Mr. Malone, look...the situation's not ideal. The impact to her left upper abdomen, most likely caused when she hit the back of the seat, was severe. She has a ruptured spleen with internal bleeding. I'm not going to sugar-coat this. It's serious, but she's stable. We need to operate immediately.
Turning to look at his daughter through the glass walls of the ICU, John Malone's eyes misted over. The rising lump in his throat threatened to overwhelm him. He knew the feeling all too well. Not today, he resolved. His tears could fall on another day, but dear Lord, please, not today!
His thoughts had little real religious meaning, he hadn't had a relationship with God in years... not since...not since Sasha's mom had been taken from them in childbirth. How could that be an expression of Divinity? Of love? He just didn't buy it anymore.
She was still his 'baby girl', barely 6 years old, and there she was lying flat on a hospital bed, her arms in casts, face swollen from the bruising, cuts marking her beautiful olive-toned skin; sleeping. The only other sound coming from the room... the constant beeps from the machines that surrounded her. He wanted to reach out and hold her and tell her that her Papa was there, everything was going to be ok, but truth be told, he didn't know if it would this time. The doctor's words were still echoing inside his head. He wished they would stand still for a moment; just long enough for him to assimilate them with clarity. Instead, blunt words kept hitting him on repeat, mocking and cruel! Why do people always get knocked when they are down?
Mr. Malone, excuse me, I don't mean to rush you, but we do need to do this, now! We just need the consent signed and then we'll take her.
Five minutes later he watched as his reason to live was wheeled down the long cold and sterile corridor away from him, and into surgery. Deja Vue.
I've looked over her oncology file, Mr. Malone...
He had to stop him. It felt too impersonal. And this...this was personal.
Dr. Stevens, please call me John, I'm more comfortable with that
he stammered.
Of course, whatever you'd prefer,
the consultant replied.
... so... John, I see she is on the waiting list for a stem cell transplant.
It wasn't even posed as a question. Just another hard fact. He'd felt that blow hit home too many times.
Yes, his daughter had cancer.
Yes, she was unlikely to see her 7th birthday without stem cell transfer intervention.
No, she had not received a match as yet.
It had been 2 very long roller-coaster years. Every morning he had woken up hoping that this was the day that they would finally get the call. Every evening he had retreated once more to his tear-stained pillow. And now, of all things, her spleen. Without it, she was so severely compromised. The noise inside his head was deafening. He wanted to kick and scream at how unfair life had become.
The two of them had been joking and giggling on the way back from the drive-thru. Getting take-out was their end-of-week treat together. He'd stopped at the lights, waiting for them to change green. Her favourite colour. It meant 'go'. It was one positive that life still gave them. Sasha had unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward to grab the ice-cream cup that had slipped just out of her tiny fingers' reach. He had not seen the other car coming until it was too late. The sheer force of its impact as it buckled into the back of their own at 50 miles an hour, had sent Sasha flying.
He had suffered whiplash and several lacerations, but they were minor compared to what she was going through.
She might only be six, but he hadn't known a wiser, more kind, and intuitive little soul in his life. She was compassionate towards animals, loyal to her friends to a fault. Always tried her very best at school and asked truly dad-stretching questions for a child. She kept his world spinning.
He rolled over to face the nurse who had entered the room.
Good morning Sunshine! How are we today? Anything I can do to make things easier for you?
She was always smiling, breezy ... it did little to ease the gloom that had taken root; the despair and heartbreak that now consumed him, tortured him...every single day! The flashbacks were slowly eating him alive.
One minute he had been driving along, a long shift under his belt, and the next he had been waking up under blue lights, mask straps cutting into the side of his face, pain in too many places to fathom their source.
They'd said he had likely suffered a blackout; not something he'd ever experienced before. His body was pretty beaten up from the incident but his physical scars were nothing compared to the ones now engraved on his heart. There were other casualties; a little girl, he'd been told. It was serious. Her health was already compromised. She might...
He shuddered...it wasn't worth contemplating.
He looked up at Nurse Cathy, managing a weak smile.
Not feeling too great... any chance of the local paper?
She obliged with the one under her arm. It was going into the nearest recycling bin anyway.
There splashed across the front page was Sasha's story. A child already facing an incredible battle against cancer; on the stem cell transplant list for 2 years, now in a horrific accident...
He felt helpless.
Terrible news... isn't it?
said Nurse Cathy, leaning over his shoulder to fluff his pillows.
We have all been so moved by her story here on the ward. Everyone's registered as a donor with WMDA. If we can't help her, perhaps we can help someone else.
Simon stopped reading, as he pondered Cathy's words. Perhaps there was room for hope.
John...?
John hesitated, struggling to raise his eyes to meet those of the consultant. He'd been sleeping in a camp cot on the ward floor for nearly two weeks. Every muscle in his body ached, but the one that hurt the most was his heart. She should be recovering. Her spleen should be healing. It wasn't.
A healthy person... would likely be ok, even without a spleen, but somebody who was immunity compromised, their bodies wouldn't cope without a weapon to fight bacteria. He'd been anticipating this moment; dreading its arrival.
Dr. Stevens spoke, his voice calm, and measured.
There's been a change in Sasha's condition. She's taken a turn for the worse... I'm afraid...If we don't get a donor match soon... I'm sorry... but you will need to start preparing yourself for the worst.
His world... stopped.
He spent the next 10 hours straight, on his knees in the chapel. He brokered every deal possible with God. He wagered his possessions, his house, his life. Lord, if you are out there, please, please...please just save her.
Dr. Stevens, we've just heard from WMDA. He's a 10/10 HLA match. It's astounding. Serendipitous. And he's agreed that we can do the stem cell extraction immediately.
The consultant's registrar was beyond excited. It would be his first solo run.
Dr. Ashley, where is the donor located?
Right here! Just down the corridor in General Ward!
Simon watched as the lifeblood flowed from his body, through the machines, filtering all that was good in his life, before sending it back to renew itself inside him again. The little girl on the bed next to him was sitting up, playing with her doll; smiling. They were on their last pint.
John had taken a quick break from his daughter's side to offer his sincere gratitude to Dr. Stevens and his team. The consultant squeezed John gently on the shoulder, before continuing on with his duties.
And now John had one final very important debt to pay.
He leaned forward as he entered the small space, knelt down, and bowed his head.