Life Support by Robert Whitlow Page A

more basic. Then she realized the change. Baxter’s hair was parted on the opposite side. Rena wondered if he had been mistaken about the location of his natural part for his entire life. She instinctively stepped forward to brush it back but recoiled at the thought of touching the corpse. The nurse misinterpreted her gesture.
    â€œYou can touch him,” she said. “Just avoid the life support apparatus. He’s in a coma.”
    â€œA coma?” Rena said. She quickly looked to see if Baxter responded to the sound of her voice.
    He didn’t move a millimeter.
    â€œYes. The doctor will explain what’s happened, but your husband is better off unconscious at this point.”
    â€œIs he going to wake up?”
    The nurse touched Baxter’s arm. “Dr. Kolb will give you the details. Most of your husband’s chart is still at surgery, so I don’t know much more myself. I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry but visits are limited to five minutes every hour.”
    The nurse left, and Rena took inventory. She was surprised at how calm she felt. Baxter’s immobility lessened the immediate threat. A twinge of the remorse she’d felt at the cliff and during the drive to the hospital returned, but she pushed it away. She blinked quickly as she moved closer to the bed and watched herself reach over and unplug the ventilator. An alarm sounded but no nurses came rushing into the room. Baxter’s chest heaved a few times, but the electrical impulses from his damaged spinal cord could not command the lungs to function in regular sequence. His unassisted efforts to maintain life were as futile as trying to start a car with a dead battery. It was over in a matter of seconds. Baxter was at peace. He would never awaken to accuse her.
    Rena stepped away from the bed and returned to the real world.
    She sighed. The hissing noise of the ventilator cried out to be silenced. She put her hand on the tube that ran from the machine to her husband’s mouth and bent it shut for a couple of seconds. Nothing happened. No alarm. Perhaps that would be the way. An interruption of the flow of oxygen without turning off the machine. She squeezed again and held it longer.
    â€œPlease don’t try to adjust the breathing tube,” a voice said.
    Rena jerked back her hand. An older, African-American nurse carrying a blood pressure cuff had entered the room.
    â€œI know it’s hard to see him like this, but you shouldn’t touch the equipment,” the nurse said. “Are you his wife?”
    Rena nodded. “Yes. Do I need to leave?”
    The nurse gave her a compassionate smile. “No, I’m just going to check his vital signs, then you can finish your visit. Even though a patient is unconscious, we encourage family members to spend time with their loved ones. You never know what effect your presence may have on him.”
    Rena moved to the end of the bed and watched the nurse efficiently perform her duties.
    â€œHis blood pressure is normal, he has a slight fever, and his heart is strong,” the nurse concluded. “His vital signs have stabilized.”
    â€œThat’s good,” Rena responded woodenly. “You’re not going to write down that I tried to adjust his breathing tube, are you? I don’t want to get in trouble.”
    â€œOf course not. I know you meant well, but it’s better to call us if you think there is a problem. That’s why we’re here.”
    When the nurse left, Rena sat in a chair staring at the heart monitor while the sound of the ventilator continued its relentless assault against her future. Baxter was tethered to the earth by thin threads of plastic that served as artificial conduits for breath and nutrition. For all practical purposes, he was dead, and the best way for her to cope would be to classify him as a nonentity. If he were not truly human, it would be easier to contemplate the best method to sever the cord