Before I Wake by Robert J. Wiersema Read Free Book Online Page A

she?”
    â€œWell, I know I told Karen that she should try to get some sleep, but I think you two should probably come back as soon as you can. Sherry’s running quite a high fever, and there is a lot of fluid present in her lungs. As well, we’ve run some tests…”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd I’d like to talk to both of you about the results.”
    I closed my eyes before answering. “We’ll be right back. Where will we find you?”
    â€œHave them page me.”
    He hung up without saying good-bye. I sat for a moment in the silence, the only sound my breath, a quaver noticeable with every inhalation.
    Karen had turned off the shower and a moment later the bathroom door opened with a burst of light and steamy warmth redolent of raspberry shower foam. She was wrapped in her blue robe, and gently drying her hair with a towel. She stopped when she saw me on the bed, telephone in hand. “Is it…”
    I nodded. “We need to go back to the hospital.” She retreated into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
    KAREN
    We were holding hands when we got back to Sherry’s room. I don’t think I would have been able to get through the door without Simon holding on to me.
    Dr. McKinley was staring at her chart. “I just took Sherry’s temperature.”
    â€œHow bad is it?” Simon asked.
    â€œForty degrees,” he said, double-checking his note.
    â€œOh Jesus,” I whispered, my knuckles white around Simon’s hand as we stood by Sherry’s bed. Deathbed.
    â€œIs that—”
    â€œIs that why I called? No. The tests we ran this morning—CT, neurological scans, I jumped the line for the MRI again…”
    We waited.
    â€œSince the surgery, there’s been considerable swelling, and some bleeding. I don’t know if we missed it, or…” He paused, suddenly unable to meet our eyes. “Unfortunately—”
    I fumbled for the bed rail with my free hand.
    â€œWe failed to detect any trace of brain activity.” He turned his gaze on Sherry, lying as if suspended within the institutional sheets. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    â€œBrain-dead?” I whispered.
    â€œWe don’t…” He stammered as he caught Simon’s look. “That’s not what we call it anymore.”
    â€œAre you saying she’s never going to wake up?”
    I wanted him to argue, or to reassure me, but the doctor didn’t say anything.
    â€œSo what do we do now?” Simon asked.
    â€œI want to say that we should wait. That there might be some change…But I can’t.” The doctor lifted his eyes to ours.
    â€œShe’s never going to wake up,” I repeated, watching her chest rise and fall.
    This time he shook his head. “No. No, she won’t. There’s just too much damage…I’m sorry.”
    â€œIs she in pain?”
    He seemed surprised by the question, and it took him a moment to answer. “No. No, she’s not feeling anything.”
    Not feeling anything.
    â€œI know that this sounds terribly sudden, but we should probably discuss the possibility of organ donation.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThere are a number of children—”
    Not feeling anything.
    â€œSherry could help a lot of—”
    â€œNo,” I said, the firmness of my voice hiding the confusion I was feeling. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear things into pieces. I wanted to push these men away from my daughter and take her in my arms and not let her go. Instead, I repeated myself. “No.”
    â€œI’m sorry?” The doctor turned toward me.
    â€œKaren, it’s for—”
    â€œI can’t. I just can’t, Simon.” I shook my head. “It’s all moving too fast. It’s all just…Yesterday I was holding my daughter’s hand as we walked down the street, and today—today you’re asking me to decide, to decide if