was convenient when on call to sleep in her own bed rather than in the on-call room. Besides, she had been staying at Carl’s most weekends.
“You’ll look?”
“Of course I’ll look. But not now, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Michael glanced at his watch. “We’re already late for the ophthalmology lecture. We better get our asses over to the clinic building.”
“I’m not going to the lecture,” Lynn said in a tone that did not brook argument. “There’s no way I could sit still for an hour in my state of mind. I’m fried.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ride my bike down to Carl’s house and try to chill.” Lynn said. “I need to read up on anesthetic complications, particularly delayed emergence, and I can do it using his PC. I’ll feel closer to him there. I might even pray a little. I’m that desperate.”
Michael looked askance at Lynn. Religion had been a frequent topic of discussion for them, especially during their third year, when they were on pediatrics, and more recently during their advanced pediatric elective. Having to deal with suffering children with cancer had made them feel there could not be a God, at least not a loving, caring God that might be swayed by prayer.
“I know,” Lynn said, anticipating what Michael was thinking. “Itgoes against what I said during all those late-night talks of ours, yet seeing Carl in the state he is in makes me want to cover all the bases.”
Michael nodded. He thought he understood. This episode had cast his friend emotionally adrift.
8.
Monday, April 6, 1:16 P.M.
L ynn changed out of her scrubs and put on street clothes, anger bubbling up inside her. She was furious at the anesthesiologist, at the hospital, at medicine in general, and was reminded of how she had felt after her father died. She wanted to kick the locker where her clothes had been. She wanted to break something as she combed her hair with quick, angry strokes.
The trouble was in some respects that she knew too much. If she weren’t a medical student she could have hoped he would just wake up and be fine, which was what the Vandermeers were apparently assuming. Lynn wished she could indulge in such optimism, but she couldn’t. She knew that wasn’t going to happen. The neurology resident expected the MRI to show in detail extensive laminar necrosis of the cortex, whatever the hell that was. Yet she was knowledgeable enough to know that it meant the death of a lot of cells in the part of the brain that made people human.
Translated, it meant that even if Carl were to wake up, he wasn’t going to be the same Carl. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending, no matter what. It was a lose-lose situation. For a brief second shethought that it would have been better had he died, but then she quickly amended the thought, embarrassed at its selfishness. At least now there was a glimmer of hope, no matter how unlikely. He was, after all, still alive. Maybe there could be a miracle.
Pulling on her white coat, Lynn looked back at her image in the mirror. Her lips, normally full, were compressed in a grim line. Her green eyes stared back with hostile intensity. She was now clearly in the anger stage of her grief reaction, having already abandoned the first stage of denial. She couldn’t help but feel that the American medical system had failed her again. The first time had been in relation to her father, Ned, who had been unlucky enough to have had a rare genetic blood disease called by the acronym PNH. It was one of the so-called orphan diseases that affected fewer than ten thousand patients worldwide. After almost four years of medical school, Lynn knew a lot more about the disease than she did when she was in college. She understood now how the disease destroyed red blood cells during the night. She also knew she didn’t have it and wasn’t a carrier.
In 2008, when Lynn was a sophomore at college and the recession hit, Ned had lost his job and,
“You’ll look?”
“Of course I’ll look. But not now, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Michael glanced at his watch. “We’re already late for the ophthalmology lecture. We better get our asses over to the clinic building.”
“I’m not going to the lecture,” Lynn said in a tone that did not brook argument. “There’s no way I could sit still for an hour in my state of mind. I’m fried.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ride my bike down to Carl’s house and try to chill.” Lynn said. “I need to read up on anesthetic complications, particularly delayed emergence, and I can do it using his PC. I’ll feel closer to him there. I might even pray a little. I’m that desperate.”
Michael looked askance at Lynn. Religion had been a frequent topic of discussion for them, especially during their third year, when they were on pediatrics, and more recently during their advanced pediatric elective. Having to deal with suffering children with cancer had made them feel there could not be a God, at least not a loving, caring God that might be swayed by prayer.
“I know,” Lynn said, anticipating what Michael was thinking. “Itgoes against what I said during all those late-night talks of ours, yet seeing Carl in the state he is in makes me want to cover all the bases.”
Michael nodded. He thought he understood. This episode had cast his friend emotionally adrift.
8.
Monday, April 6, 1:16 P.M.
L ynn changed out of her scrubs and put on street clothes, anger bubbling up inside her. She was furious at the anesthesiologist, at the hospital, at medicine in general, and was reminded of how she had felt after her father died. She wanted to kick the locker where her clothes had been. She wanted to break something as she combed her hair with quick, angry strokes.
The trouble was in some respects that she knew too much. If she weren’t a medical student she could have hoped he would just wake up and be fine, which was what the Vandermeers were apparently assuming. Lynn wished she could indulge in such optimism, but she couldn’t. She knew that wasn’t going to happen. The neurology resident expected the MRI to show in detail extensive laminar necrosis of the cortex, whatever the hell that was. Yet she was knowledgeable enough to know that it meant the death of a lot of cells in the part of the brain that made people human.
Translated, it meant that even if Carl were to wake up, he wasn’t going to be the same Carl. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending, no matter what. It was a lose-lose situation. For a brief second shethought that it would have been better had he died, but then she quickly amended the thought, embarrassed at its selfishness. At least now there was a glimmer of hope, no matter how unlikely. He was, after all, still alive. Maybe there could be a miracle.
Pulling on her white coat, Lynn looked back at her image in the mirror. Her lips, normally full, were compressed in a grim line. Her green eyes stared back with hostile intensity. She was now clearly in the anger stage of her grief reaction, having already abandoned the first stage of denial. She couldn’t help but feel that the American medical system had failed her again. The first time had been in relation to her father, Ned, who had been unlucky enough to have had a rare genetic blood disease called by the acronym PNH. It was one of the so-called orphan diseases that affected fewer than ten thousand patients worldwide. After almost four years of medical school, Lynn knew a lot more about the disease than she did when she was in college. She understood now how the disease destroyed red blood cells during the night. She also knew she didn’t have it and wasn’t a carrier.
In 2008, when Lynn was a sophomore at college and the recession hit, Ned had lost his job and,
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