Read Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning Online
Authors: Steve Ward
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Michael said, “we’ll get there tonight.” He turned to their friends, “Her dad was in an accident. We have to get to Seattle right away. You two go on ahead.”
“Christina, I’m sooo sorry.” Heather knew her father well. “What shape is he in?”
Christina tried to compose herself. “Badly burned, only expected to live a couple of days.”
“Oh God nooo, my dear.” Heather threw her arms around her. “What can we do?”
“Not a thing,” she answered, sniffing back a runny nose. “I want you two to go down there and have a good time. Have a couple of Mai Tais for me too, will you?”
Michael jumped in, “Christina, sit here with Heather. I’m going to the desk and get our tickets changed.”
It was late that night when they finally arrived in Seattle. They grabbed a cab and went directly to the hospital. It looked like every other hospital in America, white on the outside and grey inside. Christina hated hospitals and the putrid smells of alcohol, Lysol and antiseptic. Or was it, more correctly, the smell of suffering and death? When she got to her dad’s private room, she found a nurse sitting by his side, holding his hand. His body was covered with a tent, his face darkened. Eyes closed, he looked peaceful enough.
God, don’t let him suffer,
she prayed. “I’m his daughter. This is my friend, Michael. Can I talk to him?”
“Hello, I’m Dianna, you must be Christina. He’s been asking for you. Drifting in and out, several shots of morphine. Be careful not to touch; his skin is covered in a special gauze.
Mr. Matthews!
Mr. Matthews can you wake up now? Your daughter’s here.”
Lt. Col. Patrick Matthews slowly parted swollen eyelids and turned his head in her direction. Eyelashes fluttered and then opened slightly. “Christina?
Christina?”
It looked like he was trying to focus, but his eyes were dilated.
“It’s me, Dad; I’m right here.”
“Finally. . .” he coughed, as if trying to clear his throat. The smallest movement made him wince in pain. “Arrrgh.”
“Don’t say anything, Dad, don’t move. I’ll just sit here.” She took his hand from the nurse.
He struggled with a whisper speaking only a few words between breaths. “Yup. . .looks like. . . I bought the farm. . .this time. Wing came off. . .at high G. . .flat spin. . .caught fire, ‘chute hung. Too long. . .to get out.”
She started crying, and Michael put his arm around her.
He spoke again, “So is this. . .the guy? What’s. . .your name?”
“Michael, sir.”
“Michael?”
“Yes sir,” he replied. “Michael Jacobs. Honored to finally make your acquaintance. I’m very much in love with your daughter, sir. Wish it could be better circumstances.”
“Dad,” Christina said, “we were on our way to the islands when we heard. Don’t give up. I just know you’re gonna make it.”
“You shudda. . .kept going.” He nodded off.
“Dad?”
He forced his eyelids open. “Want ya ta know. . .how much I love you. . .how proud I am. Wish your mom. . .cudda seen that parade.” His eyes closed, and he went very still.
“Hang on!
Dad!
Don’t give up!”
She grabbed his face and shook it side to side.
He opened his eyes again and looked at Michael. “Take care of her. . .buddy boy. Thinks she’s invincible. . .but she’s not. No different. . .than any other woman. Needs a good, strong man.”
“Yes sir, I will. You got my word.”
His eyes shifted back to Christina, and he spoke softly, “Don’t wanna be cremated. . .put me in a box. . .pine. . .next to your mom. . .at Edwards. I can listen. . .to the planes go over.”
“No, Dad. Don’t! Don’t give up! Don’t. . .”
She couldn’t say it.
Lt. Col. Patrick Matthews, war hero, father and one of the best test pilots who ever lived, shuddered, rolled to one side and breathed his last.
* * *
It was too much for her; she fainted in a heap. Her tormented mind revolted against the trauma and retreated into the depths of subconscious. What some used to call a “nervous breakdown” drove her into a coma, and Michael couldn’t wake her. She was on the ragged edge, and nurses were having difficulty getting control of her vitals. Doctors screamed orders and scared Michael half out of his wits. She couldn’t be moved, so she was admitted to the very same hospital where her father had died. He would be buried in a pine casket at Edwards Air Force Base, but Christina wouldn’t be there. Like so many other heroic test pilots who had “bought the farm” before him, Lt. Col. Patrick Matthews would leave his legacy on a street sign in front of Hanger C, “Matthews Avenue.”
As Michael had promised weeks before, he stuck with her, sitting by her side every day squeezing her hand and talking to her, looking for any kind of response. He even read stories and books aloud to maintain some level of auditory stimulation. At first the doctors told him the prognosis was good. There was no brain damage, and she would pop out of her coma as soon as she was good and ready. They were stunned when she remained comatose for two weeks. But, soon, two weeks turned into two months, and Michael was beside himself. He was granted a paid leave of absence from NASA as long as he was willing to stay by her side. After ten weeks, he wanted some answers, so he set up a meeting with her neurologist, Dr. Leonard Williams.
“Doc, it doesn’t make any sense; she was perfectly healthy. It’s been 75 days now. Why? Why is it taking so long for her to wake up?” Michael pleaded.
“I’m sorry Michael, we don’t have a good explanation. In the beginning her EEGs were good, brain quite active and all, but in the last few days it seems that it’s slowly shutting down. I can’t tell you why; I wish I could. There’s no rational explanation. It’s as though she doesn’t want to wake up. Now, I’m almost afraid to say this, but the truth is, well, the prognosis is poor.”
“She’s gonna die?” Michael implored.
“No, we can keep her alive, but she has drifted into a state where she could be stranded for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“Could be years.”
“Oh God, no!” Michael gasped. “She doesn’t want. . .”
Dr. Williams moved his stool in front of Michael, took his hand firmly and looked directly in his eyes. He was an older man, about sixty, and his look was filled with compassion. Michael cringed, whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it.
“Son, I don’t know exactly how to say this, but the human mind can do some very strange things. You should probably come to terms. . .just get on with your life.”
“Is she brain dead?” he almost screamed.
“No, no, not that. It’s just that she seems to lack the willingness to thrive.”
“But. . .”
“I’m sorry son.”
Michael’s face fell into his hands, tears dripping between fingers. “Christina.” It was all he could say. He walked out of the doctor’s office filled with anger and despair. He had gone there seeking a warm flicker of hope, but all he got was the ice cold dagger of truth.
Couldn’t he lie or something?
he wondered.
What kind of a doctor offers no hope?
He answered himself,
An honest one
.
He didn’t feel like eating, so he drove right to the hospital to be by her side. When he took her thin hand and looked at her lifeless form, tears ran off his cheeks. Fed through a tube, she was losing weight. The world’s most popular astronaut, patriot and American heroine, a young woman with so much promise, was dying the slow death of mental shutdown. Her dreams of landing on Mars faded away with the elasticity of her brain and color of her skin. Michael thought back to that meeting with Dr. Williams, and what he really wanted to say was,
Are you kidding me?
In this day of modern medicine with so many advances, you can’t do anything? Your fucking ignorance is unforgivable!
Christina had to be constantly attended, rolled around, diapered and treated for bed sores, but Michael wouldn’t leave her side. It was day seventy-six, and whatever sliver of faith Michael held on to was slipping away. He wasn’t a religious person and had always thought prayer was a waste of time. But in the wee hours on a Thursday night, he found himself on his knees beside her bed.
“God. . .if you’re there, she doesn’t deserve this. Either take her now or send her back. Don’t let her rot away in this bed.” He didn’t have a clue how to pray, but he was lonely, distraught and desperate. “God help me. I can’t take it anymore. Just take her!” he wept aloud. “No, don’t. . .don’t take her, let her live. If you’ll just wake her up, Lord, I’ll go to church every Sunday the rest of my life. C’mon, give me a
reason
to believe. Show me! Save her, dammit!” Head in hands he fell to the floor, and the floodgates burst. He was making so much noise the head nurse peeked in the room ran to his side.
“Are you okay? Michael, you all right? What’s the matter, honey? Did she pass?” The nurse looked up at the display on the life support system. “She’s okay, Michael,” she said, stroking his hair. “She’s okay, honey, still tickin’ away.”
Embarrassed by his weeping, he rose to his feet and looked the other way. He tried to wipe the tears with wet hands. “Why can’t she wake up?”
he demanded. He turned, stared into the nurse’s eyes and said the unthinkable, “Nancy, she doesn’t want this, rotting away in her own fluids. I know her. What can we . .?”
“Don’t,” she said, putting her fingers over his lips like she didn’t want him to finish.
Even more determined, he pulled back. “I want to know,” his face dropped, “what can we do?”
“Do?” she looked at the same spot on the floor.
“Morphine. . .how much can you get your hands on?”
“Enough to kill a horse,” she said without thinking. It was an expression she often used around nurses, and it just slipped out.
Michael looked at her with raised eyebrows.
“No, you don’t mean. . .”
It was three in the morning, no one else around. Michael put one hand on each of the nurse’s shoulders. “Listen, Nancy. She doesn’t want this. You know I love this woman more than anything in the world, and I’d do
anything
for her. Even. . .”
“So what do you have in mind?”
“Morphine. I want you to make up a shot, a really big one. . .she can just fade away without any pain.”
“Michael, are you crazy?”
she spoke through gritted teeth.
“You know I can’t do that.”
He looked at her with big, wet eyes. “Yes, I am crazy. But what if it were you?” he begged. “What if. . .it were your daughter. Would you let her rot?”
The nurse hesitated; her eyes shifted back and forth. She couldn’t look him in the face. “Don’t know. Yes I. . .No, no, it’s insane. She might come around any minute.”
“How long?” Michael pleaded.
“No way to. . .”
“I love her with all my heart, and I know she’s doesn’t want this,” he repeated. He stared a hole through her with pleading eyes. “
Please
, show some compassion,” a flood of tears poured down his gaunt face.
Nancy looked confused. Eyes wide in fear, she put her hand on his head then wrenched away and stormed out of the room without another word.
Michael lost it once again and fell to the floor in the fetal position, sobbing. He was there for the longest time, until he cried out all his tears. The cold tile felt good on his face. He heard an odd clicking noise and turned to see the door come ajar, then just as quickly, it closed. He was puzzled because no one came in. He got up and looked at the sink next to the door.
There it is!
A very large syringe lay there, fully charged. He gasped, heart racing,
My God!
He went back to Christina touching her face and hands, searching for any signs of life. There were none. He bent to kiss her, and her lips were cold. Out of frustration he took her by the shoulders and wrestled her around. “Wake up dammit! It’s not supposed to end this way. C’mon, girl, wake up!”
Nothing, just a limp rag. It was almost 5:00 a.m. and he knew the place would soon come alive with doctors, nurses and patients.
Michael walked over to the sink and picked up the syringe with trembling hands. He turned slowly and moved back beside the love of his life. “God, take her now,” he prayed. He lifted the covers and exposed her upper leg.
Can’t do it,
he gritted his teeth, more tears fell.
Got to,
he argued.
You know what she wants. . .Can’t. . .Gotta do it. You coward, stick it in!
He held his breath, laid the needle against her pallid skin and took a deep breath.