B22C21 - Saddler Plan

But I guess that was dumb, because later I heard from one of the doctors that more than ninety-five percent of even the most messed-up kids who go into the PICU come out alive.

No one was being that optimistic about Saddler, though. He was going to be one of the five percent. At least that had been the last thing we heard from the doctors.

Now . . . well, let me just say that different people react in different ways to "miracles." We almost couldn't get to Saddler's bed for all the doctors and nurses crowding around. Some looked like they'd just had Leonardo DiCaprio tell them they were pretty. They looked transfigured. Others looked mad. Some looked scared.

Saddler's mother rushed to the head doctor. "Doctor Kaehler? What's happening? What's happening to my baby?"

Doctor Kaehler was one of the mad ones. "What's happening? Good question. Very good question. I have to tell you that we had a crisis here about an hour ago. Your son's heart stopped. We were rushing him to surgery, but in all honesty he was not going to make it."

"But -" she began.

The doctor ignored her. "I would have bet my entire career that Saddler would be gone within the hour. Then, as they were taking him up to the O.R., something happened with the elevator. It jammed or. . . or something. The nurse and doctor with him seem to have been knocked out. When they came to, the elevator was working again. They rushed your son to surgery where he . . . where he . . . opened his eyes!"

"What?"

"He opened his eyes. And he said, 'Hi.'"

Saddler's mother lost it. She shoved wildly through the gaggle of nurses and doctors. And there she stopped, staring in disbelief at her son.

Saddler was sitting up in his bed. He looked as healthy as if he'd just stepped in from playing soccer.

"How?" Saddler's father asked.

The doctor just shook his head. "You tell me. There is apparently nothing wrong with your son. And I mean nothing. No broken bones - all healed. No internal injuries. No bruises, for crying out loud!"

He was mad. I could understand that. He was a scientist, basically. Scientists like to understand things.

"It's a miracle!" Jake's mom whispered.

"I don't even believe in miracles," Jake's dad said, "but this is a miracle. I mean, I saw him yesterday and he looked like raw hamburger."

Saddler's parents were all over their son. Hugging, kissing, jabbering on and on. It was a cool scene. Even I was feeling overwhelmed. Then I caught sight of Jake.

He was the only wallflower at the big party of celebration. He turned away, rage barely concealed on his face.

"What?" I whispered to him. "What's the matter?"

He said one word. And I knew what I'd been too blind to see. This was no miracle.

Jake said, "David."