The ICU doctor came into the crowded waiting room that was littered with potato chip bags, limp French fries, sandwich wrappers, Styrofoam cups, blankets, and cell phone chargers to update the anxious family and friends on Austin Spivey's critical condition.
As he moved to stand before wife, Anna Jo Spivey, the dozen or so family members and friends silently moved in mass to follow this white- coated Pied Piper.
"Your husband's condition remains extremely critical. I have consulted with every doctor in our city, and two medical schools, to see if there is something I may have overlooked in diagnosing and treating multiple gun shot wounds to the stomach. All concur with my diagnosis and treatment regimen: Austin has less than a ten percent chance of survival. I am sorry we could not have done more."
The doctor placed his arm upon Anna Jo's shoulder and assured her the ICU charge nurse will contact him if Austin's condition changes. He also said he would be in the hospital all night. The 29 year old surgeon walked slowly and closed the glass waiting room door.
Anna Jo had cried so much in the past three days that her audible cry now sounded like a puppy recently separated from its mother. The already tight circle drew even closer to surround Anna Jo.
Frank Sims, a cousin of Austin and lay Pentecostal preacher, started praying and a black cleaning lady on the other side of the room hummed out loud a few bars of "Amazing Grace."
Within an hour, the cluttered waiting room and weeping family and friends assumed an eerie, almost surreal, near silence. Anna Jo pulled Austin's favorite easy chair blanket close to her and asked that the lights be turned off. In an adjoining TV room three fellows were watching enter
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