Kathryn was more frightened than she had ever been in her life, and Charlie’s arm around her brought little comfort. She looked to the intensive care specialist for clarification, but he was focused on the neurologist.
We’ll get another specialist, she thought. Two specialists, two opinions.
But there was Robin’s name, clearly marked on the film. And there was all that dark area showing no flow of blood. There was nothing ambiguous about it.
The neurologist went on. Kathryn tried to listen, but it was hard to hear over the buzz in her head. Finally, he stopped speaking. It was a minute before she realized it was her turn.
‘Well,’ she said, struggling to think. ‘Okay. How do we treat this?’
‘We don’t,’ the neurologist said in a compassionate voice. ‘Once brain tissue dies, it’s gone.’
Darting a look at Robin, she shushed him. The last thing Robin needed was to be told that something was gone. Softly, she said, ‘There has to be a way to reverse it.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t, Mrs Snow. Your daughter was without oxygen for too long.’
‘That’s because the fellow who found her waited too long before starting CPR.’
‘Not his fault,’ Charlie said softly.
The intensive care specialist came forward. ‘He’s considered a Good Samaritan, which means he’s protected by law. Your daughter had a heart attack. That’s what caused the brain damage. According to this film-’
‘No film tells the whole story,’ Kathryn broke in. ‘I know Robin’s with us. Maybe an MRI isn’t the right test. Or maybe something was wrong with the machine.’ She turned pleadingly to Charlie. ‘We need another machine, another hospital, another something.’
Kathryn had first fallen in love with Charlie for his silence. His quiet support was the perfect foil for her own louder life. He didn’t have to speak to convey what he felt. His eyes were expressive. Right now, they held a rare sadness.
‘Does brain damage mean brain dead?’ she asked in a frightened whisper, but he didn’t answer. ‘Brain dead means gone, Charlie!’ When he tried to draw her close, she resisted. ‘Robin is not brain dead.’
Molly was stunned. ‘Brain dead?’ She asked from the door.
Kathryn looked at her. ‘Tell them, Molly. Tell them how vibrant your sister is. Tell them what she plans to do next year. Tell them about the Olympics.’
Molly stared at her sister. Brain dead meant she would never wake up, would never breathe on her own, would never speak again. Ever.
Tearing up, she went to her father’s side. He took her hand.
‘Tell them, Molly,’ Kathryn begged.
‘Are they sure?’ Molly asked Charlie.
‘The MRI shows severe brain damage.’
Sharing her mother’s desperation, Molly turned to the neurologist. ‘Can’t you shock her or something?’
‘No. Dead tissue can’t respond.’
‘But what if it’s not all dead? Isn’t there another test?’
‘An EEG,’ he replied. ‘That will show if there’s any electrical activity at all in the brain.’
Molly didn’t have to ask what it meant if there was none. She knew her mother was thinking the same thing when Kathryn quickly said, ‘It’s too early for that test.’
But Molly needed grounds for hope. ‘Don’t you want to know, Mom? If there is electrical activity, there’s your answer.’
‘Robin isn’t brain dead,’ Kathryn insisted.
‘The term isn’t one we take lightly, Mrs Snow,’ the doctor said. ‘We use the Harvard criteria, which calls for a pair of EEGs taken a day apart. The patient isn’t considered brain dead unless both show the total absence of electrical activity.’
‘We need to do this, Mom,’ Molly urged. ‘We need to know.’
‘Why?’ Kathryn asked sharply. ‘So they can turn off the machines?’ Disengaging herself from Charlie, she took Robin’s hand and leaned close. ‘The New York Marathon is going to be amazing. We’re staying at the Peninsula, right, sweetie?’ Looking up at the doctors, she explained, ‘Marathoners taper their training in the week before the race. We thought we’d do some shopping.’
The intensive care specialist smiled sympathetically. ‘We don’t have to do the EEG right now. There’s time. Give it some thought.’
‘No EEG,’ Kathryn ordered, and no one argued.
Moments later, Molly was alone with her parents. Kathryn continued to talk to Robin as if she could hear. It was understandable. Robin had always been the focus of family activity. For all the times Molly had resented that, she couldn’t imagine it not being so.
It was like cutting back an orchid that had once been gorgeous, and not knowing if it would ever grow again. Something beautiful once…now maybe dead.
Kathryn broke into her thoughts. ‘I really need you at Snow Hill, Molly. Please don’t fight me on this.’
Fine. Molly wouldn’t argue. But there was bad news. ‘I just came from there. Tami Fitzgerald’s brother-in-law is in the ambulance crew. He told her about Robin.’ At Kathryn’s look of alarm, she added, ‘He didn’t say much. But Tami was asking. All I said was that Robin would be fine.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It won’t be for long, Mom. Word’ll spread. Hanover isn’t a big place, and the running community is tight. And Robin has friends all over the country–all over the world. They’ll be calling.’ Glancing around, she spotted the plastic bag that lay on the floor by the wall. It held Robin’s clothes and bumbag. ‘Is her cell phone there?’
‘I have it,’ Kathryn said. ‘It’s off.’
Like that would solve the problem? ‘Her friends will leave messages. When she doesn’t answer, they’ll call the house. What do you want me to say?’
‘Say she’ll get back to them.’
‘Mom, these are close friends. I can’t lie. Besides, they could be supportive. They could come talk to Robin.’
‘We can do that ourselves.’
‘We can’t tell them it’s nothing. If Robin’s had a massive heart attack—’
‘—it’s no one’s business but ours,’ Kathryn declared. ‘I don’t want people looking at her strangely once she’s up and around again.’
Molly was incredulous. To hear her mother talk, Robin might wake up in a day or two and be fine, be perfect. But even mild brain damage had symptoms. Best-case scenario, she would need rehab.
Molly turned to her father. ‘Help me here, Dad.’
‘With what?’ Kathryn asked, preempting Charlie.
Molly shot an encompassing look around the room. Her eyes ended up on Robin, who hadn’t moved an inch. ‘I’m having as much trouble with this as you are.’
‘You’re not her mother.’
‘She’s my sister. My idol.’
‘When you were little,’ Kathryn chided. ‘It’s been a while since then.’
My fault, my fault, Molly wailed silently, feeling all the