gazed at his palm,
where Mariko’s hand had been only a moment before, and instinctively made a
fist to keep her warmth there.
“Mr. Anzai, calm yourself.
Everything’s going to be fine. Please rest over here,” a nurse said, and led
him into the waiting room. She sat him down upon a couch, then brought him some
coffee from a vending machine. She handed Anzai the hot paper cup, which he
grasped with both hands. His thoughts were churning over the events of the
night before.
Soon after talking with the
coordinator, he’d arranged for a taxi to take them to the hospital. Mariko
threw such a tantrum the entire ride over, he feared she’d have an actual fit.
When they arrived, she calmed herself somewhat, but cried for what seemed
forever. She was never so emotional during the last transplant.
Mariko was moved immediately
into the ICU for testing. After verifying her dialysis data and checking her
blood pressure and potassium count, she was subjected to dialysis and
transfusions. She was screened thoroughly for infectious diseases. They seemed
to assume that the thought of undergoing an operation was making her nervous.
By the time she was informed about the details of the operation and asked to
give her approval, she seemed an empty husk.
“You’re still okay with
this?” asked Yoshizumi. Anzai naturally agreed. Yoshizumi then peered into
Mariko’s face. “And you, Mariko?” he asked.
“Is that person really dead?”
she responded despairingly.
Yoshizumi understood what she
was getting at and explained that the donor was brain dead. There was no chance
of her coming back to life.
The tests confirmed Mariko’s
eligibility. They had prepared all last evening for today’s procedure by
shaving off any body hair around her abdomen and covering her with a sterilized
sheet from the waist down to prevent razor burn infections. They also
prescribed immuno-suppressants. [10] Anzai spent the entire night sitting in a chair at her bedside.
Odagiri was a very perceptive
woman. She understood Mariko’s nervousness and fitful anger and talked with her
throughout the night. Anzai was still concerned, but everyone was handling the
situation with great patience.
They received word at 1:30 pm
that the transplant would begin. When Yoshizumi came to Mariko’s bedside to
relate the information, her eyes widened in fear, to such an extent that Anzai
feared they would pop right out of her head. Her lips
“I see. Good luck.”
Toshiaki extended his right
hand and exchanged a handshake with this man called Yoshizumi, who was studying
Toshiaki’s face as if shocked at something.
“What is it?”
“Nothing... excuse me.”
Yoshizumi bowed once again
and, seeming to shield his eyes, left together with the coordinator and the two
other men into the prep room.
After a while, Kiyomi’s
stretcher was wheeled back into the OR.
“Please stay in the waiting
room,” a nurse called to them.
Kiyomi’s parents entered the
narrow waiting room and collapsed onto the couch. Seeing this, Toshiaki went
down the hallway to find a phone.
“Kiyomi... hold on just a
little longer,” he murmured, recalling the image of her stark white cheek.
Soon, he would take her to a warm place where he could tend to her always. He
would raise her. Kiyomi, I will never part from you .
Mariko was wheeled along on a
stretcher. Shigenori Anzai followed along, holding the hand of his anesthesized
daughter.
“I’m sorry sir, but you
cannot pass beyond this point,” informed one of the nurses, placing a hand on
his arm, as they reached the OR. The young doctor pushing the stretcher opened
the door. Anzai was not allowed so much as a peek inside as Mariko’s body was
wheeled in.
“Please leave everything to
us,” said the doctor before ducking out of sight.
Anzai gazed at his palm,
where Mariko’s hand had been only a moment before, and instinctively made a
fist to keep her warmth there.
“Mr. Anzai, calm yourself.
Everything’s going to be fine. Please rest over here,” a nurse said, and led
him into the waiting room. She sat him down upon a couch, then brought him some
coffee from a vending machine. She handed Anzai the hot paper cup, which he
grasped with both hands. His thoughts were churning over the events of the
night before.
Soon after talking with the
coordinator, he’d arranged for a taxi to take them to the hospital. Mariko
threw such a tantrum the entire ride over, he feared she’d have an actual fit.
When they arrived, she calmed herself somewhat, but cried for what seemed
forever. She was never so emotional during the last transplant.
Mariko was moved immediately
into the ICU for testing. After verifying her dialysis data and checking her
blood pressure and potassium count, she was subjected to dialysis and
transfusions. She was screened thoroughly for infectious diseases. They seemed
to assume that the thought of undergoing an operation was making her nervous.
By the time she was informed about the details of the operation and asked to
give her approval, she seemed an empty husk.
“You’re still okay with
this?” asked Yoshizumi. Anzai naturally agreed. Yoshizumi then peered into
Mariko’s face. “And you, Mariko?” he asked.
“Is that person really dead?”
she responded despairingly.
Yoshizumi understood what she
was getting at and explained that the donor was brain dead. There was no chance
of her coming back to life.
The tests confirmed Mariko’s
eligibility. They had prepared all last evening for today’s procedure by
shaving off any body hair around her abdomen and covering her with a sterilized
sheet from the waist down to prevent razor burn infections. They also
prescribed immuno-suppressants. [10] Anzai spent the entire night sitting in a chair at her bedside.
Odagiri was a very perceptive
woman. She understood Mariko’s nervousness and fitful anger and talked with her
throughout the night. Anzai was still concerned, but everyone was handling the
situation with great patience.
They received word at 1:30 pm
that the transplant would begin. When Yoshizumi came to Mariko’s bedside to
relate the information, her eyes widened in fear, to such an extent that Anzai
feared they would pop right out of her head. Her lips
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