Page 39 of Broken Dream
“And I promise my commitment as well,” I say.
“If the transplant takes,” Gita says, “there will be months of physical therapy. You’ll need to relearn how to use your hand. The nerves will have to grow accustomed to their new home.”
I know it won’t be easy, but for the chance to reclaim part of what I’ve lost? It’s worth it to me.
So worth it.
“And if this works…” Louisa begins, her eyes bright. “If this works, Jason, you could open doors for countless other people suffering from nerve damage. You could change medicine.”
Silence for a moment.
Then I ask the question.
“When do we start?”
“Today,” Gita says. “I want to see your scans as quickly as possible. Finding the right cadaver nerve will take time, so every moment counts.”
I look at my hand again, imagining it steady and sure. I nod to them. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Louisa rises and extends her hand to me across the desk. “Let’s get you back in the operating room, Dr. Lansing.”
Gita gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she walks out the door, Louisa following her.
I stand, alone, in Louisa’s office. We’re friends and colleagues, so I know I can stay as long as I need to. I glance at her degrees on the wall, at all her awards. She’s a world-class neurologist, and if she believes in Gita’s work, then so do I.
A soft knock on the open door brings me back. Louisa’s physician’s assistant, James, peeks in. “Ready when you are, Dr. Lansing.”
“Thank you,” I say, following him.
“We’re going to radiology to get your MRI,” he says.
“Great.” I’m not sure what else to say, so I’m silent as we walk through the maze of hospital corridors until we arrive at the radiology department.
James leaves me in the capable hands of a technician. I change into a hospital gown and then settle into the cold, sterile MRI machine. I stare at the white ceiling tiles and breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
I was never claustrophobic before the accident.
Now, I hate being closed in.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Minutes pass like hours as the hum of the machine whirs around me, echoing the anxious beat of my thoughts. My mind spins with what-ifs and maybes.
