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Our favorite NICU nurse, Angilee, came and got us for the last meeting with the doctors, her face somber. Unlike the other times, when they talked to us in the ward or the hallways or the waiting rooms, this time we were led to a conference room with a large table and rolling chairs.
A nurse brought in a cart with a computer on it inside the room. Inside was one of the NICU doctors who talked to us every day, plus two other new ones, a man and a woman. They stood when we walked in.
My senses immediately went on alert. This was too formal. Something bad was about to go down. At the last minute another woman rushed in, dressed in regular clothes.
I don’t remember everything they said. They showed us an MRI of Fi
Corabelle demanded to know why surgery hadn’t happened yet, more force in her voice than I’d ever seen. I remember staring at the image of a brain, all strange colors like they’d dyed it with Kool-Aid. Then Corabelle was standing up, shouting, and I pulled on her, tried to bring her down. “They want us to take out the tubes,” she said to me. “Don’t just sit there and let them take out the tubes.”
One of the doctors turned to me. “Fi
“So you get to decide?” I asked. “You make the choice about whether he lives or dies?”
The doctor looked over at the others. “It’s come down to how long this will go on.”
“But you’re supposed to fix his heart,” Corabelle said, her face doused in tears. “You were supposed to do surgery.”
“It’s a complex surgery,” one of the other doctors said. “We don’t think the prognosis in this case is good enough to attempt it.”
“So you’re saying no?” Corabelle said. “Is that what you’re saying? No surgery? No chance?”
The woman spoke up then. “No decision of this magnitude is ever made by one person.”
Corabelle sagged in her chair, dropping her head to the table.
The first doctor stood. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said.
I wanted to punch him. It hadn’t even happened yet. Fi
Corabelle ran from the room, back to the NICU. I wanted to follow her but the woman in regular clothes stopped me. “We have forms to be taken care of,” she said.
“What sort of forms?” I demanded.
The doctors filed out as she spread papers out on the table. “This is just to initiate measures to make the baby comfortable.”
“Comfortable how?”
“We’re shifting into a different kind of care now,” she said quietly.
“What if we don’t agree? What if we want another opinion?”
“Fi
I sank back down in the chair. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Alice, the social worker.”
“So you see this sort of thing all the time?”
“This is part of my job, yes.”
“If Fi
She sat in the chair next to me. “It’s hard to let go. Only you as Fi
“But they won’t do the surgery.”
She set down the pen. “They don’t feel it would be successful, and it is a difficult, painful, long surgery.”
I held my head in my hands, staring at the sheets of paper. Fi
I snatched up the pen, scrawling my name everywhere there was a flag. They’d already prepared all of this before the meeting, so anything we said wouldn’t have changed what happened. Even so, her words nagged at me. Only you as Fi
When the woman finally picked up the papers, I hurried after Corabelle. She was in the NICU, leaning over Fi
I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist. “We crammed in all we could.”
Fi
“What did they do to him?” Corabelle asked. She picked up his limp hand.
I knew they had sedated him, and that this was the begi
Corabelle fumbled with her phone. I knew I should probably call my mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She might bring my father, and I didn’t want him there.
The staff didn’t allow calls in the NICU, other than in emergencies, so Corabelle left the ward. I was alone with Fi
A nurse walked by, and I reached out to stop her. “So what happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
I could see she didn’t know what had been decided earlier that day. “When they turn all of this off.” I gestured vaguely at all the machinery.
Her eyes grew wide. “Let me get someone who is updated on Fi
The nurse Angilee popped around the corner. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. Fi
I tried to answer her, but my mouth had gone completely dry. “I will ask Corabelle if eight works.”
She took my hand, her dark fingers surrounding mine. Her braids were tied together in an intricate weave, like a halo on her head. “Do you want to have Fi
“I don’t know,” I croaked out. “I need to ask Corabelle. Our families aren’t very religious.”
She squeezed my hand. “Let me know. We have a chaplain here. I’ll just need some notice to make sure he can fit it in sometime today.”
“So what happens?”
“Well, first we’ll seat Corabelle in a chair, and then we’ll take off the monitor wires so we can move Fi
“This we can move with him, and we’ll untape it. When you both are ready, we’ll take it out.”
I gripped the edge of the bed. “Will he die right away?”
“Not usually. He’ll breathe a little on his own for a little while. But he won’t be pumping enough oxygen.”
“He’s going to suffocate?”
Angilee came back around and rubbed my back. “We will not let Fi
“He’s sedated, isn’t he?”
“He has been since he was given the ventilator, for his safety.”
“But it’s more now.”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“He doesn’t feel anything?”
“Nothing at all.”
So he really was already gone. Anything we said to him, any touch we did. I had made that choice. I had signed the paper and now it was too late to even say good-bye.