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She nods, barely.
The clock reads 2:55 a.m. ‘I’m going to find us some coffee.’
‘I’ll have one too,’ Tom says.
I look to Dawn, and she shakes her head. Time to leave them to their family reunion and go in search of coffee.
The hospital cafe is closed. One of the nurses points me to a kitchen where there’s a kettle and a big supply of instant. I have no idea how Tom takes his coffee, so I throw in some sugar and milk and carry all three cups back to the waiting room.
The tension hits me like a freight train when I step inside. I pause at the door and look around, trying to gauge what level of family drama I’ve walked in on. It takes me a moment to notice Dr Singh among them.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, continuing forwards and handing out the coffees. I know it’s bad news when they immediately set their cups down on the coffee table beside the torn magazines.
‘He’s not family,’ Dawn says. ‘He shouldn’t even be here.’
Tom brings a hand to his forehead. ‘Not now, Dawn.’
Bridget’s staring at the ground, Dawn hates me, and Tom looks stressed out of his mind.
I turn to the doctor for an explanation. ‘Is Annie okay?’
He glances at Dawn before replying. ‘Annie’s blood pressure’s very low. We need to get her haemoglobin levels up. She requires a blood transfusion.’
‘Okay.’ I’m confused by everyone’s inability to look at me right now. ‘So give her one.’
Dawn holds up a small folded white card with red-and-black print on it. ‘He can’t. This was in Annie’s purse. She still carries it.’
My eyes narrow on the card. The words ‘NO BLOOD’ are written in red. Underneath is a picture of a blood bag. A red circle with a line through it is stamped over the top. That’s when I remember that Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t accept blood transfusions.
I put down my coffee and snatch the card from Dawn.
‘Advance decision to refuse specified medical treatment,’ I read aloud. Opening it up, I run my eyes over the text, all the way to Annie’s signature at the bottom. ‘This is no longer valid,’ I say, handing it back to Dawn. ‘Annie left the organisation years ago, as every person here can attest to.’
Dawn shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. Becoming inactive doesn’t mean her beliefs or wishes have changed.’
‘She’s not inactive,’ Bridget says quietly. ‘She left.’
‘Her wishes have changed,’ I say. ‘She no longer believes the bullshit she was force-fed through childhood. I can tell you with absolute confidence that she would want the transfusion.’ I look to Tom to back me up. ‘Right?’
He clears his throat. ‘I haven’t spoken to Annie about this particular issue.’
My eyes go to Bridget. ‘You know her better than anyone here. You would’ve spoken about this stuff.’
She can barely meet my gaze. ‘Not this.’ On an exhale, she adds, ‘I got rid of my card after I moved out. I don’t know why she still carries it.’
I can’t believe we’re standing here debating this while Annie’s a few rooms away needing blood. ‘She probably just forgot she had it.’
Dawn’s eyes flash at me. ‘Or perhaps she still believes it’s the right thing to do in this situation.’
Tom raises his hands, gesturing for calm. ‘What are our options here?’
‘If she needs blood, we give her the blood,’ I say. ‘We all want her to live.’
Silence.
Dr Singh rubs his forehead. ‘The card’s valid, and she was carrying it at the time of the accident.’ His hand falls to his side. ‘But if you tell me her wishes have changed, I’ll act in the best interest of the patient.’ He looks between us. ‘Right now you’re all telling me different things.’
Bridget looks up. ‘I think she’d want the transfusion.’
