Chapter 83 Say Goodbye
Chapter 83 Say Goodbye
Purple’s POV:
I am such an idiot because, over the past few years, I blamed everyone except my father.
I blamed myself for choosing to leave with my dad instead of staying with my mom, a choice that led to me getting involved in the accident. I blamed my mom for chasing my dad out of the house, which caused me to follow him. I blamed everyone for behaving as though my father hadn't just lost his life in the exact same accident I survived. But I never blamed my dad, because he was my world, and blaming him would mean seeing things differently.
It would mean painting him as a flawed person, but at this moment, sitting right here in this living room, I blame him entirely for this parting gift.
“You, uhm… you told me about some experiment,” Paul said. He stood up and walked over to the wine bar, returning with a bottle of wine and glasses that he placed on the table, though no one touched them.
“Yeah, my team and I have been developing a treatment protocol that combines image-guided neurohydrodissection to free compressed nerve roots, targeted…”
“...in English, please.” I blinked, and he chuckled softly.
“It means we won’t cut your spine open.”
“No surgery?” Mom stood up as well, perching on the armrest. Dr. Hayes nodded.
“We would perform several minimally invasive procedures using needles and imaging guidance instead of large incisions. Then we’d retrain your nervous system while reducing the stress on the surviving nerve pathways.”
I looked at him skeptically. “And… this actually works?”
“It has.”
“How many patients?”
“Five.”
I chuckled and bit my lip, terrified to ask the question hovering in the room. “Three regained stable function,” he answered anyway.
“And the remaining two?” Even though Mother asked this, I could see she was terrified of the answer.
“The treatment stopped the deterioration, but unfortunately, they could never walk again.”
He didn’t try to hide it or sugarcoat it, and part of me actually liked him for that.
“If I choose to do this…”
“You’ll spend nearly two years in treatment… I am afraid you will have to switch to online school.”
“Wait…” Mom walked over to the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “She is not going to do this. There has to be another way.”
I couldn’t agree more with Mom. There is no way I am going to be in treatment for two years and abandon Roonie. There is no way I am going to complete my degree online and endure two years of grueling rehabilitation.
“What happens after the treatment…?”
“If it’s a success—” I finished Paul’s sentence, because he was acting like he hadn't just heard that out of five patients who tried this, only three made it out successfully.
“No marathon running.” The doctor smiled apologetically. “No lifting heavy furniture by yourself, no climbing mountains.”
He paused and smiled warmly at me. “But you’ll walk.”
The room fell silent. Mom paced around the space, then stopped and looked straight at the doctor. “What would you recommend? If she were your daughter?”
Dr. Hayes looked at me for a long moment before answering. “I would tell her that medicine can never promise certainty.” He folded his hands. “But I would also tell her that if she doesn’t undergo this procedure, she will end up in a chair anyway. If she does and it’s a failure, she will return to the chair either way. But what if it’s a success?”
He was telling me the truth: the only way to avoid the chair was either through high-risk surgery or this unproven experiment. In both scenarios, a huge chance of ending up paralyzed still loomed over me.
“And if she wants to do this, when is it safe to start?” Giselle asked this time around, and her husband shrugged.
“Today, if you want. But I understand you have school, so how about the end of the first year? A week after that window will be too late. So if the answer is yes, you should tell your friends goodbye while you can.”
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The house was as quiet as a graveyard as we picked at our meal with Ben and Giselle. Even after they left, no one said a single word. I sat at the dining table with Mom and Paul, feeling them look at each other and occasionally nudge one another, as if silently urging the other to break the ice and talk to me.
Two years away? Two years undergoing that exact same physical agony I suffered through years ago? I didn’t want to go through that nightmare again. Maybe I’d rather take my chances with surgery.
“I am not doing that,” I mumbled, breaking the silence. I appreciated them finding another option, but I wasn't doing it. No way.
“That’s okay. I also think the surgery is better… right?” Mom asked, looking for reassurance from one of us. Paul sighed and leaned back in his chair without saying a single word.
“But it doesn’t matter what you decide to do—and what if you return to the wheelchair anyway? I will stay by your side for the rest of my life and be your legs.” Mom chuckled, then sighed as if something had just hit her. “I really shouldn’t be expecting a baby at a time like this.”
“Excuse me?” Paul questioned, his brows furrowing sharply. Mom shrugged.
“I mean, Pancake might undergo surgery and will need me by her side constantly, and a new baby will just be a—”
“A what?” He leaned closer to her, and Mom swallowed her words. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and stood up, walking away to avoid a full-blown argument with her—something my dad never did, since Dad was always willing to fight it out with Mom.
Did I just compare my dad to Paul? I really was a complete mess.
“Uhm… Giselle’s nephew is hosting some conference, and I told him to save you a spot. The driver will take you,” she said, standing up from the table. I wanted to argue and let her know I had no interest in attending some boring conference, but maybe that was exactly what I needed right now: a distraction. Anything to escape my own head.