My mind keeps slowly and carefully going over the events of last Thursday, trying to make sense of her passing. I can’t believe that she is gone.
When her surgeon tried to explain to me what happened, I didn’t get it. My first question was: what caused the brain tumor? My second question was: what physician was responsible for her care in the pediatric ICU?
After speaking to her surgeon, I followed her anesthesiologist down the hallway toward her room. We passed a patient’s room with the sheet cracked slightly. I got a quick glimpse of a young girl with long dark hair sitting up watching TV. I stopped walking and asked if that was my daughter’s room. The anesthesiologist explained it was not.
With each step towards my daughter’s room, my heart began to ache more. We arrived, and I saw she was unconscious.
It was only after the third physician in a row explained it to me that I understood; she was brain dead. All of the noisy machines around her hospital bed were only there to give us time to say goodbye.
I miss her terribly, and conversely, I can’t believe she’s not here.
