Harry awoke from his stupor, realizing he had not yet left for a better place. Patrice and the kids stood by his bedside, crying, except for Jack, the youngest, who had not spoken since his dad was bitten. It was Fathers’ Day.
The doctors made it clear from the beginning that only three or four people of record had ever survived rabies without timely treatment. The vaccine had been administered much too late.
Harry glanced quickly passed his family. He thought only of the good times he experienced in life. Marriage, births, family dinners, and parties flashed quickly through his blurred mental visions. He saw no vacations, but only work, work, work. He reflected upon how dedicated he had been to his corporate employer, though he was unsure as to the reasons. He made good money, but was not certain it was worth the days and years. He exchanged many hours for dollars.
The good man and loyal father peered through the window pane a little more clearly than he had in three days, wondering if he was experiencing his final sunrise. His focus was abruptly interrupted, as the doctor burst into the hospital room, but Harry did not see the collateral commotion usually associated with a code red. He closed his eyes and listened.
The doctor confirmed the test results, as Patrice collapsed into her chair, clutching their one-year old. “Unbelievable!” he shouted. "You are the first in the state to beat this affliction with treatment administered so late. You will make a complete recovery.”
Even before he could utter a word or look at his family, Harry pondered the remainder of his life. He did have a choice.
. . .