Reincarnation Part Nine
Anger Pain Heartbreaking Choices
The doctor knocked briefly on the door and walked in while reading Harold’s charts. “Mr. Brandon, I am Doctor Holden, I am your brother’s attending physician. The duty nurse informed me of your arrival. I have been waiting to speak with you.” He paused for a moment after looking up at the two red faced relatives. He cleared his throat and apologized, “I’m sorry for interrupting.” Looking from one upset family member to the other he continued sympathetically, “I know this is an emotional time and I am truly sorry to add to it, but there are some things we need to discuss unfortunately.”
Shaw backed away and took up her seat in the darkened corner of the room. The conversation between the Dr. Holden and Reese didn't concern her; she had been informed already her foster uncle was Mr. Tanager’s legal surrogate. She had been the one in the waiting room, with Harold’s blood on her clothes and the first one to find out about the complications. Shaw was the one to hold Harold’s cold, still hand, when they had brought him into recovery, not Reese, and her anger rekindled. The person she felt was responsible for Harold needing machines to keep him alive was now the one to decide to have them turned off.
The mention of her name snapped her out of her murderous thoughts, “As per Ms. Tanager’s request, we ran the tests again.” The doctor took a deep breath and then said resignedly, “Mr. Brandon, we did more scans on your brother. It was not good. Mr. Tanager has failed all the tests for motor function and brain wave activity.
Shaw watched John pale, heard him take in a shaky breath, his voice broke. ”What are you saying?”
Dr. Holden glanced over at Shaw and she only shrugged her shoulders. Puzzled he turned back to John. “Mr. Brandon, I am sorry this sounds cold. Harold is by all definitions dead. It’s just his body doesn't know it yet. We have him on a ventilator and a feeding tube, to keep him alive. But what Harold is now is only a shell, a vegetable in laymen’s terms. He will never recover.
Shaw jumped up from her chair in surprise when John trembled, swayed and collapsed almost at her feet. The doctor tried to call for an orderly, but was stopped when John insisted he was fine and tried to struggle to his feet.
Shaw’s anger was barely diminished even though she helped Reese to stand. John pulled his arm away, insisting, “I...I’m fine. I just need to sit.” John moved the chair Shaw grudgingly offered him next to Harold’s bed and shakily sat down.
John took Harold’s hand and sadly caressed it, “There has to be something. Can you bring in experts? Money is no object.”
The doctor once again looked to Shaw, his eyes questioning why she hadn’t explained Harold's condition to another family member with caring and shared concern. His stare was only returned with a cold smile.
Dr. Holden swallowed hard, trying to not sound unsympathetic, “Mr. Tanager lost a lot of blood, and unfortunately blood loss may have led to the formation of a blood clot during surgery and the resulting stroke. Blood loss was starving his brain for oxygen, the stroke denied it completely. When the brain is without oxygen for extended periods, it...it shuts off. No amount of surgery or therapy can reverse the damage.”
The doctor stood at the foot of the bed understandingly giving his patient’s brother a few minutes to regroup. He certainly didn't have knowledge of the relationship between his patient’s niece and her foster uncle, but it did not appear to be a close one. The anger and stress were palpable when he’d walked in the room earlier. What he was about to say would be extremely upsetting, he didn't want to add to it. The physician’s sympathy went out to the brother, the more distressed of the two.
Regretfully though Dr. Holden had to continue, “I’m sorry Mr. Brandon, I’m afraid there is really nothing we can do. We can only keep him on life support, but for how long and when to terminate care is up to you.”
“The decision has to be yours of course, as his surrogate, but did your brother ever talk about organ donation or about his last wishes? Did he mention if he would prefer to be on life support forever or would he loathe the idea of being this way?”
Reese recoiled from the thought of Harold unable to use that brilliant mind. The injuries, his limp and neck, had never stopped him, but this? To just lie there, unmoving, to be poked and prodded every day, to have to be bathed and catheterized. Harold would rather be dead then lose his dignity.
The doctor put away the chart, glancing surreptitiously from the grief ridden brother to the openly hostile niece. Sympathetically he spoke to both relatives, “I know this is a hard decision to make. I’ll leave you both now to discuss what you think is best for Mr. Tanager. “
“How long?” John choked out as the doctor turned to leave.
Misunderstanding Dr. Holden told Reese they didn't have to make the choice right away. “No, how long?” John asked again. When the doctor grasped what John really meant he shook his head sadly, “He could be like this for years, or within weeks or months his body could start shutting down too.”
Sensing how torn John was feeling, Dr. Holden offered truthfully, “Mr. Brandon, speaking to you not as your brother’s physician, but as someone who also has a brother they love very much, I would not want my brother to be kept alive like this.”
“Thank you, Doctor”, John whispered huskily. With a nod and a solemn goodbye, the physician left the room.
Shaw glared at John once more before she icily informed him, “I’m going to go now and take care of the man who put the bullet in Finch.” She moved to the bedside opposite John, leaned down and kissed Harold on the forehead. “You can’t leave him like this, John. This is not what Harold would want.”
When he looked up what John saw was not compassion in her eyes for Finch, but contempt for him. “I still want to kill you for this,” Shaw admitted acidly, “But that would be too quick, too merciful. Having to decide to end Harold’s life will be more painful than anything I could ever do to you.”
Shaw turned to go, was opening the door to leave, when John’s broken desperate plea stopped her, “Do it anyways, Shaw.”
“What?” she spat.
Reese turned to her, his face gray, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth gaping open. “After this.” He swallowed. “Kill me too.”
He turned back to Finch. Shaw just watched for a moment then left without a word
When the door closed behind her John didn't have anything left within him to move from the chair, so he remained there, holding Finch’s hand and silently weeping. “I love you so much.”
John laid his head on Harold’s chest and closed his eyes. The sounds of the machines around them faded away. They were in the safe-house, lying in bed, his body curled lovingly around Finch and Harold stroking his hair with the steady beat of his heart beneath John’s ear lulling him to sleep. The warning tones from a heart monitor in another room heartlessly startled him awake. John shut his eyes again, wanting to return to his dream, but his mind couldn't block out the sounds. The beating of Finch's heart and the rise and fall of his chest synchronized with blips on a monitor and the swooshing sound of the respirator was a cruel reminder that Harold was gone.
John sat up defeated and brushed his fingertips along Finch's cheekbone. “I don’t want to let you go, but I can’t make you suffer like this either. I won’t ask you to forgive me Finch because I’ll never forgive myself.” John pressed the call button to the nurse’s station and asked if Dr. Holden was still on the floor.
~*~
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue