Goodbye, Mom

Outside the operating room, the entire hallway echoed with the desperate cries of my father, Logan Mitchell, and my husband, Ethan Blackwood.

Dad was kneeling on the ground, his aged face contorted with emotion.

"You're the only child we have, Rosie! We scraped and saved to put you through medical school! How can you just stand by and do nothing?

"Are you even human? The person lying in that bed is your mom! She gave birth to you and raised you! How can you just give the kidney that can save her to someone else?"

Ethan's eyes were bloodshot. He tugged desperately at my surgical gown.

"I'm asking you one last time. Are you going to save Mom or not? When we got married, she gave us all her savings to buy us a house. Is this how you repay her?"

I yanked the gown out of his grasp and coldly asked, "So what if she bought the house? She did it willingly. I didn't force her. And didn't you enjoy living there?

"I told you. The patient inside is first in line. Don't you understand the concept of first come, first served? Why did Mom have to get sick now, of all times? This is what she gets for coming late. A life is a life, regardless of who the person is. I can't save her. Don't waste my time. Get out of the way."

Dad's tears flowed freely at my words.

"Please, I'm begging you. I know you're an expert here. You can arrange a kidney transplant with just one word. Your mom is really on her last legs!"

"I'm begging you! Please! I'll even kneel for you if I have to! Just promise you'll save her. I'll give my life if it means you'll do it!"

With that, he immediately bent down.

His foot slipped, and he fell straight down the stairs behind him.

A nurse from the distance rushed over and helped him up.

When Dad finally made it back to me, his ankle was swollen beyond recognition.

Ethan's eyes were filled with rage. He grabbed me and dragged me to the door of a ward. Pointing at the figure inside, he shouted furiously, "Look for yourself! Look how sick Mom is! We weren't lying to you!

"You've seen her medical records, haven't you? If she doesn't get surgery now, she won't survive long enough for the next kidney to arrive! And as far as I know, the patient in there isn't even in critical condition!"

While he raged, I remained eerily calm.

I glanced at the monitors and the frail figure on the bed as I replied calmly, "So what if she's unconscious? There are tons of people in comas here every day. Many of them die too. Stop making a scene."

Frowning, the nurse spoke up with irritation, "Dr. Mitchell, your mom's condition really is critical. We've issued three DNR orders already. Didn't the hospital just a mile away from us recently receive a kidney? Maybe you could—"

Before she could finish, I cut her off sharply, saying, "Who's the doctor here? If I get that kidney here, what if someone else needs it over there? Are you that bored? Do you want me to talk to the head nurse and give you more to do?"

The nurse fell silent, her head lowered.

Just then, the alarm on the monitor blared again.

My mother, Daphne Elliott, was visibly struggling to breathe.

Dad wiped his eyes fiercely, trembling as he pulled two dirty bank cards from his pocket.