HARD CHOICES
THE NOW
JOSH
288 iVouchers.
The doctor’s office felt too small, too quiet. The walls were painted a neutral beige, but they might as well have been closing in on me. The clock on the wall ticked softly, but each second felt like a hammer against my skull.
Laura had been in the hospital for THREE months. Ninety–two days. I knew because I counted them, each one dragging on like a lifetime. Every day, I sat by her bed, talked to her, held her hand, and hoped prayed–for some kind of sign.
It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest all over again just sitting here, waiting for the doctor to tell me something, anything, that might change the trajectory of this nightmare.
“If it wasn’t for Jess and Luke, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I muttered to myself, my voice barely audible.
They were home with Asha. My little girl. God, she was so small, so innocent. Too young to understand why her mother wasn’t there. Jess had stepped in like a second mother to her, and Luke… well, Luke was Luke. The steady rock we all needed but rarely deserved.
The doctor finally spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“So, Joshua. Your wife–Laura–she’s been stable for a few
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weeks now, which is good. There haven’t been any infections, and that’s a positive sign.”
I nodded, clinging to the word positive.
“But…” he continued, and my stomach dropped. There was always a but.
“She hasn’t shown any significant improvement. And we want to discuss moving her to the long–term wing of the hospital.”
I blinked at him, trying to process the words. “The long–term wing?”
He shifted in his seat, folding his hands on his desk. “Yes. It’s a specialized care unit. It’s designed for patients who require extensive rehabilitation and monitoring. In Laura’s case, she needs physiotherapy to prevent muscle atrophy and ensure her body remains strong while her brain continues to heal.”
I barely heard the rest of his explanation. The words “long–term wing” echoed in my mind like a death sentence.
“You’re just waiting for her to die,” I said flatly, my voice cold and sharp.
“No, not at all,” he replied quickly, his tone measured but firm. “This is about giving her the best chance to recover. The long- term wing is better equipped to handle her needs, and there are things we can do to keep her body healthy and prevent complications. But… we need to be honest about her progress. The medications that kept her sedated have been removed. She needs to wake up on her own now, and unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to speed up that process.”
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“So, what you’re saying is… we just wait,” I said bitterly.
The doctor hesitated. “In a sense, yes. But it’s not passive waiting. Familiarity can help–things like music, photos, personal touches in her room. Studies have shown that these can have a positive impact.”
His voice faded into the background as my thoughts spiraled. They were giving up. They were saying she wasn’t going to wake up, and this was their way of softening the blow.
“Is she breathing on her own yet?” I interrupted, my voice tight.
“Somewhat,” the doctor admitted. “She’s taking a few spontaneous breaths, but the ventilator is still doing most of the work.”
My jaw clenched.
“We can also discuss end–of–life care if—”
I shot out of my seat, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Like I said,” I cut him off, my voice hard as steel, “that’s not an option.”
The doctor leaned back slightly, startled by the edge in my tone.
I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the small office. I couldn’t sit there anymore, couldn’t listen to this detached, clinical analysis of my wife’s condition. Laura wasn’t a statistic, wasn’t a case file. She was Laura.
“I’m not giving up on her,” I said finally, turning back to face him.
“I understand,” the doctor said gently. “And no one here is giving
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up on her either. But I do need you to understand the reality of the situation. We’re doing everything we can to support her recovery.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
Instead, I grabbed my jacket and left the office, my steps heavy and deliberate. I made my way back to Laura’s room, my chest tight with frustration and fear.
Standing by her bedside, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting the warmth of her skin ground me.
“You’re going to wake up,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You have to.”
