Chapter 124 #42: We Need Your Consent
I think I imagined it.
That is my first thought when my heartbeat finally slows enough for my brain to catch up with the moment. I have been sitting here too long, talking to a man who cannot answer me, clinging to hope like it is oxygen. Of course my mind would manufacture a response. Of course it would give me what I am begging for.
David's fingers curl around mine again, the pressure faint but unmistakable this time, and I lift my head slowly from where it has been resting against his knuckles, my breath catching hard in my throat as I stare down at our joined hands.
His fingers twitch, then squeeze with just enough strength to send a sharp, electric jolt through my entire body. I raise my head fully now, my eyes locking onto his face. His eyelids flutter once, twice, and then they open slowly and laboriously, like he's dragging himself up through layers of heavy water. Those familiar eyes meet mine, hazy and clouded at first, then gradually sharpening as recognition filters in, and the sound that escapes me is both a half sob and half laugh.
"David," I whisper, my voice breaking completely on his name. "Oh my God, David, you're awake."
He doesn't speak. He just looks at me, his gaze still foggy but fixed, and I can see the moment clarity returns because his fingers tighten around mine again, deliberate this time, holding on. I don't think. I stand so fast the chair scrapes loudly across the linoleum floor and I rush out into the hallway without letting go of his hand until the last possible second.
"Nurse!" I call, my voice louder than I intend. "He's awake! Please, someone get a doctor right now!"
The nurse at the station looks up and is already moving before I finish speaking. She grabs a chart and hurries over, pushing past me into the room with practiced calm. David's eyes follow me as I step back to his side, my hand finding his again immediately and lacing my fingers through his.
She checks his vitals quickly while she speaks to him in a low, soothing tone. "Mr. Reid, can you hear me? If you can, squeeze her hand once for yes."
He does. The pressure is weak but clear.
"Good," she says, nodding. "Very good. Stay with us. I'm calling the doctor now."
She steps out and I lean over him, my free hand brushing damp hair from his forehead. His skin is still too warm with fever, but his eyes stay on mine, steady even through the haze.
"You're okay," I tell him, my voice trembling despite every effort to keep it even. "You're going to be okay.”
He tries to speak. His lips part slightly, but only a rough rasp comes out. I shake my head quickly. "Don't try to speak. Save your strength."
The doctor arrives within minutes, followed by another nurse. They surround the bed, checking monitors, listening to his lungs, shining lights in his eyes, asking questions he answers with nods or the barest squeeze of my hand. I stay right there beside him, refusing to step back even when they adjust lines and check dressings. His grip on my fingers never loosens.
"Mr. Reid," the doctor says when they've finished the initial assessment, "you've been through major trauma. The bullet nicked an artery and you lost a significant amount of blood. We repaired the damage surgically, but infection set in fast and your body is still fighting it. We're adjusting your antibiotics and monitoring closely. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
He nods once, his eyes never leaving my face.
"Good. Rest now. We'll be in and out to check on you, but for the moment you're stable."
They leave us alone again.
I sit back down, still holding his hand, and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "You scared me," I say quietly. "You really scared me."
His thumb moves against my knuckles – slow and weak, but there.
I lean closer. "We got Lucy back, David,” I tell him with a smile. “It was Maya all along. Maya is Shadow and she’s been playing us the whole time.”
His eyes open wider in surprise. He looks like he’s trying to say something and I stop him.
“You don’t need to worry yourself about all that right now. I’ll give you all the details when you get better. But for now, there’s some good news. They’ve scheduled Lucy for a transplant within the week. But... um...” I pause, thinking of how to tell him. “You're the only donor match on file and they need your consent before they can harvest. Can you... can you nod if it's okay to go ahead?"
He looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly, but deliberately.
Tears burn behind my eyes. "Thank you."
He squeezes my hand again and soon after, drifts off to unconsciousness.
The transplant doctor comes in later that morning during one of David's more lucid periods. She steps closer to the bed, her tone shifting to professional seriousness. “Mr. Reid,” she says clearly, leaning into his line of sight. “Can you hear me.”
David’s eyes flutter open again and he blinks slowly, then nods.
The doctor glances at me briefly before continuing. “Your daughter needs a bone marrow transplant and luckily, you're a match. We need your consent to proceed.”
David’s eyes find mine again, and there is no hesitation there. No fear. Only certainty.
He nods.
"Good," she continues, "the procedure itself is straightforward... some general anaesthesia, extraction from the posterior iliac crest. For a healthy donor it's low risk with quick recovery. But in your case, your body is still recovering from significant blood loss and ongoing infection. The anaesthesia alone carries elevated risk of cardiac complications, respiratory depression, or worsening sepsis. There's a very real chance it could be life-threatening. Do you understand the risks I'm describing?"
My breath stops. I knew there were risks but I didn’t think it’d be that bad.
“Please don’t phrase it like that,” I whisper, not sure who I am begging.
The doctor ignores me gently, her focus entirely on David. “Do you understand what I am saying, Mr. Reid?”
David looks at me first, searching my face, then back at her. He nods again.
"And despite that, you still consent to proceed?"
He nods again, without a second's hesitation.
She makes a note. "We'll schedule for tomorrow morning. Rest as much as you can today."
When she leaves I lean over him, my forehead resting against his for a moment.
"You don't have to do this," I whisper. "We can wait. We can find another donor."
He shakes his head slightly. His voice when it finally comes out, is rough and barely audible. "Lucy... needs... it."
I close my eyes. "I know."
He squeezes my hand once more and in that very moment, I understand the choice he had to make all those years ago.
~
The rest of the day passes in fragments – tests, consultations, nurses in and out. The doctors sit me down again to go over the pros and cons in exhaustive detail: the high likelihood of success for Lucy with a matched sibling donor, the near-perfect compatibility, the way the harvested marrow will give her the best possible chance at full recovery. But for David the picture is different. His body is still fragile. The anaesthesia could trigger complications they can't predict. Bleeding risk during extraction is higher than normal. Infection could flare. Cardiac arrest isn't impossible.
They tell me the numbers. They tell me the odds.
I listen to every word. I nod when they ask if I understand. I sign the forms they place in front of me with shaky hands, realizing I just might be signing David’s death warrant.
I pace the hallway between their rooms, torn in half, my mind spinning with what-ifs I can't afford to dwell on.
Sel stays with Lucy while I sit with David. Marcus handles calls and updates from his team. Uncle Rhys disappears for hours at a time, chasing whatever loose ends Maya left behind.
That night I sit beside David again, holding his hand while the room grows quiet except for the steady beep of monitors.
"You're going to be okay," I whisper. "Both of you will be fine. We're going to get through this."
His fingers twitch in mine, and I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his palm.
Morning comes too soon.
They wheel David out first. I walk beside the gurney, holding his hand the whole way. They finally stop me at the operating room doors.
“You can’t come in here,” a nurse says gently.
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know.” Then I turn to him. "I love you. Come back to me.”
He squeezes my fingers, and then he's gone.
They take Lucy next. She’s scared but brave, clutching her bear the whole way.
I kiss her forehead. "I’ll be right here when you wake up."
She nods and then she’s gone too.
I pace the waiting area. Sel sits with me. Marcus stands by the window with his phone in hand.
Hours pass as the surgery is in progress.
I stare at the clock, willing the hands to move faster, my stomach knotted so tight I can barely breathe.
Finally the doctor comes out, wearing a mask that's dangling around her neck.
"It’s done," she says. "Successful on both ends. Lucy’s stable. The transplant took well."
Relief crashes over me so hard I sag against Sel, my legs threatening to give out.
"And David?" I ask, voice shaking.
She smiles. "He’s in recovery. His vitals are strong for now. He pulled through."
I start to breathe again.
We did it. Lucy’s going to be okay. David’s going to be okay.
Then like a cruel joke, we hear the alarm as beeps turn to shrieks and nurses run past us right into the recovery room where David is.
I grab a passing nurse by the arm.
“What’s happening?!” I demand, my voice rising. “What’s wrong?!”
“His vitals are crashing,” he says. “We’re doing everything we can.” Then he rushes off again.
The beeping grows louder and I realize, with horrifying clarity, that this is the moment everything could be taken from me all over again.
And it might be all my fault.