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The Promise of Stardust

The Promise of Stardust

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Published by WilliamMorrowBooks
When a tragic accident leaves Elle McClure brain-dead, her husband Matt is devastated but knows she would never want to be kept alive on life support. The right decision is painful but clear until the doctors discover Elle is pregnant. Now faced with an impossible ethical dilemma, Matt must enter a controversial legal battle – against his own family – for the life of a child he knows Elle would do anything save. THE PROMISE OF STARDUST by Priscille Sibley. Now available now in paperback.
When a tragic accident leaves Elle McClure brain-dead, her husband Matt is devastated but knows she would never want to be kept alive on life support. The right decision is painful but clear until the doctors discover Elle is pregnant. Now faced with an impossible ethical dilemma, Matt must enter a controversial legal battle – against his own family – for the life of a child he knows Elle would do anything save. THE PROMISE OF STARDUST by Priscille Sibley. Now available now in paperback.

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Published by: WilliamMorrowBooks on Jan 15, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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09/29/2013

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 An Imprint of 
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1
The Emergency Room Call
Late that night—on our last night—we lay in awe, mesmerizedagain by the Perseid meteor showers as they transormed stardust into streamers o light. They were an anniversary o sorts or us, asummertime event Elle and I cherished, and we ell asleep on thewidow’s walk o our old house, my beautiul wie curled up besideme, her head resting in the crook o my arm.I only I stayed home in the morning—i only I’d looked overat Elle and realized nothing I could or would ever do was moreimportant than keeping her sae. I only—Jesus—I’ve heard patients’ amilies play the “i only” game. In theeleven years I’ve been a doctor, I’ve come to expect the denial andthe bargaining. But reality is cold and hard and, all too oten, ir-reversible. I did not stay home and neither did Elle.I was already at my oce, studying an MRI that showed what Isuspected was a glioblastoma and wondering how much time Icould buy my patient by excising his malignant tumor, when my
 
2 Priscille Sibley
receptionist buzzed me. “The hospital is on line three. Said it’surgent.”“Thanks, Tanya.” I picked up the phone, still staring at crosssections o the temporal lobe. “This is Dr. Beaulieu,” I said.“Hi, Matt. It’s Carl Archer.” The emergency room doc clearedhis throat. “You need to come over.“Page Phil. He’s covering the hospital.”“He’s already here. I need
 you
to come in. It’s your wie.” Carl’svoice sounded as tight as screeching tires. “She’s had an accident.”His tone, more than his words, conveyed the gravity. And itsweight kept many questions tamped down in my throat. I Philhad already arrived, were Elle’s injuries neurosurgical? Or perhapsmy partner simply happened by the ER. Maybe he was stand-ing there telling Elle jokes to distract her rom something minor.
Please,
I thought.
Don’t let her be dead.
“Is Elle all right?” I asked.Carl cleared his throat again. “It’s serious. Come now. I’ll seeyou in a ew minutes.” The dial tone sounded.I leaped out o my chair and charged through the waiting room,past a woman standing next to her wheelchair-bound son, barelyturning to my receptionist to say where I was going. Ater sprint-ing the our blocks to the hospital, I arrived at the emergency en-trance in a cold sweat. I pushed through the double doors andheaded straight to the trauma area. My partner, Phil Grey, stoodnext to a red code cart, its drawers open. He wore sterile gloves, agown, and a surgical mask. An IV pole, decked out with a dozenIV bags and pumps, stood against the gurney. Lines o all sortssprang rom the patient’s extremities. Not Elle. Please, not Elle.The ventilator hissed its accordioned wheeze as it pumped oxygeninto the hose coming out o her body. The nurse stepped aside,and I saw Elle’s ace, white as the bed linens, dried blood caked in

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