Proof of Heaven

“Have a seat,” Dr. Wade told Sylvia and Holley in a tone that was kind
but also unmistakably grim.
“Dr. Brennan and I have each had conference calls with experts at
Duke, the University of Virginia, and Bowman Gray medical schools, and
I have to tell you that everyone to a person is in agreement that things do
not look good. If Eben doesn’t show some real improvement within the
next twelve hours, we will probably recommend discussing termination
of antibiotics. A week in coma with severe bacterial meningitis is already
beyond the limits of any reasonable expectation of recovery. Given those
prospects, it might be better to let nature take its course.”
“But, I saw his eyelids move yesterday,” Holley protested. “Really,
they moved. Almost like he was trying to open them. I am sure of what I
saw.”
“I don’t doubt you did,” said Dr. Wade. “His white blood cell count
has come down as well. That’s all good news, and I don’t for a minute
want to suggest that it isn’t. But you need to see the situation in context.
We’ve lightened Eben’s sedation considerably, and by this point his
neurologic examination should be showing more neurological activity
than it is. His lower brain is partially functioning, but it’s his higher-level
functions that we need, and they’re all still completely absent. A certain
amount of improvement in apparent alertness occurs in most coma
patients over time. Their bodies do things that can make it appear that
they’re coming back. But they’re not. It’s simply the brainstem moving
into a state called coma vigile, a kind of holding pattern that they can stay
in for months, or years. That’s what the fluttering eyelids are, most
likely. And I have to tell you again that seven days is an enormously long
time to be in coma with bacterial meningitis.”
Dr. Wade was using a lot of words in an attempt to soften the blow of
a piece of news that could have been spoken in a single sentence.
It was time to let my body die.