Free Deadly Errors by Allen Wyler

good news.” He paused for the full impact to register. “Larry’s not waking up. In fact, his condition is worse. He bled into the area I removed.”
    Mrs. Childs sobbed, burying her face in both hands. Her husband reached an arm around her shoulders while his other index finger pushed up his bifocals to pinch the bridge of his nose, his head bowed.
    “It’s that damned radiation, isn’t it!” Leslie Childs stood pillar straight, fists planted solidly against her narrow hips, flared elbows forming an imaginary barrier beyond which no family member dared to cross. Larry’s parents huddled behind this 5’7” alpha primate in worried silence.
    Her outburst came as no surprise. Fully expecting her opening salvo he’d rehearsed a firm, but not too defensive reply. Meeting her eye to eye, he said, “Ms. Childs, I appreciate your concern for your brother, but we’d all be better served if we carry on this discussion on a less antagonistic basis.”
    The mother looked up at her daughter. “He’s right, Dear.”
    With acetylene torch eyes on Tyler, she forced a smile and dropped into a club chair next to her mother. Mrs. Childs reached over and grasped her hand. The priest began fingering Rosary beads.
    Round two coming up, my friend, get ready, bell’s about to clang.
    “Here’s what’s happened,” Tyler began. For the father’s benefit he rehashed the CT findings and the explanation given to Mrs. Childs earlier. Then, to all three family members he explained the findings at surgery, how biopsies were submitted to the pathologist, the time needed for a pathologist to make any sense of the tissue, and, finally, Larry’s failure to awaken long after the anesthesia should have worn off and finally the terminal hemorrhage.
    When he finished Leslie asked, “All you’ve given us so far is a string of medical mumbo jumbo. What exactly does it mean?”
    Fair enough question , Tyler told himself. It was her sanctimonious tone and attitude that grated. Then again, her brother lay dying in the ICU. He took a moment to mentally rephrase his explanation before attempting another pass at it. “I’m afraid your brother’s brain is dead.”
    “He’s dead?” Leslie asked without her prior defiance.
    “Yes.”
    Larry Childs Sr. hugged his wife more closely but she seemed to accept Tyler’s words as a grim anticlimax.
    “But his heart is still beating, isn’t it?” Leslie asked.
    Tyler slipped into words explained many times before. “True.” He paused. “But, the heart isn’t the essence of human life. The brain is. The heart is a symbol of love perhaps, but life can go on if it’s replaced. You can’t say the same for the brain. Once your brain stops working, your spiritual and personal essence stops too, leaving behind only a physical body carrying on a series of metabolic functions.” He braced for a theological rebuttal from the priest but none came.
    Leslie nodded, accepting this explanation.
    “I have to ask something,” Tyler continued, “that I know will be very difficult for any of you to answer, so if you wish, no answer will be sufficient for me to proceed.”
    Leslie offered, “You want to turn off the respirator.”
    Again, Leslie’s cooperative tone surprised him. “Yes.”
    She thought about this a moment. Then, without conferring with her parents. “That’s what Larry would’ve wanted.”
    “There is one more unpleasant issue I need to bring up.” Another pause. “I would think you’d want to know for certain that it was the radiation that caused his problems. I want you to allow me to order an autopsy.”

    “H E’S THE PRIEST who baptized and confirmed Larry,” Mrs. Childs whispered to Tyler as she walked into Larry’s ICU room. “I think it’s only right that he gives my son last rites.” Mr. Childs, Leslie, and the priest followed.
    Tyler pulled the sliding glass door closed but didn’t approach the bedside so as to not intrude on the family’s private grief. For a