“It was just as well—every time I thought of Dr. Whatever-the-hell-his-name-was, the way he barely looked at David, a cold fury built in me that made me want to hit something. On the other hand, Dr. Rutherford, a stately, middle-aged man with silvering hair and a plummy South African accent, spent a long time with David. He tested reflexes and flexibility, checked his eyes and his ears, all of the usual measurements that the nurses had been tracking in his chart, and then asked us to step out of... the room. “I’m going to test his reaction to noxious stimuli,” he explained. “It’s not something that parents usually like to see.” I was still waiting for an explanation when Jacqui took my arm and directed us into the corridor. A few seconds later David let out a sharp exclamation of pain and surprise. It was the first time I had heard my son’s voice in days, and I turned around and threw back the curtain. The doctor was leaning over him with a needle in his hand. “That’s the test, Chris,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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