Dead Tomorrow

standing in the room. Thetransplant coordinator. Shirley Linsell, with her English rose face and her long hair, and the tiny burst blood vessel in her left eye. She was wearing the same white blouse and knitted pink top and black trousers as when she had first met her, almost a week–that seemed like a million years–ago.
    The only difference was her demeanour. When they had first met, she had seemed positive and friendly. But now, at seven o’clock this morning, although apologetic, she seemed cold and distant. Lynn stood facing her, glaring in fury.
    ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid these things happen.’
    ‘Sorry? You phoned me last night to say that you had a liver that was a perfect match, and now you are telling us you were wrong?’
    ‘We were informed a liver had become available which was a good match.’
    ‘So what exactly happened?’
    The coordinator addressed Lynn, then Caitlin. ‘From the information we were given, it appeared that the liver could be split, with the right side to be given to an adult and the left side to you, Caitlin. When our consultant and his team went down to the hospital to collect the liver, in their assessment, it was healthy and suitable. We use a scale of size of liver against body weight. But this morning our senior consultant surgeon, who was to have performed the transplant, examined the liver more closely and found there was more than 30 per cent fat. He did a biopsy and made a decision that it would not be suitable for you.’
    ‘I still don’t understand,’ Lynn said. ‘So are you going to throw it away?’
    ‘No,’ Shirley Linsell said. ‘With this amount of fat, thereis a danger it could take several weeks to function properly. Caitlin needs a liver that will function immediately. She is too ill to take the risk. It will be used for a man in his sixties with liver cancer. It will hopefully prolong his life for a few years.’
    ‘How great is that?’ Lynn said. ‘You’re bumping my daughter in favour of an elderly man? What is he? Some fucking alcoholic?’
    ‘I can’t discuss another patient with you.’
    ‘Yes, you can.’ Lynn raised her voice. ‘Oh yes, you damn well can. You’re sending Caitlin home to die so some fucking alcoholic, like that footballer George Best, can live a few more months?’
    ‘Please, Mrs Beckett–Lynn–it’s not like that at all.’
    ‘Oh? So what is it like, exactly?’
    ‘Mum!’ Caitlin said. ‘Listen to her.’
    ‘I am listening, darling, I’m listening really hard. I just don’t like what I’m hearing.’
    ‘Everyone here cares for Caitlin, a lot. It’s not just work in this unit–it’s personal for us all. We want to give Caitlin a healthy liver, to give her the best chance of a normal life, Mrs Beckett. There is no point in giving her a liver that might not work or that might fail in a few years’ time and put her through this ordeal a second time. Please believe me–the whole team here wants to help Caitlin. We’re very fond of her.’
    ‘Fine,’ Lynn said. ‘So when will this healthy liver be available?’
    ‘I can’t answer that–it depends on a suitable donor.’
    ‘So we’re back to square one?’
    ‘Well–yes.’
    There was a long silence. ‘Will my daughter be at the top of the priority list?’ Lynn demanded.
    ‘Thelist is very complicated. There are a number of factors affecting it.’
    Lynn shook her head vigorously. ‘No, Shirley–Nurse Linsell. Not a number of factors, just one as far as I am concerned. My daughter. She needs a transplant urgently–correct?’
    ‘Yes, she does, and we are working on that. But you have to understand, she is one of many people.’
    ‘Not to me, she isn’t.’
    The woman nodded. ‘Lynn, I appreciate that.’
    ‘Do you?’ Lynn said. ‘What percentage of patients on your waiting list die before they get a liver?’
    ‘Mum, stop being so hostile!’
    Lynn sat on the side of the bed and cradled Caitlin’s head in her arms. ‘Darling, please let me deal with this.’
    ‘You’re talking about me like I’m some retard in a box. I’m upset! Don’t you see that? I’m just as upset as you are–more–but it’s not going to help getting angry.’
    ‘Do you realize what this bitch is saying?’ Lynn exploded. ‘She is sending you home to die!’
    ‘You are being, like, so dramatic!’
    ‘I AM NOT BEING DRAMATIC!’ Lynn turned to the coordinator. ‘Tell me when another liver is going to be