I GET TO MY FEET, look at my notecards, and—like Sara—toss them into the trash. “Like Mrs. Fitzgerald justsaid, this case isn’t about Anna donating a kidney. It isn’t about her donating a skin cell, a single blood cell, arope of DNA. It’s about a girl who is on the cusp of becoming someone. A girl who is thirteen—which ishard, and painful, and beautiful, and difficult, and exhilarating. A girl who may not know what she wantsright now, and she may not know who she is right now, but who deserves the chance to find out. And tenyears from now, in my opinion, I think she’s going to be pretty amazing.”
I walk toward the bench. “We know that the Fitzgeralds were asked to do the impossible—make informedhealth-care decisions for two of their children, who had opposing medical interests. And if we—like theFitzgeralds—don’t know what the right decision is, then the person who has to have the final say is theperson whose body it is…even if that’s a thirteen-year-old. And ultimately, that too is what this case is about:
the moment when perhaps a child knows better than her parents.
“I know that when Anna made the choice to file this lawsuit, she did not do it for all the self-centered reasonsyou might expect of a thirteen-year-old. She didn’t make this decision because she wanted to be like otherkids her age. She didn’t make this decision because she was tired of being poked and prodded. She didn’tmake this decision because she was afraid of the pain.”
I turn around, and smile at her. “You know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if Anna gives her sister that kidneyafter all. But what I think doesn’t matter. Judge DeSalvo, with all due respect, what you think doesn’t matter.
What Sara and Brian and Kate Fitzgerald think doesn’t matter. What Anna thinks does.” I walk back towardmy chair. “And that’s the only voice we ought to be listening to.”
Judge DeSalvo calls for a fifteen-minute recess to render his decision, and I use it to walk the dog. We circlethe little square of green behind to the Garrahy building, with Vern keeping an eye on the reporters who arewaiting for a verdict. “Come on already,” I say, as Judge makes his fourth loop around, in search of theultimate spot. “No one’s watching.”
But this turns out to not be entirely true. A kid, no older than three or four, breaks away from his mother andcomes crashing toward us. “Puppy!” he yells. He stretches out his hands in hot pursuit, and Judge steps closerto me.
His mother catches up a moment later. “Sorry. My son’s going through a canine stage. Can we pet him?”
“No,” I say automatically. “He’s a service dog.”
“Oh.” The woman straightens, pulls her son away. “But you aren’t blind.”
I’m epileptic, and this is my seizure dog. I think about coming clean, for once, for the first time. But thenagain, you have to be able to laugh at yourself, don’t you? “I’m a lawyer,” I say, and I grin at her. “He chasesambulances for me.”
As Judge and I walk off, I’m whistling.
When Judge DeSalvo comes back to the bench he brings a framed picture of his dead daughter, which is howI know that I’ve lost this case. “One thing that has struck me through the presentation of the evidence,” hebegins, “is that all of us in this courtroom have entered into a debate about the quality of life versus thesanctity of life. Certainly the Fitzgeralds have always believed that having Kate alive and part of the familywas crucial—but at this point the sanctity of Kate’s existence has become completely intertwined with thequality of Anna’s life, and it’s my job to see whether those two can be separated.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure that any of us is qualified to decide which of those two is the mostimportant—least of all myself. I’m a father. My daughter Dena was killed when she was twelve years old bya drunk driver, and when I rushed to the hospital that night, I would have given anything for another day withher. The Fitzgeralds have had fourteen years of being in that position—of being asked to give anything tokeep their daughter alive a little bit longer. I respect their decisions. I admire their courage. I envy the factthat they even had these opportunities. But as both attorneys have pointed out, this case is no longer aboutAnna and a kidney, it’s about how these decisions get made and how we decide who should make them.”
He clears his throat. “The answer is that there is no good answer. So as parents, as doctors, as judges, and as asociety, we fumble through and make decisions that allow us to sleep at night—because morals are moreimportant than ethics, and love is more important than law.”
Judge DeSalvo turns his attention to Anna, who shifts uncomfortably. “Kate doesn’t want to die,” he saysgently, “but she doesn’t want to live like this, either. And knowing that, and knowing the law, there’s reallyonly one decision I can make. The sole person who should be allowed to make that choice is the very onewho lies at the heart of the issue.”
I exhale heavily.
“And by that, I don’t mean Kate, but Anna.”
Beside me, she sucks in her breath. “One of the issues brought up during these past few days has involvedwhether or not a thirteen-year-old is capable of making choices as weighty as these. I’d argue, though, thatage is the least likely variable here for basic understanding. In fact, some of the adults here seem to haveforgotten the simplest childhood rule: You don’t take something away from someone without askingpermission. Anna,” he asks, “will you please stand up?”
She looks at me, and I nod, standing up with her. “At this time,” Judge DeSalvo says, “I’m going to declareyou medically emancipated from your parents. What that means is that even though you will continue to livewith them, and even though they can tell you when to go to bed and what TV shows you can’t watch andwhether you have to finish your broccoli, with regards to any medical treatment, you have the last word.” Heturns toward Sara. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, Mr. Fitzgerald—I’m going to order you to meet with Anna and herpediatrician and discuss the terms of this verdict so that the doctor understands he needs to deal directly withAnna. And just so that she has additional guidance, should she need it, I’m going to ask Mr. Alexander toassume medical power of attorney for her until age eighteen, so that he may assist her in making some of themore difficult decisions. I’m not in any way suggesting that these decisions should not be made inconjunction with her parents—but I am finding that the final decision will rest with Anna alone.” The judgepins his gaze on me. “Mr. Alexander, will you accept this responsibility?”
With the exception of Judge, I have never had to take care of anyone or anything before. And now I will haveJulia, and I will have Anna. “I’d be honored,” I say, and I smile at her.
“I want those forms signed before you leave the courthouse today,” the judge orders. “Good luck, Anna. Stopby every now and then, and let me know how you are.”
He bangs his gavel, and we rise as he leaves the courtroom. “Anna,” I say, when she remains still andshocked beside me. “You did it.”
Julia reaches us first and leans over the gallery railing to hug Anna. “You were very brave.” Over Anna’sshoulder she grins at me. “And so were you.”
But then Anna steps away, and finds herself facing her parents. There is a foot between them, and a universeof time and comfort. It isn’t until that moment that I realize I have begun already to think of Anna as olderthan her biological age, yet here she is unsure and unable to make eye contact. “Hey,” Brian says, bridgingthe gap, pulling his daughter into a rough embrace. “It’s okay.” And then Sara slips into this huddle, her armscoming around both of them, all their shoulders forming the wide wall of a team that has to reinvent the verygame they play.
I walk toward the bench. “We know that the Fitzgeralds were asked to do the impossible—make informedhealth-care decisions for two of their children, who had opposing medical interests. And if we—like theFitzgeralds—don’t know what the right decision is, then the person who has to have the final say is theperson whose body it is…even if that’s a thirteen-year-old. And ultimately, that too is what this case is about:
the moment when perhaps a child knows better than her parents.
“I know that when Anna made the choice to file this lawsuit, she did not do it for all the self-centered reasonsyou might expect of a thirteen-year-old. She didn’t make this decision because she wanted to be like otherkids her age. She didn’t make this decision because she was tired of being poked and prodded. She didn’tmake this decision because she was afraid of the pain.”
I turn around, and smile at her. “You know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if Anna gives her sister that kidneyafter all. But what I think doesn’t matter. Judge DeSalvo, with all due respect, what you think doesn’t matter.
What Sara and Brian and Kate Fitzgerald think doesn’t matter. What Anna thinks does.” I walk back towardmy chair. “And that’s the only voice we ought to be listening to.”
Judge DeSalvo calls for a fifteen-minute recess to render his decision, and I use it to walk the dog. We circlethe little square of green behind to the Garrahy building, with Vern keeping an eye on the reporters who arewaiting for a verdict. “Come on already,” I say, as Judge makes his fourth loop around, in search of theultimate spot. “No one’s watching.”
But this turns out to not be entirely true. A kid, no older than three or four, breaks away from his mother andcomes crashing toward us. “Puppy!” he yells. He stretches out his hands in hot pursuit, and Judge steps closerto me.
His mother catches up a moment later. “Sorry. My son’s going through a canine stage. Can we pet him?”
“No,” I say automatically. “He’s a service dog.”
“Oh.” The woman straightens, pulls her son away. “But you aren’t blind.”
I’m epileptic, and this is my seizure dog. I think about coming clean, for once, for the first time. But thenagain, you have to be able to laugh at yourself, don’t you? “I’m a lawyer,” I say, and I grin at her. “He chasesambulances for me.”
As Judge and I walk off, I’m whistling.
When Judge DeSalvo comes back to the bench he brings a framed picture of his dead daughter, which is howI know that I’ve lost this case. “One thing that has struck me through the presentation of the evidence,” hebegins, “is that all of us in this courtroom have entered into a debate about the quality of life versus thesanctity of life. Certainly the Fitzgeralds have always believed that having Kate alive and part of the familywas crucial—but at this point the sanctity of Kate’s existence has become completely intertwined with thequality of Anna’s life, and it’s my job to see whether those two can be separated.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sure that any of us is qualified to decide which of those two is the mostimportant—least of all myself. I’m a father. My daughter Dena was killed when she was twelve years old bya drunk driver, and when I rushed to the hospital that night, I would have given anything for another day withher. The Fitzgeralds have had fourteen years of being in that position—of being asked to give anything tokeep their daughter alive a little bit longer. I respect their decisions. I admire their courage. I envy the factthat they even had these opportunities. But as both attorneys have pointed out, this case is no longer aboutAnna and a kidney, it’s about how these decisions get made and how we decide who should make them.”
He clears his throat. “The answer is that there is no good answer. So as parents, as doctors, as judges, and as asociety, we fumble through and make decisions that allow us to sleep at night—because morals are moreimportant than ethics, and love is more important than law.”
Judge DeSalvo turns his attention to Anna, who shifts uncomfortably. “Kate doesn’t want to die,” he saysgently, “but she doesn’t want to live like this, either. And knowing that, and knowing the law, there’s reallyonly one decision I can make. The sole person who should be allowed to make that choice is the very onewho lies at the heart of the issue.”
I exhale heavily.
“And by that, I don’t mean Kate, but Anna.”
Beside me, she sucks in her breath. “One of the issues brought up during these past few days has involvedwhether or not a thirteen-year-old is capable of making choices as weighty as these. I’d argue, though, thatage is the least likely variable here for basic understanding. In fact, some of the adults here seem to haveforgotten the simplest childhood rule: You don’t take something away from someone without askingpermission. Anna,” he asks, “will you please stand up?”
She looks at me, and I nod, standing up with her. “At this time,” Judge DeSalvo says, “I’m going to declareyou medically emancipated from your parents. What that means is that even though you will continue to livewith them, and even though they can tell you when to go to bed and what TV shows you can’t watch andwhether you have to finish your broccoli, with regards to any medical treatment, you have the last word.” Heturns toward Sara. “Mrs. Fitzgerald, Mr. Fitzgerald—I’m going to order you to meet with Anna and herpediatrician and discuss the terms of this verdict so that the doctor understands he needs to deal directly withAnna. And just so that she has additional guidance, should she need it, I’m going to ask Mr. Alexander toassume medical power of attorney for her until age eighteen, so that he may assist her in making some of themore difficult decisions. I’m not in any way suggesting that these decisions should not be made inconjunction with her parents—but I am finding that the final decision will rest with Anna alone.” The judgepins his gaze on me. “Mr. Alexander, will you accept this responsibility?”
With the exception of Judge, I have never had to take care of anyone or anything before. And now I will haveJulia, and I will have Anna. “I’d be honored,” I say, and I smile at her.
“I want those forms signed before you leave the courthouse today,” the judge orders. “Good luck, Anna. Stopby every now and then, and let me know how you are.”
He bangs his gavel, and we rise as he leaves the courtroom. “Anna,” I say, when she remains still andshocked beside me. “You did it.”
Julia reaches us first and leans over the gallery railing to hug Anna. “You were very brave.” Over Anna’sshoulder she grins at me. “And so were you.”
But then Anna steps away, and finds herself facing her parents. There is a foot between them, and a universeof time and comfort. It isn’t until that moment that I realize I have begun already to think of Anna as olderthan her biological age, yet here she is unsure and unable to make eye contact. “Hey,” Brian says, bridgingthe gap, pulling his daughter into a rough embrace. “It’s okay.” And then Sara slips into this huddle, her armscoming around both of them, all their shoulders forming the wide wall of a team that has to reinvent the verygame they play.