Taylor's Gift by Tara Storch Page A

mean.
    The eye doctor recommended they see a corneal specialist, who showed Dueene the problem: Ashley’s eye was coning, an inherited condition called keratoconus. “This is likely the cause of her headaches and eye pain,” he said. The doctor went on to explain that Ashley probably couldn’t see well out of that eye.
    While several things could be done for Ashley, her vision would continue to deteriorate. Eventually she would need a corneal transplant. “Most of my transplant patients say they wish they hadn’t waited so long,” the doctor said.
    Dueene was shocked that her daughter needed eye surgery, but she was hopeful that the corneal transplant would help Ashley to see and feel better. Since corneas were more readily available than other kinds of donor organs, the doctor decided to go ahead and schedule Ashley for the corneal transplant while they were there.
    The date was set for March 22, 2010.



7 Waiting Rooms
    A ROUND M IDNIGHT M ONDAY , M ARCH 15, 2010S T . M ARY ’ S H OSPITAL , G RAND J UNCTION , C OLORADO
    Tara
    â€œWould you be willing to donate Taylor’s organs?” the doctor asked. I looked at Todd and I knew my answer. But I wanted to make sure we agreed. We hadn’t spoken to each other about it, but we’d each had conversations with my brother Bill. As I searched Todd’s eyes for his answer, the events of the past twelve hours flashed through my mind.

    Todd and I had ridden two and a half hours from the hospital in Vail and waited at least an hour in the St. Mary’s hospital lobby before the orthopedic surgeon came out to tell us what was going on with Taylor. He was the first medical professional to talk to us since we had arrived at St. Mary’s. When he sat down across from us, he introduced himself and his role.
    I wanted to scream, “Just tell us how she is!” but I held my tongue.
    Finally, he leaned in, rested his elbows on his knees, and told us what we’d been waiting so long to hear: “She has a fractured collarbone, and she’s broken a couple of ribs. Her jaw is cracked. She’s also lost some teeth, and her left leg shows a compound fracture in several places.”
    By now it was after midnight, and we were all very tired. I was so cold I was shaking, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around his words.
    â€œBoth lungs collapsed, so they put chest tubes in before she left Vail,” the doctor added.
    His list seemed endless. Had they told us all this at the Vail ER? I remembered them saying they couldn’t operate on her there—that’s why she had to be life-flighted to a larger hospital. Denver was out of the question because of the inclement weather, so they had sent us to St. Mary’s in Grand Junction. Todd, the kids, and I had taken a hundred-and-fifty-mile shuttle ride on mountain roads while a winter storm raged around us.
    â€œShe has a pelvic fracture and she’s fractured at least one clavicle,” the doctor continued.
    My head hurt. I tried to blink back the tears pooling in my eyes.
    â€œWe’re working on her leg right now. It’s pretty bad. I had to set it, and we’ve attached rods to hold it in place.”
    The tears started to flow as I thought about Taylor with rods in her legs. Volleyball was Taylor’s life. Outside of school, she spent more time on the volleyball court than anywhere else. Her club team had just started playing in out-of-state tournaments. I couldn’t imagine anything worse for her than missing a tournament.
    â€œShe has a tournament coming up in a few weeks. It’s pretty important to her,” Todd said. “Will she be able to play?”
    â€œShe’s not going to make that tournament,” the doctor said.
    As a consultant, Todd was used to quickly assessing situations, identifying problems, and coming up with plans to fix things. But I could see he was uneasy about this.
    â€œWhen we see her, I know