“Oh, hi.”  Bette walked over to the box and dropped the jars, tubes, and containers in. 

“Bette, good to see you.”  Dr. Zambrano shook Bette’s proffered hand firmly.  “Bette, I’d like you to meet Dr. McPherson.  He’ll be taking over Tina’s care at the West Los Angeles Neurotrauma Rehabilitation Center.

Bette looked him over.  He was tall with broad shoulders, slim waist, and a pleasant smile.  She saw gentleness in his eyes and compassion.  He shook her hand.  “Nice to meet you, Bette.  I want you to know that Tina will get the best care.  We have all state of the art equipment.  We’re not just going to turn her every hour or so.  She’ll have real physical therapy, all sorts of brain stimuli exercises daily, her medical treatment and medications will be monitored minute to minute.”

“Thank you.  Your brochure was very detailed.  I like the way you go about dealing with…this sort of thing.”

Dr. McPherson nodded, but Bette thought she detected a slight frown in response to her last comment.

“What I mean is that I’ve read about other hospice/daycare facilities and they seem to be more of a holding or storage unit and not interested in the patient as a person, per se.”

“Uhmm.  That’s true for many, I suppose.  No one on our staff questions a patient’s status as a human being.  They are treated like vital people one hundred percent of the time.  We have a very good success rate.  A coma such as this gives me hope for a speedy recovery with very little damage.”

“Bette, that’s the key word here.  Hope.  We are all very hopeful and you should hang on to that, too,” Dr. Zambrano added.

“It’s not easy.”

“No, it’s not.  I can’t put myself in your shoes, but I have been around this situation many times.  I know things seem dark now, but you have to be positive.”  Dr. McPherson’s voice was deep, rich, and very masculine.

Bette confided, “That’s especially hard when I think…I don’t know.”  I think she’s punishing me.”

Dr. Zambrano’s eyebrows lifted.  “Why would you think that?”