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F
our o’clock.
I’d wished for time to stop. It hadn’t.
My eyes scoured every inch of Jax’s body as if embossing it forever in my mind. He had two tattoos, one around his left biceps and the other around his right ankle. They were both Celtic rings. He’d gotten them in his thirties.
I stared at the one around his ankle. A variety of vines intertwined with leaves scrolled into beautiful detail. It had turned that green shade of a faded tattoo. I thought how sad it was that I’d never see it again. Jax would be cremated, such artistry ending up in a pile of ashes.
Then I focused on his feet. Feet that had walked many miles in many countries. Feet that had bungee-jumped from the tops of bridges in New Zealand, that had chased me around the farm, that had landed in hay as we jumped from the rafters. It seemed implausible that they’d never walk again.
The nurse came into Jax’s room, checked his vitals, and emptied his urine bag for what I realized would be the last time. That familiar ache returned from the first day.
She explained to the nine of us that we’d have to put on booties, caps, and blue gowns before entering the operating room. It was a sterile environment, and they had to keep it that way. She placed the nine sets of caps, gowns, and booties on one of the chairs in Jax’s room.
We all walked over and grabbed a set. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand on one foot to place the bootie over my shoe. Trying to unfold the gown I somehow ended up twisting it into a tangled ball. Fredrik helped me, and I finally got it on. After he’d placed the cap on my head, he put on his own garb.
The nurse wheeled Jax’s bed toward the doorway. The ache now unbearable. I had to force my legs to walk forward. I wanted to yell, No, I’ve changed my mind, don’t let him go! But as I gazed at my beloved brother, I realized that if we didn’t go through with it, this would be his life—this bed, this machine, this unresponsive state. We had no choice.
The nine of us and Wendy, side by side, formed a small line behind Jax and the nurse who was guiding his bed toward the hall. Ben beside me. We all walked slowly.
No one spoke.
My senses heightened. The brightness of the overhead lights got to me. There was a yellow haze, and a hum from the fluorescents that grated like nails on a chalkboard. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. I felt weak.
We rounded a few corners. There were no patients in these halls, and I wondered vaguely what lay behind the few doors along the way. Deceased patients? Supply rooms? My focus shifted back to Jax.
These were his last moments. But there would be no last words.
Would it have been any easier if we’d known he was going to die, and had a chance to say goodbye, to hear his last words?
Did Jax know what was about to happen? Was he afraid?
Was he even still with us, inside the shell of the man we saw before us, or was he hovering above, looking down at all of us? I glanced up but saw only the speckled ceiling.
We finally stopped at an elevator with huge dark green doors, and the nurse pushed the down button. When the doors opened, she wheeled Jax in. We all followed.
Everyone stood silent and still in that enclosed space, staring at Jax.
The ding of the elevator startled me, and I jumped. Ben looked over at me then closed his eyes. A tear rolled down his face as he swallowed then exhaled. Fredrik was rubbing Jax’s hand. The door opened onto a white cement hall with more bright fluorescent lighting. Frigid air hit my face taking my breath away. It felt cold in every way imaginable.
At the end of the hall was a double steel door―Operating Room 5.