Flickering Shadows

Life and Death (Chapter 26)

Life and Death

My world became light once again, but it seemed oddly grim.  Dylan was not at my bedside like I had been anticipating. I cursed myself for being in the hospital on my wedding day.

           A nurse noticed I was awake. "I'll let that boy know you're up." She scurried out of the room.

           "Thanks." I croaked.

           Dylan didn't enter from the waiting room, which I had a clear view of. He instead came through the doors leading to the intensive care unit-that worried me.

           "Hey babe." Dylan smiled dully.  He looked like he had not slept in days.  There were deep purple shadows beneath his eyes.

           "How long have I been here?"

           "Couple of days."

           "What?" I yelled. I missed my own wedding!

           "You were suffering from a mixture of exhaustion-you were pouring over wedding plans all night for weeks-and lack of medication. You needed sleep." He shrugged.

           "I missed my own wedding." I moaned, putting my head in my hands.

           "It'll be off for a little while anyway." He mumbled under his breath.

           I raised an eyebrow, "What? Why?"

           Dylan sighed. He obviously did not want to tell me whatever it was. "When you had your panic attack, Lucy, Reagan came out of her room to see if you were alright. She took a tumble down the stairs. Regan's in a coma."

           Dylan's eyes seemed to tear up. "I want to see her." I demanded.

           He left to go get a nurse to bring a wheelchair in; a doctor came in seconds after he left. "I don't think you should be getting up, Miss Arnold."

           "What?" I said.

           "Lucy, you are in a fragile mental state.  I do not think seeing your daughter would do you any good."

           "Let me see my damn daughter!" I yelled. I bolted straight up in my hospital bed, my head spinning because of it. I tried my best not to look "fragile".

           He sighed and waved the nurse in with the wheelchair.  I was wheeled down the hall and into the ICU.  If someone had not told me beforehand, I would not have recognized my own daughter.

           Reagan did not look like herself.  Her head was all bandaged up and her face had many small cuts.  There was a neck brace around her neck.  Dylan whispered in my ear, "Her brain was bleeding rather severely so they had to go in and fix it.  They say there is a good amount of damage done.  During the fall, she broke her neck, and they don't know if she'll recover, or if she'll be completely paralyzed."  He took a breath in. "Reagan might remain in a vegetative state forever."

           "No!" I cried. Giant sobs ripped from my chest.  The tears I held back for five years came out. Tears about Dylan betraying me; about becoming pregnant; about my grandma shunning me.  I cried for the day I was raped and the day Reagan was diagnosed with cerebral palsy.  I cried because I would possibly never get my baby girl back.  Dylan cried with me. Reagan was getting a bath of tears; may God have mercy and let her live.

Dylan and I just were not the same without Reagan in the house.  All that ever sounded in the house was the sound of tears, no longer the sound of laughter.  Reagan had been in her vegetative state for seven months now.  No sign of any improvement. 

           Dylan had made it clear that he wanted to let her go.  "She is not going to get better, Lucy.  Let her go."

           "Yes, she will." I said firmly.

           "Reagan is gone."

           "Stop lying!"

           We had this conversation many times before. Dylan would always leave, furious, and would not come back until dawn.  I would go to bed in and take my medication-always a bit more than I took the last time.  Did I want to die? Yes and no; I wanted to be rid of the pain I was going through now and reunite with Reagan, but at the same time I did not want to abandon Dylan.  Which was more important to me?  I had to decide eventually.  

           Finally, one night in July, I agreed.  We went to the hospital dressed in all black.  I decided to question the doctor about the odds of her recovery. If there was below a twenty-five percent chance of survival, I would pull the plug.  It hurt so badly just thinking about it. "Dr. Orwell?" I asked him.       

           "Ah, yes, Miss Arnold. What can I do for you?" He asked all smiles.

           "What are...what are Reagan's chances for recovering?"

           "Deciding to pull the plug, are you?" He frowned and I stifled a sob. "Slim to none that she'll come out.  I'm very sorry, Miss Arnold."

           I was taken aback and nodded. "Alright then."

           That night we decided it was time.  No one but Dylan and I bothered to show.  We gathered on opposite sides of Reagan and said our good-byes.  Dylan and I were both wrecks-tears dripping down our faces and a mountain of tissues in the waste basket. 

           "I don't want to let you go, but I have to.  I will let you go and be free. Good-bye Reagan. I love you, sweetheart." I finished my speech.

           Doctor Orwell came in and said in a sympathetic voice, "Are you ready?"

           We nodded solemnly.

           Doctor Orwell started unhooking machines.  Then it hit me-my baby would be gone forever.  "No!" I shouted as I tried to put the IV back in her arm. "Don't go!" Dylan had to drag me out of the room. All the while I cried, until I heard the line go flat on the heart monitor. It was all over.