The ICU waiting room was quiet. My mother sat in one corner with her Bible in her lap, and two of her church lady friends on either side.
Charlie sat by me.
I hadn’t answered the buzz of my phone while meeting with the lawyer. Only when I got out did I get the frantic message from Charlie that Hannah was being sent back to Erlanger with a collapsed lung.
She had gone into cardiac arrest twice in the ambulance. My mother was with her, and each time instructed them to resuscitate. Hearing this made my anger spike into the red zone. Nobody should have to go through all this. Her body was done. They had to let it rest.
The older women talked in hushed tones in their corner. Charlie wore her work scrubs, sitting stiffly by me like a guard. Funny who became your friend in situations like this. She was the one I had counted on all this time.
Jenny and Redmond walked in. Jenny immediately sat right beside me and took my hand. Her pink hair was wild and chaotic. I glanced over at my mother. She saw the hair, looked at me, and shrugged. At least she wasn’t going to make a fuss.
“Sorry,” Jenny whispered. “The hat didn’t seem right.”
“I don’t think it’s high on her priority list right now,” I said.
“Is your sister stable?” Jenny asked.
“We don’t know,” I said. “We haven’t been updated since she got here.”
She laid her head on my shoulder, and I had to admit, it felt good having her here. I kissed the back of her hand. I caught my mom watching us, a calm pleased expression on her face. She resumed her hushed conversation with the women.
Redmond sat opposite us. “You want me to hang out here?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “Thanks for bringing Jenny, though.”
“No problem, man,” he said. He nodded at the church ladies politely, jutted his chin at Charlie, and took off.
The room got quiet. Nobody else was in here but a woman knitting by the door.
“You feeling okay today?” I asked Jenny.
“Perfect,” she said. “Just talked to my mom and hung out.”
A woman in regular clothes came into the room but didn’t sit down. “Hannah McKenzie’s family?” she asked.
I stood up. “We’re all here.”
“Will everyone come with me?” She noticed the women with my mother. “They are welcome if it is all right with you.”
Jenny and I followed the woman first. I guessed we were going somewhere for an update on Hannah’s condition.
We turned down the hall and entered a conference room with a long table. We’d been here before, after the accident, when they told us about her EEGs and CAT scans. My mother had sat near the end, announcing that she was having her family physician come in to assess Hannah before any decisions were made. This had set off the whole chain of events that led to her staying on the machines.
The lawyer had told me that since we had the two signatures we needed about her brain death, getting a judge to order the machines off wouldn’t be hard. I had the doctors on my side, and in cases like this, they tended to understand how a parent could have trouble letting go.
My big problem was how to tell my mother what I was doing before she was subpoenaed to court.
I was torn about it. None of it was good. None of it.
The woman stood at the front of the table. “My name is Regina. I’m a patient information specialist. I’m going to bring in Dr. Foster, who coordinated care for Hannah when she arrived.”
She left the room.
The tension was palpable. I resented the presence of the church ladies, who I didn’t recognize. Charlie had stayed behind, so I was outnumbered.
“I think this would be a good time for a prayer,” one of the women said.
I banged my hand on the table. “Well, I don’t,” I said, a little harsher than I intended.
My mother laid a hand on each of the women. “Martha, Ellen, it might be best for you to wait for us back in the waiting room. Thank you so much for being here for me.”
The ladies stood. “Of course, Carol Ann,” one said. “We’ll be there.” She gave me a withering look as she headed out the door.
When they were gone, my mother said, “I still don’t think a prayer was a bad idea.”
I didn’t answer. Jenny laid her hand on my forearm and squeezed.
Regina returned with two doctors, one man and one woman. The woman had a surgical mask dropped down, still tied around her neck.
“I’m Dr. Foster,” the man said, shaking all our hands. “This is Dr. Perkins. She is our pulmonary specialist.”
The three of them sat down, and Regina opened a file folder and took out a pen to take notes.