Authors: Jordyn Redwood
Brain death.
Lisa's sobs tore at Morgan's soul. Neither wanted to share the grief of a dead child.
“Tyler, we're his heartbeat. He's going to be okay.”
Despite Morgan's response, the look from Tyler's blue eyes was not one of shared reassurance but of clinical certainty about the outcome. Morgan shook her head. “I've seen miracles. We don't know what will happen.”
A team of two paramedics, followed by an additional two firefighters, ran onto the field.
“Hey, guys, I'm Drew. What happened?”
At first, Morgan couldn't take her eyes away from the line of tattoos normally covered by his flight suit that ran the length of both of his arms. He was one of Sacred Heart's new flight paramedics.
Must be moonlighting today
.
“He took a baseball to his chest and then he collapsed. We've been doing CPR.”
“Man, you guys are amazing.” He turned to his cohort. “Let's get the defibrillator ready.”
Drew eased Tyler off Seth's chest. A quick flash of trauma scissors sliced up his baseball jersey. The other paramedic peeled the backing off the thick adhesive patches and put one on each side of Seth's chest. A firefighter edged Morgan away and began to assist Seth's breathing with a mask to his face.
The ECG tracing came up on the machine. Morgan's stomach plummeted. His heart was in a chaotic rhythm. Lisa's wails echoed the fine whine of the machine as it charged.
“Everyone clear.”
Drew pressed the button. Seth's chest muscles jerked.
“Back to CPR. Let's get a line in. Chase, let's get a dose of epi ready.”
Soon enough, IVs were placed in each of Seth's arms. Morgan grabbed the bag of IV solution as an extra set of hands while the EMS team continued to do CPR.
The proceeding two minutes seemed like two hours. A pause at the chest and another look at the monitor.
No change. No pulse.
Another shock. More CPR.
A dose of adrenaline through the IV line.
Morgan cleared her throat. “He's going to need amiodarone.”
The paramedic lifted his eyes. “And you know that how?”
“I work at Sacred Heart in the PICU and I'm an ACLS instructor. You need to load him with amiodarone.”
A cordial smile crossed Drew's lipsâan effort to ease the tension. “Guess we haven't met yet. Don't worry, I know the protocol. Chase, let's get the drug out of the kit. Next break let's load it in.”
Another two minutes.
Drew checked the monitor. “Still v-fib. Charge to 360 joules.”
Morgan lost sight of Dave and Lisa. She began to pray. The words, once so commonplace and easily whispered, now like a foreign language on her lips. The distance between her and God larger than the one she suffered in her marriage.
How can I pray to an entity that is handing out punishment for my misdeeds?
She felt like a prisoner asking a jailor for mercy.
Morgan squeezed the fluid bags between her hands. The more fluid, the more it could aid the medication in reaching Seth's heart.
His chest leapt from the dirt again. A different man at the chest for compressions, followed by a syringe full of the antiarrhythmic drug into Seth's veins.
Lord, I know we haven't spoken over the last few months, but please, do not extend my punishment to Seth. Please, save his life. I know you are caring for Teagan. She does not need her cousin to be there with her.
The prayer did little to ease her fear about what the ultimate outcome would be. Tyler was on the phone.
Who is he talking to?
Drew placed a hand over the arms of the firefighter who was doing compressions. “Everyone stop. Let's see what we have.”
A quick pause. The answer came at another charge of the defibrillator. Morgan looked away. A faint slap of noise as Seth's body came back into contact with the ground.
More CPR. Another two-minute segment before they would know if the drug to stabilize his heart rhythm had worked.
Another pause. The tattooed paramedic shielded the face of the monitor from the sun. “Looks like we have a normal sinus rhythm.”
Morgan exhaled. “Is there a pulse?”
Drew nodded. A huge smile on his face.
“He's still not breathing,” Chase said.
The smile faded a bit. “Let's get him intubated.”
Tyler placed his phone in his back pocket. “He'll need to be transported to Sacred Heart. He fits the research protocol for hypothermia therapy after cardiac arrest. It's the best shot to save his brain.”
Seth is going into my PICU?
Her sister-in-law shouted, “Absolutely not! That's the last place he should be.”
Late Afternoon, Wednesday, August 8
M
ORGAN PULLED UP TO
her parents' place and parked the farthest to the left of their three-car garage.
Her childhood home had a lopsided appeal with the white car doors to one side and the main home on the right. The home's base was structured from river rock in tones of brown and gray. Above that was light, tawny stucco with chocolate-brown shutters flanking each of the windows. One large picture window framed her mother's waiting silhouette.
The door opened and Sally Meyer welcomed her as always, with a tight bear hug. “Where's Tyler?”
Morgan stepped over the threshold. “He's at Children's.”
“Didn't you both have the day off? You were going to a baseball game.” Her mother eased the door closed and waved Morgan to follow. “Sounds like you could use something to drink. I made a fresh batch of sweet tea.”
Her mother busied herself gathering glasses, ice, and the pitcher of tea. This was by far Morgan's favorite spot in the house. Echoing the gray tones of the river rock in the front, the kitchen spanned hues of white to slate. Seating herself at the peppered black and ash granite island, she pulled a coaster toward her and awaited her mother's delectable concoction.
Sally was a self-taught, fabulous cook who'd experimented her way from charred grilled cheese to restaurant-quality dinners in the span of five years. A smile tugged at the corners of Morgan's lips as she thought back to her early years of food refusal and her mother's love expressed in every new dish she tried to add meat to Morgan's thin frame. The spicy vapors from chili smoldering on the stovetop were softened by the rising cornbread in the oven. The low hum from the electric ice-cream maker soothed Morgan's nerves as her stomach rumbled anxiously.
“Where's Dad?”
Her mother tucked a stray blond hair into her bun that was marbled
with dove-colored strands. “Upstairs rummaging. He'll be down in a little bit. Gives us girls a chance to catch up.”
Sally handed Morgan her drink. The cool, sweet liquid chased away the sand from the ballpark field that still coated her throat.
“You don't look good. How'd dialysis go?”
Morgan shrugged. “Same as always.”
“Is there something you're not saying?”
Morgan couldn't bear to look in her mother's questioning eyes. “Dave and Lisa's son, Seth, is very sick.”
She put her fingers to her lips. “What happened?”
“He arrested.”
“As in, his heart stopped?”
Morgan sipped again, her own heartbeat slowing at the sorrow in her mother's eyes. She looked down.
If I fall into that well, I won't be able to climb out
. “He was hit in the chest by a baseball. It was quite a while before we could get his heart started again.”
“Oh, Morgan. That's just awful! How is he?”
Morgan bit into her lip. “Alive. Tyler called a PICU intensivist that we work with. He's eligible for this research protocol where they cool the body down to spare the brain any damaging effects from not getting blood flow. They'll sedate him and keep him in a coma for a couple of days.”
Her mother reached for her hand. “But why aren't you there?”
Morgan wiped a confessional tear from her eye. “You know my history with Lisa is not chummy.”
Sally smoothed her hand over Morgan's arm. “Look, my instinct is always to protect you. It angers me how she blames you for Teagan's death.”
“She has every reason to.”
“That's ridiculous.”
Morgan leaned back into the high white chair. “Teagan was shaken more than one time, Mom. There were three different-aged bleeds in her head.”
She shooed Morgan's comment away with a wave of her hand. “I don't care. Why would you ever suspect that a good friend of yours was shaking your daughter?”
“I'm an expert in abusive head trauma. I was published.”
“You were not Teagan's nurse, you were her mother.”
“Exactly.” Morgan pulled her eyes to the window. The bright, cheery day was a direct contrast to the darkness that smoldered within her. “Why did it never cross my mind that her symptoms could be abuse? I was the one who should have saved her life. Not because I'm a nurse but because I was her mother.”
For the longest time they sat, Sally's hand soft on Morgan's knee.
Finally her mother grabbed the pitcher and refilled Morgan's glass. “I know you're thinking more about this because the three-month anniversary is coming up. Did you see that doctor I told you about?”
“The psychologist? No, I'm not ready.”
“Maybe it's just the right time then. We should often do things when we're not ready because if we don't, we'll never get there. What you put off today you really have no intention of doing.”
Is that a veiled reference to my absent church attendance?
Her parents' faith was a stalwart of their family, and Morgan had been raised in the tradition of those tenets. Unfortunately, her unanswered prayers to spare Teagan's life left her questioning how the God of love could take away what she loved most. In light of that, she'd practically abandoned the faith of her youth.
“Where is Dad?” she asked again. “Why hasn't he come down yet?”
Her mother's body sank deeper into her chair. She twirled her tumbler nervously on the smooth surface of the counter.
Come to think of it
, Morgan noticed,
Mom's behavior is off today. Her hairstyleâup in a bun versus the loose, let-down curls. Her clothing rumpled when it is usually pressed.
Her glass sans coaster.
Dad absent from this conversation.
“What's up with you?” Morgan finally asked, the pressure in her chest causing the words to stumble somewhat harshly.
“I'm not sure this is the best day to talk about this. Consideringâ”
“Mom, please. Is Dad all right?”
She swiveled her chair toward Morgan and gathered her daughter's hands. There was something in her mother's brown eyes. The darker brown flecks that normally comforted Morgan's spirit today lent to a feeling of spent exhaustion hiding something secret. Her eyes glossed over with the threat of coming emotion.
Uneasy tingles crawled up Morgan's spine. “Mom, are you all right?”
She squeezed their hands tighter until Morgan's nerves numbed under the tension. “Your father was tested to see if he could be a donor for you. He's not a match.”
The tightness eased from Morgan's chest. “Okay, that's fine.” She pulled her hands away. “Why all the drama? It's not that unexpected. I'll just have to wait my turn on the list.”
Her mother shook her head, more hair falling from the loose bun. The look of a crazed mental health patient came to Morgan's mind.
“I have something to confess to you.”
Morgan pushed back into her chair. The look on her mother's face stilled any words on her tongue.
Sally Meyer kneaded her hands, distraught. The only other time Morgan had seen her in such a state was when her aunt died, her mother's only sibling. Even Teagan's death hadn't risen to this level. “You know I love your father very much.”
“Yes.”
She placed a heavy hand on Morgan's cheek. “And he loves you. He would give you his heart if it would save your life.”
Morgan pulled her hand down. “I know.”
Her mother inhaled deeply. “Early in our marriage, we were having some trouble.”
The distance between her and Tyler crossed her mind. Maybe their issues were present before but just intensified after Teagan's death. “Why are you bringing this up now?”
“I should also say I would have never told you this if my confession didn't bring up the possibility of saving your life. Your father is your father and always will be.”
Morgan's mind raced. “What are you saying?”