I close my eyes and lean against the door. The steady beeping from the many machines creates a ghostly symphony that I don't think I'll ever truly escape. Kristen has been one of my favorite patients for over a year now, and I have come to know her parents very well. How am I supposed to tell them that she's gone?
This is the part of my job that I hate.
I look at the peaceful figure lying on the bed and let the tears come. It's best that I say my goodbyes before I step out of this room. Once I cross the threshold, I'll have to be Dr. Green again.
I brush her long chestnut hair away from her porcelain skin and wipe the sticky film from her face. She could be sleeping. But this beauty will never wake. Thirteen is too young.
I sing 'Think of Me' softly to her and smile at the memory of her impromptu performance of an abridged Phantom of the Opera during one of her visits. Her parents had just taken her to New York to see it live on Broadway, and she gave me a play-by-play when they returned. She even brought me a key chain as a souvenir.
Never again will her lovely voice sing down these halls. I remember that she was a dancer, and I hope that her friends find a way to honor her life. She's told me about their wonderful ballet family, and my heart aches for the girls who will be finding out this afternoon that they've lost a sister. It makes me think of my brothers and what it would do to us if one were to be harmed. I kiss her forehead and whisper one of our shared favorites, Shakespeare's 18th sonnet.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all to short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd, and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe and eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
I take a deep breath and step out through the doorway.
"Mr. and Mrs. Norris, I'm sorry, but we've done all that we can." I pause, letting my words sink in. I watch the blood drain from their faces and they sink into the chairs behind them. "Your daughter's anaphylactic response was too severe. She won't recover this time." I feel my own sobs rising in my chest and push them down with an iron will. My emotion won't help them right now.
Mrs. Norris is crying into her husband's embrace and I want to give them some privacy for their grief, but time is important right now. "Annie, Rich, I am so sorry, but we have things to discuss." Neither of them have said a word to me yet, and I wish I could make their pain ease. "Kristen is brain-dead, but her body is young and healthy. Your amazing daughter could save the lives of others, if you would consider organ donation." I choke up and have to take a minute to pull myself together.
"Yes," Mrs. Norris rasps. She looks at her husband and he nods slowly. "She told me once, 'After I'm gone, they can have whatever they need. I won't be using it anymore.'" She looks off into the distance. "My baby has the most generous heart."
She bursts out into sobs and grips tightly to Richard. He looks me in the eye. "I'll sign whatever you need to make sure that our girl lives on through others. It will be her final gift." Silent tears pour down his cheeks and I dismiss myself, leaving them to their grief.
***
I step into my office and a pair of arms envelop me. I let go and bawl into my best friend's shoulder.
