SIXTY-NINE

SIXTY-NINE

"MRS. BOWERS."

I look up, startled, though I shouldn't be. I've been expecting him. I've been waiting more than two hours with my children in this waiting room as they play on their phones.

I try to read the face of the surgeon, still in his scrubs, that shiny bald head of his, as he gestures to the side and walks away, expecting me to follow.

"Hang on one second, guys, okay?" I kiss both my kids. "I'll be right back."

Dr. Grant opens the door to an examination room and holds it while I walk in, the pungent smell of iodine greeting me.

I say a silent prayer and turn to the doctor.

"Well, the surgery went as well as it could have," he says. "We've repaired the arterial damage, and we've oxygenated him."

But. There's a but. The way he phrased that.

"He lost a great deal of blood," he goes on. "When you lose blood volume, you lose blood pressure. Your blood carries oxygen to the brain and other organs. So we've done our best to maintain blood pressure. We've pumped in other substances to maintain the pressure, but they don't carry oxygen. We're transfusing him, giving him blood, but you can only do that so quickly."

"What does that — is he going to live?" I hear the words coming out of my mouth.

"I don't know. It's too soon to tell. It's also too soon to know the extent of anoxic brain injury."

"Brain … he might …"

"He might have brain damage, yes, from the oxygen deprivation. But there's no way to know his neurological state until he … until he regains consciousness. If he regains consciousness."

"If …"

The doctor helps me to a chair. The cushion makes a hissing sound when I sit on it.

"We've induced a coma," the doctor says. "He's stable. But there could be some tough days ahead, Mrs. Bowers. You should probably prepare yourself."