“Do you consider that likely?” She was pushing and she knew it, but she wanted to know.
“No, I don't. I think it's unlikely to sustain this extensive an injury and not see any long-term ill effects, but I do think that if all goes well, they could be relatively minor …if we're lucky. I'm not making you any promises, Mrs. Clarke. Right now, she's in a lot of trouble, and we can't ignore that. You're asking me for best case, and I'm telling you what's possible, but not necessarily what will happen.”
“And worst case?”
“She won't make it at all …or if she does she'll be severely impaired.”
“Meaning what?”
“She could remain in a coma permanently, or be extensively brain damaged if she regains consciousness at all, loss of motor skills, powers of reason. She could in essence be severely brain damaged, if she has sustained too great a shock, too many injuries, and we are unable to repair them. How much swelling occurs in the brain will have a lot to do with it as well, and how successful we are in controlling the swelling. We'll need all our skill, Mrs. Clarke, and a lot of luck …and so will your daughter. We'd like to operate immediately, if you'll sign the papers.”
“I haven't been able to reach her father.” Page felt a lump in her throat the size of her fist. “I may not be able to get hold of him until tomorrow …I mean today …” She felt and sounded panicked as Trygve watched her, aching for what she was going through, and unable to help her.
“Allyson can't wait, Mrs. Clarke …we're talking minutes here. We've already done a CT scan on her, as I said, and skull X rays. We have to get in as soon as possible, if we're going to save her, or any normal brain function whatsoever.”
“And if we wait?” She had to ask Brad, she was his child too. It wasn't fair to him to proceed without him.
He looked at her honestly for a long moment. “I don't think she'll live another two hours, Mrs. Clarke. And if she does, I don't think there will be any viable brain function left, she'll probably be blind too.” But what if he was wrong? What ever happened to the theories about second opinions? The trouble was, they didn't have time. They barely had time for one, if he was saying Allyson wouldn't live another two hours without brain surgery. What choice was there?
“You don't leave me many options, Doctor,” Page said miserably, as Trygve squeezed her hand, and she held his tightly.
“There aren't any, Mrs. Clarke. I'm sure your husband will understand that, when you reach him. We'd like to do everything we can.” She nodded as she looked at him, not sure if she trusted him or not. But she had to, she had no choice. Allyson's life depended on their skill and their good judgment. And what if she lived, but was totally brain damaged as they had warned, or was in a coma for the rest of her life? What kind of victory would that be? “Will you sign the consent forms now?” he asked quietly, and after a long moment's hesitation, she nodded.
“When are you going to operate?” she asked hoarsely.
“In about half an hour,” he said calmly.
“May I be with her until you do?” Page asked, feeling panicked. What if they never let her see her again? What if this was the last time she ever saw her? Why hadn't she held her for longer that night before she went out? Why hadn't she said all the things to her she had meant to say in her brief lifetime? Without even knowing it, she found herself crying again, as the doctor leaned over and touched her shoulder.
“We're going to do everything we can for her, Mrs. Clarke. You have my word.” He looked around at his two associates, who had said very little in the past half hour. “And you have one of the best neurosurgical teams in the country. Trust us.” She nodded, unable to say more to him, and he stood up and offered to take her to her daughter.
“She's deeply unconscious, Mrs. Clarke, and she's sustained a number of minor injuries as well. In some ways, it looks worse than it is. A lot of what you'll see will heal. Her brain is another story.”
But nothing he said to her prepared her for what she saw when they let her into the room where Allyson lay, watched by a resident and two specially trained ICU nurses. There was a breathing tube in her throat, another tube in her nose, a transfusion in one arm, an IV in her leg, and machines and monitors everywhere. And in the midst of it all, beautiful little Allyson, her face so battered, her own mother could scarcely recognize it, and her head covered by a sterile drape that concealed the hair they were going to cut off in only moments.