Pulling the Plug
Jake Cranston lay in the hospital bed in a coma. His father, Albert, sat there with his fist on his lips.
At the time of impact, Jake hit the steering wheel before exiting through the shattered windshield. By the time the paramedics got to the coast road, Jake had suffered a massive hemorrhage remaining in his current state. Dr. Watson, the surgeon, gave Albert the grim prognosis on his son.
Prayers would not help him now as life and death pulled at him simultaneously.
Jake’s heartbeat was steady, but Dr. Watson warned this would soon wear down like a clock someone forgot to wind.
For now he kept talking to his son as if he could still hear his father.
“Jake, I don’t know what happened out there, but I want you to know that I still love you.”
He wiped away his tears as the monitor over his son’s bed, blipped.
The police report said that he did not make the curve hit the guardrail before crushing his car against the boulders on the side of the road.
The press release hinted that Jake was high on something even though the BAT came back negative.
His estranged wife hinted that Jake seemed depressed. She went on to say he told his therapist that he had thoughts of ending it all.
How could he? Wasn’t he an All-City running back and captain on his high school team.
There was a three hundred foot cliff on the left that would have insured he got the job done.
No!
His mind cried out in agony.
Not my son! Jake would never do such a thing.
Evelyn told me, but I discounted it. Why would he do such a thing?
Why?
His eyes shifted to the respirator. If that device stopped, it would be all over for Jake. The plug was inserted into a surge suppressor. If someone yanked the cord, the harsh sound of artificial breathing would stop along with Jake’s heartbeat.
If I pulled the plug, it would be over. This last hour of agony and suffering would come to an end.
He came to his feet. He placed his hands on Jake’s white cheeks.
No response.
No hint of any sort of recognition.
For Jake, there was no hope of coming back.
The blip echoed.
He bent over and put his hands on the cord. It was an orange extension cord. With a steady jerk, the plug came out of the surge suppressor. The artificial breathing stopped after a final rasping moan.
He walked out of the room.
Stat, Code Red! Sounded over the intercom as all the nurses on duty and a couple of doctors rushed into Jake’s room.
He would calmly walk to his car and drive away knowing that in pulling the plug, he showed his son the extent of his love.
Jake Cranston lay in the hospital bed in a coma. His father, Albert, sat there with his fist on his lips.
At the time of impact, Jake hit the steering wheel before exiting through the shattered windshield. By the time the paramedics got to the coast road, Jake had suffered a massive hemorrhage remaining in his current state. Dr. Watson, the surgeon, gave Albert the grim prognosis on his son.
Prayers would not help him now as life and death pulled at him simultaneously.
Jake’s heartbeat was steady, but Dr. Watson warned this would soon wear down like a clock someone forgot to wind.
For now he kept talking to his son as if he could still hear his father.
“Jake, I don’t know what happened out there, but I want you to know that I still love you.”
He wiped away his tears as the monitor over his son’s bed, blipped.
The police report said that he did not make the curve hit the guardrail before crushing his car against the boulders on the side of the road.
The press release hinted that Jake was high on something even though the BAT came back negative.
His estranged wife hinted that Jake seemed depressed. She went on to say he told his therapist that he had thoughts of ending it all.
How could he? Wasn’t he an All-City running back and captain on his high school team.
There was a three hundred foot cliff on the left that would have insured he got the job done.
No!
His mind cried out in agony.
Not my son! Jake would never do such a thing.
Evelyn told me, but I discounted it. Why would he do such a thing?
Why?
His eyes shifted to the respirator. If that device stopped, it would be all over for Jake. The plug was inserted into a surge suppressor. If someone yanked the cord, the harsh sound of artificial breathing would stop along with Jake’s heartbeat.
If I pulled the plug, it would be over. This last hour of agony and suffering would come to an end.
He came to his feet. He placed his hands on Jake’s white cheeks.
No response.
No hint of any sort of recognition.
For Jake, there was no hope of coming back.
The blip echoed.
He bent over and put his hands on the cord. It was an orange extension cord. With a steady jerk, the plug came out of the surge suppressor. The artificial breathing stopped after a final rasping moan.
He walked out of the room.
Stat, Code Red! Sounded over the intercom as all the nurses on duty and a couple of doctors rushed into Jake’s room.
He would calmly walk to his car and drive away knowing that in pulling the plug, he showed his son the extent of his love.