I Will Survive
By Samuel Newsome
Jake awoke at the sound of the first ring of the phone. After forty years as a local medical examiner he was accustomed to answering the calls before they disturbed Marge, his long-suffering wife of as many years. This was Sue, the night nurse from the ER calling.
“Doc, I hate to bother you, but we’ve got a fresh one and that hot shot, Dr. Henry, has gone off the grid again.” Dr. Henry was the bright new young medical examiner. The reason they regretted calling Jake was because he was sick, real sick. The name of the illness killing Jake’s kidneys was interstitial nephritis. Jake’s energy levels had plummeted and his piss was the color of chocolate milk. Yep, he was sick. Treatments had come and gone and now Jake’s last hope was a new kidney, a kidney that was not likely to come for a sixty-six year old with diabetes and an AB+ blood type. His name was so far down the donor registry that years were likely to pass before or if a kidney was available. Jake knew he didn’t have years. He likely didn’t have a year.
The scene at the ER was the usual chaos. Sue greeted Jake as the friend of forty years that she was. “Its Antonio Parma. You remember the Parmas, don’t you?”
Jake couldn’t forget the Parmas even if he tried. Antonio was a scrawny sixteen-year-old who had attended every day of his brother’s trial for murder. Antonio’s brother, Marco, was no saint. He had been drawn into the gang culture before his teens and had been accused of committing several felonies but had never been tried. Evidence was lacking. Jake remembered the strange 12
