BRAVE

‘She’s really not doing so well honey. Are you sure you want to see her?’ ‘I’m sure’ The young blond nurse leads me into my younger sister’s room. Her name, Rita, is written on a chart at the foot of her bed. The nurse pats my shoulder and asks if I need anything. I shake my head. I flop into a chair beside Rita’s head, and hear the nurse close the door as she leaves. ‘Oh Rita.’ The respirator puffs, and the heart monitor beeps out a steady rhythm. Rita’s covered in bandages, and what isn’t bandaged is burned a bright ugly red. But I can still see a few remaining wisps of her trademark flaming orange hair. An I.V. feeds and hydrates her, and I know my sister would hate this if she could see it. She was never one to sit still for long. Now she’s literally tethered with more lines than I can easily count. I sit beside her for hours, afraid to touch her, not wanting to hurt her, even though her IV bag has MORPHINE written on it in Sharpie; but I talk softly the whole time. I talk - about our parents when they were alive, about my memories of Rita as a kid, about my job in the West, the long overseas flight here to visit her - until I fall asleep with the smell of bandages and disinfectant sharp in my nostrils. I wake to frantic beeping and raised, panicked voices. Doctors and nurses pour in, some shouting, some writing. They shove me aside, load my sister onto a stretcher and rush out of the room, fiddling with all the needles in her the whole time. They ignore me completely, and I press myself up against the wall as they pass, my heart in my throat. I follow them quickly down a hall, running to keep pace, until they disappear through a door with an ‘OFF LIMITS’ sign on it. I stop the next nurse I see. "What's happened to my sister Rita??” I demand. “Rita who?” “The girl they just took in there!” I point and make an effort to lower my voice.“You’re the next of kin?" “I’m her sister!” Her voice softens a touch. “I’ll get a doctor to let you know as soon as they know what’s going on. For now, they rushed her into surgery.” Numbly, I thank her and head back to her room to wait in terrified silence. What feels like hours later, but might only be minutes, an older lady in scrubs walks in and calls me by name. I look up, unable to keep the hope from my voice. “Is Rita okay?” ‘Well.’ The grey-haired nurse flips through a chart in her hands. ‘Her lungs have collapsed, she’s got infections in some burns, and there’s a problem with her brain….we’re not sure what yet.’ ‘Will….’ My voice cracks and I clear my throat. ‘Will she be okay?’ The nurse looks grim. ‘I won’t lie. We don’t know what her recovery will be like yet. We’ll have more information after she comes out of surgery.’ I kill the next few hours by checking my emails on my iPhone, biting my nails and remembering how much I’ve hated hospitals since Mom died of cancer. I jump up when the older nurse comes back into the room, my whole body trembling with anxiety. ‘It’s bad.’ The trembling increases, and then stops completely and I go totally numb. ‘She’s likely got some permanent brain damage from swelling, and only one lung is functional….and that one is still unstable; the result of all the smoke inhalation. She’s pumped full of antibiotics, but the skin grafts aren’t holding as well as we’d like.’ ‘So…..’ My voice trails off as I realise I don’t know what I want to ask or say. I feel like I’m only understanding half of what the nurse is saying. She seems to understand this, and breaks it down for me. ‘Her quality of life will be quite low, you realise. She’ll be an invalid for life."My throat is dry as I try to swallow. I can’t handle thinking about my outspoken, independent sister having to spend the rest of her life reliant on someone else for every single one of her needs. I spend another night beside Rita’s bed after she comes out of recovery, surrounded by beeping, blinking machines. Already I’m so used to their noise that they fade into the background and I only remember them when one’s rhythm changes. Then there’s a repeat of yesterday’s panic and waiting as Rita’s remaining lung collapses. When they bring her back out she looks shrunken and lonely. The exact opposite of the sister I know. ‘It might be time to let her go’ the surgeon who by now has operated on her twice suggests gently. ‘As the closest living family member, it’s your choice.’ He sets a release form and a pen in front of me and leaves me and Rita alone. I read the form carefully, then re-read it even more slowly and stare at it until my eyes are dry and gritty. If I sign, I’m signing away Rita’s life. Is that what she'd want? I feel like it should take a lifetime to make this decision. How long do I have before the machines beep again and they take her away, maybe for the last time? I twirl the pen slowly between my fingers. Could I let my sister go? Should I? Would I rather she die in surgery while they desperately try to save her life - a life that she might not even want anymore - or die beside me while I hold her hand as they unplug her ventilator? I look at her lying deathly still on the hospital bed, her sparse and wispy hair the only lively part of her. I glance at the pen, the form. What choice do I really have? “Be brave.” I whisper as I close my eyes briefly. Then I open them, press the pen down to the paper and sign my name.