I heard the metal doorknob turn as Dr. Goodman entered the room. Rosetti and I stood as he entered.

"Hello, Dr. Goodman." I extended my hand to him. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to read the expression on his face, hoping it would give me a clue as to whether Teresa's surgery went well. "Dr. Caselli." Dr. Goodman shook my hand, obviously surprised I was here. "Is Mrs. Rosetti a relative?" he asked, flipping open a manila file folder he was carrying.

"No, sir, I'm a friend of the family."

"A close friend of the family," Rosetti said. By the sound of her voice, I knew she was afraid that maybe the doctor would ask me to leave since I wasn't family.

"Dr. Goodman, this is Rosemary Rosetti, Teresa's daughter," I said.

Rosetti shook hands with Dr. Goodman, as well. "I asked Dr. Caselli to be here as I know my mother would want her here."

"That's fine." Dr. Goodman walked around to the leather desk chair and sat down.

He took a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses from the pocket of his lab coat and put them on. He flipped open the file folder he was carrying when he came in.

Unnerved by Dr. Goodman's tentativeness, Rosetti spoke up. "So how is she?" Anxiety peaked in her voice. "Is she going to be okay?"

"She survived the surgery, but to be honest with you, I don't know if she'll fully recover."

A tense silence filled the room.

"What does that mean?" Rosetti asked.

Dr. Goodman closed the file folder, removed his glasses, and laid them on the oak desktop. "It means that although she made it through the procedure, the outcome may not be what we hoped for. The clot was very large. And even though the clot-busting drugs were started right away, it looks like she'll have some permanent damage."

"What kind of damage?" Rosetti asked.

"It appears she's lost the use of her entire left side. Also, because of her advanced age, rehabilitation can be difficult."

"What do you think her chances of recovery are?" Rosetti asked.

Dr. Goodman looked over at me before answering, silently asking permission to proceed with the truth of Teresa's condition. I nodded.

"Poor," he said.

Rosetti hung her head as the impact of the news she had dreaded hit her square in the chest. I reached over and touched her arm. "Rosemary, all we can do is wait and see how she does. You can't give up hope just yet."

"Yes, that's true," Dr. Goodman said. "Even though the statistics show that she has a poor chance of recovery, I can't begin to tell you how often my patients surprise me and beat the odds. Actually, in more cases than you think. There are good and bad aspects of your mother's condition. The good aspect is that she survived the surgery and is stable for now. Her heart is strong and that's a big hurdle in itself. Most people your mother's age don't make it through such extensive surgery, but she did, so we go from here.

"Best case scenario is this: She'll be on a ventilator in intensive care for a few days. If she does well, we'll wean her off the ventilator and move her to the surgical step-down unit. If she does well there, she'll go to a regular floor. And if she does well there, she may be able to go back to the nursing home. But that's a lot of ifs, Ms. Rosetti. You have to understand that it's just as possible that your mother will never be able to return to the nursing home. I just want you to be prepared for what may or may not happen."

Rosetti nodded. She looked like the stuffing had been beat out of her.

"Do you have any questions?" Dr. Goodman asked.

Rosetti shook her head.

"Dr. Caselli? Any questions?"

"When can we see her?"

Dr. Goodman looked at his Rolex watch. "She'll be in recovery for at least an hour or two. I can have the ICU nurse page you when she's admitted."

"That would be great," I said. "Thank you. Also, would you mind if I reviewed the chart from time to time while Teresa is an inpatient?"

"Not at all. I'll write the order giving you permission." He stood up to leave.

"Thank you for everything you've done for my mother, Doctor," Rosetti said as Dr. Goodman prepared to leave.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you better news." He shook Rosetti's hand. "Dr. Caselli, if you have any questions, feel free to page me at any time."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Goodman left the room. I closed the door behind him and took Rosetti in my arms. For the first time since I met her, Rosemary Rosetti cried.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Teresa Rosetti was unrecognizable in her ICU bed. Her face and hands were bloated to almost double their size. The right side of her head was shaved and a four-inch incision with metal clips in it showed where the stroke had taken place. The hulking ventilator next to her bed inhaled and exhaled for her with a swoosh, swoosh as her body lay motionless amongst the tubes and wires that kept her vital organs going. Rosetti stood in the doorway motionless. Gently, I took her by the arm and guided her through the room to her mother's bedside.

"Oh, my God," Rosetti whispered. "Mina, she looks terrible."

"I know...but she just got out of surgery. The swelling is from the medication she's getting. That will go away in time."

"Is she in pain?" Rosetti asked, not taking her eyes off her mother's swollen face.

"No, I don't think so. By the readings on her monitor, I'd say she's pretty comfortable."

Rosetti reached down and touched her mother's swollen hand, then leaned close to Teresa's ear.

"Ma, it's me, Rosemary," she whispered. "I'm here Ma...Mina is here...you made it through the surgery. Ma...you're going to be okay," Rosetti said as tears formed in her eyes. She looked away to hide them from me.

I pulled a chair out from the hall so Rosetti could sit at her mother's bedside.

"I don't know what to do." She looked up at me. "I feel so useless."

I crouched down next to her and laid my hands in her lap. "You're doing everything you're supposed to do. It's out of your hands now. Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing to do. You're so used to being in control all the time, and when something like this happens, you feel lost. It's normal to feel that way, Rosemary. You just have to hang in there and hope for the best."

Sylvia, one of the ICU nurses, came into Teresa's room with a syringe of medication. I immediately jumped to my feet feeling self-conscious of my physical closeness to Rosetti.

"Oh, Dr. Caselli, I didn't know you were here," Sylvia said as she walked over to Teresa's bedside, lifting one of her IV lines and swabbing the port with an alcohol pledget. "Dr. Goodman ordered forty of Lasix to keep her pressure down and reduce some of the swelling." Sylvia pushed the medication slowly into Teresa's vein.

I nodded in agreement with Dr. Goodman's order and watched the monitor as Sylvia gave the medication. Nothing changed, no big drop in her blood pressure. Just enough to keep her safe from having another stroke. Her vital signs looked quite good considering she just had her head cut open.

Sylvia removed the needle and tossed the used syringe in the red container that hung on the wall next to the bed. "I need to change her position in bed," she said. "You're welcome to stay if you'd like."

I looked over at Rosetti who was still holding Teresa's hand. "Thanks. We'll stay." I knew that it wasn't normal protocol to allow family or anyone else for that matter in the room while the staff was working on a patient. "I'll help you."

We took hold of the draw sheet that lay underneath Teresa and hoisted her up in bed. Then Sylvia pulled the draw sheet over, positioning Teresa on her side and took a pillow from the bottom of the bed and placed it against Teresa's back to support her.

"Hey, her eyes are open!" Rosetti shouted. "Ma...Ma..." she said, bending down, putting herself in Teresa's line of vision.

Teresa's eyes were open but not focused. "Ma..." Rosetti said again and shook her by the arm. Teresa closed her eyes, falling back into a deep sleep.

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" Rosetti looked up at me, desperate for some positive news.

"Yes, it is," I lied, knowing that probably the only reason Teresa opened her eyes was in reflex to her being turned in bed.

"She's scheduled for a CT scan this evening," Sylvia said as she pulled a clean top sheet over Teresa and tucked in the corners. "We'll probably take her down about eight o'clock."

"Okay, thanks for letting us know," I said.

Sylvia left the room. Rosetti sat again and held her mother's hand though the side rail on the bed.

"Is she in trouble? Is that why they're doing another CT scan?"

"No, not necessarily. Some neurosurgeons do a repeat CT scan routinely just to keep tabs on the operative site."

At seven forty-five, Sylvia returned with two orderlies. "They called for her in CT scan," she said. "You can wait here or in the surgical waiting area. The procedure should only take thirty minutes or so."

"We'll wait in the waiting room," I said. "That okay?" I asked Rosetti.

Rosetti stood and stretched her arms over her head. "Yes, that's fine. I need to stretch my legs anyway." She bent down to speak into Teresa's ear. "They're taking you for a test, Ma. You'll be okay," Rosetti said. I'm sure she was trying to reassure herself, as well as Teresa. "We'll be right here when you get back." Rosetti kissed her mother on the forehead.

Sylvia disconnected Teresa's endotracheal tube from the ventilator and attached an ambu bag to the end of it. She squeezed the black rubber bladder, breathing for Teresa while they transferred her to the CT scan unit. She unlocked the brakes on Teresa's bed with her foot and with the help of the orderlies, pushed Teresa's bed down the hall to the waiting elevator.

Rosetti and I left Teresa's room and headed down the hallway to the waiting area. It was deserted now, unlike earlier when it was packed with families waiting to hear the outcomes of their loved one's procedures. The lights were dim and the TV was off. Even the reception desk was empty. I dug in the front pocket of my jeans and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. "You want to split a Diet Coke?" I asked Rosetti.

"Sure," she said and sat on the couch where we'd sat earlier that day waiting for Teresa to come out of surgery. I popped the top off the Diet Coke can and offered Rosetti the first swig. She took it from me and took a big gulp and handed it back to me. I took a sip. The cold soda felt good going down. It had been hours since we'd had anything to eat or drink.

I had just opened the first page of a discarded copy of the newspaper when I heard the familiar chimes, then the ominous overhead page: Express team, first floor, radiology.

In my heart, I knew it was Teresa. "C'mon." I grabbed Rosetti by the hand. I pulled her up off the couch and down the hallway through the automatic doors that led into surgery and a stairwell that would take us directly to the CT scan suite.

"Mina, what's going on?' Rosetti asked, her voice trembling.

"Those chimes you hear are the signal that there's been a cardiac arrest in CT scan. I'm afraid it's your mom."

"Oh, God."

We exited the stairwell and entered the radiology unit. Doctors, nurses, and technicians were circulating in and out of the CT scan unit. "Wait here," I said. "I'm going in to see what's happening."

Rosetti nodded. She leaned against the wall trembling. Her face was white as a sheet. I slid between the wooden doors entering the unit. My stomach clenched as my fear was confirmed. I could see the cardiac arrest express team performing CPR on Teresa's fragile body.

"What happened?" I asked one of the radiology techs who was recording the incident.

"Her BP dropped and she arrested in the scanner," she said.

I checked the monitor to see if they were making any progress with her, but it was hard to distinguish between the heartbeats the CPR was producing and what Teresa was able to do on her own.

"How long has she been down?" I asked the tech.

She looked at the clock overhead. "About ten minutes. They had a nodal rhythm a few minutes ago but lost it. Dr. Fitzpatrick is on the second round of cardiac meds."

I stood at Teresa's head next to the anesthesiologist who was monitoring her breathing and vital signs.

"Doesn't look good, does it?" I asked.

The anesthesiologist shook his head.

I bent down close to Teresa's ear. "Teresa, it's Mina. Rosemary is here and she wants you to know that she loves you very much. I know you're tired and I know you don't want her to see you like this," I whispered as hot tears streamed down my cheek. "It's okay Teresa...it's okay to let go."

After two more cycles of CPR, Dr. Fitzpatrick called it: time of death 8:45 p.m. The flurry of activity stopped. The express team personnel slowly left the room to return to their regular duties. Dr. Fitzpatrick, the doctor in charge of the express team, went out to talk to Rosetti. I walked out behind him.

Rosetti stood in the hallway, her back pressed firmly against the wall. When she saw me come out with the doctor, she bolted toward us.

"Is she all right? What happened in there? Mina?" I knew she knew the answers by the look on my face.

"Ms. Rosetti..." Dr. Fitzpatrick began. "I'm sorry...we did all that we could."

Rosetti's face went blank, like she didn't hear or refused to hear what Dr. Fitzpatrick was saying. "Mina? Is she going to be all right?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. She didn't make it. They did all they could to bring her back, but nothing worked."

Rosetti shook uncontrollably. I held her close.

Dr. Fitzpatrick looked over at me. I nodded at him, releasing him of his responsibility of staying with the deceased's family members until they were strong enough to go.

I stroked Rosetti's hair as she quietly cried in my arms. "Would you like to see her?" Rosetti nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and escorted her into the radiology suite. Only one nurse remained in the room. She switched off the droning cardiac monitor and began removing the tubes and wires from Teresa's limp body.

Hot tears blurred my vision as we walked over to the gurney where Teresa lay.

Rosetti's body shook with grief as she took her mother's hand and placed it over her heart. Tears streamed down her face. I put my arms around her and held her tight. "I'm so sorry, honey."

Rosetti collapsed in my arms. Her body convulsed with deep sobs. I stroked her head.

"It's okay, let it out," I whispered.

"I wasn't there with her and I never got to say goodbye." Rosetti sobbed. "I let her down."

I kissed the top of Rosetti's head and gently stroked her cheek. "Rosetti, listen to me. You didn't let her down. She fought long and hard, and like I told you before, it was out of our hands."

Rosetti pulled away from me. I handed her a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.