“Thank you for allowing all of us to be here,” Trisha says. She is, as always, unfailingly polite. The doctor, who just arrived, nods while reviewing the chart. He is one of the best, the nurses assured them upon Brent’s admittance. They gush about his skills. Yet, thus far he has failed to give them a reason that their father is in a coma. “Our youngest sister just arrived last night,” Trisha says. The self-appointed family spokesperson, she does her job seamlessly. “Sonya, this is Dr. David Ford. Dr. Ford, our sister Sonya.”
“A pleasure to meet you. Everyone, please call me David.” He holds out his hand to Sonya. His gaze lingers on her. She has brushed out her hair, allowing it to fall around her shoulders. A long-sleeved black cotton top rests atop a pair of slim jeans. Her face is free of all makeup, and the boots she wears are better suited for the New York weather she was living in. Marin’s little sister has grown up to be a beautiful woman.
“Doctor.” She releases David’s hand quickly. “What is the prognosis?”
Though her retreat is obvious, David fails to react. “On the Glasgow Coma Scale, he’s registering at a three. In English, that means he’s in a deep unconscious state. There is no definitive answer as to when he will come out of it.”
“But he will?” Sonya pushes for more.
Marin hears the fear in her sister’s voice. Unlike Trisha, Marin understands Sonya’s plea. She is asking the doctor to give them hope.
“Not for sure—I’m sorry,” he says, misunderstanding.
He looks around, gathering the whole family in his gaze. He is quiet, offering the calm before the impending storm. The battle of life versus death, both respectable warriors depending upon the perspective. But little does he know the war has already been fought.
“Some patients never come out and then the family has to decide to . . .” He pauses, his unspoken words an offer, should they wish to take it.
“Pull the plug.” Sonya says it matter-of-factly, without any emotion. She has masked the fear that was obvious to Marin only seconds ago. “And without the machines?”
“Though he is technically in a coma, essentially a deep sleep, his body is reliant upon the respirator and fluids.” David slips his hands into his pockets, his white coat pushed back. A stethoscope hangs around his neck. Marin assumes he is younger than she is, but recently she has begun to believe everyone is. “When he was admitted, he was in respiratory failure. The respirator helps his body to breathe.” He pauses, trying to prepare them for the news that no family could bear to hear. With a deep sigh and sympathy mixed with apology, he says, “Without the respirator, he wouldn’t get enough oxygen.”
Sonya listens carefully, analyzing every word. “And without oxygen he would die.”
Marin watches her, still smarting from their encounter the night before. Sonya was born after their arrival in America. Their parents had made plans to abort her—she was an accident, after all. A broken condom brought her to life. Cheap latex bought from a discount store in India and stuffed into the suitcase set for the States. Marin heard the story often growing up. In front of Sonya, Brent would repeat the tale, each time laughing louder than before. An elaborate joke no one understood.
The cost of another child was too high, and an abortion was the obvious choice. But Brent was desperate for a son. Using a low-cost ultrasound machine, the community clinic doctor made an educated guess and told them it was a boy. Overjoyed, Brent made the decision for Ranee to continue with the pregnancy, taking extra shifts to cover the cost of the medical care. At the birth, fury filled Brent’s face when the doctor announced he had another daughter.
Once born, Sonya became Marin’s responsibility while their mother worked in the local factory making children’s underwear. Marin changed Sonya’s diaper, fed her milk from a bottle, and bathed her when she spit up. Before hitting puberty, Marin was already a mother.
“How long will it take him to die? If they pull the plug?” Gia asks. She’s been sitting quietly next to Raj. Still in her tennis uniform from her lesson that morning, she crosses one slim leg over the other. Tendrils from her ponytail fall onto her face, giving the false illusion that she is younger than her years.