Could he feel pain? She had no idea.
During the half-hour it took Dr. Schwartz to appear, Megs had all but convinced herself that the news could only be bad. But when he walked into the room, he had a smile on his face.
“Good morning.” He shook her hand.
“Is there bad news?”
“You already know the bad news. He’s not out of the woods yet. He could still die. He could have significant impairments. We can’t be certain he’ll ever climb again or walk or talk, for that matter. But I’m here to share some good news.”
Megs’ spirits sank to hear him describe Mitch’s situation in such stark terms. “I’m listening.”
“We’ve been monitoring his intracranial pressure constantly, and the indications are that the swelling in his brain is beginning to go down.” Dr. Schwartz smiled. “Why is this good news? Often, as the swelling goes down, we see patients begin to progress through different stages of recovery. It generally takes six to twenty weeks for the swelling to go down completely, but this is the start of recovery.”
“Are you saying he might wake up soon?” Megs couldn’t even bring herself to hope, not when so much still hung in the balance.
Dr. Schwartz shook his head. “With an injury as severe as this, we typically see patients move from a coma to a vegetative state and then into a minimally conscious state and then a confusional state before regaining full consciousness. The faster they move through these stages, the fewer impairments they typically have, though there are no guarantees. It’s all in the brochures I gave you.”
“Oh, right.” What had Megs done with those? “I guess I haven’t felt like reading.”
“Did Debby tell you about the fever?”
“Yes. She said you’re running tests.”
“So far, there’s no sign of infection. We’ll keep up antibiotic therapy, but at this point, I’m pretty certain this is just part of the healing process. It’s not unusual for a patient to have a fever in the first forty-eight hours or so after surgery.”
She realized with a start that it hadn’t yet been forty-eight hours since Mitch’s surgery. How could that be when it felt like half a century?
Dr. Schwartz touched a hand to her shoulder. “Hang in there. You’re at the beginning of a tough journey. Debby tells me you’re still reading to him. Keep it up. Take good care of yourself, too. He’s going to need you.”
Megs thanked him and watched him walk away. She took Mitch’s hand, allowed thoughts she’d been holding at bay to enter her mind.
Was she selfish to want so desperately for Mitch to wake up? Would the life he had after this justify his suffering? He’d been so clear that he’d rather die than spend his life helpless or with severe impairments. But maybe that was all just ableist bullshit from an elite athlete who couldn’t imagine living a happy life in any other way.
She took his hand, steeled herself. “I don’t know if you can really hear me. I don’t know if anything I say matters one way or another.”
She hesitated, tried to find the right words. She wanted to tell him that she would be okay if he needed to move on, that he shouldn’t cling to life if he was so badly hurt that his life wouldn’t be worth living. But that’s not what came out of her mouth.
“Don’t die on me, you son of a bitch. I don’t know how to let you go.”
She retrieved the journal and the recorder and searched for a new passage to read.
Chapter 7
Mitch belayedMegs on the tenth and final pitch, letting out the slack, his mind focused on Megs as she neared the crux move. Even so, some part of him was still aware that they were doing it. The two of them were about to finish the first free ascent of a new route on El Capitan.
The whole thing had been Megs’ idea. They’d been taking turns climbing the lower pitches of The Nose with the rest of the gang when Megs had wandered off, her gaze on the rock. When she’d returned, she’d told him that she’d found a new route near the Salathé Wall that she wanted to try.
He'd walked with her to get a look. The first pitch was identical to the Salathé Wall, but from there, it deviated to the left. The line she’d picked out was gutsy and ambitious, a solid 5.11. In just ten pitches, it had everything that made climbing El Cap an adrenaline rush—opposing crack systems, loose flakes, a wicked roof, considerable exposure, smooth-looking granite with thin holds.
And now here they were,soclose to finishing.
Mitch watched as Megs shifted her feet and hips to increase her reach, caught a pocket with two fingers, then swung one leg over the roof, catching an edge with her heel. It was a tricky sequence for any climber, but she made it look easy. Every action she took was smooth and well-planned. She moved more like a dancer or a gymnast than a climber. When at last she stood on the ledge at the end of the route, she turned to face the valley, arms raised in triumph, her hair blowing in the wind.
“Woohoo!” She cheered, the smile on her face putting a hitch in Mitch’s chest.
God, she was amazing. He’d never met another woman like her. No one else could match her wit or her smart mouth or her grace on rock.
She switched to a belay stance. “Belay on!”
