I woke this morning with thoughts of Jeff after transplant and the stupid resident that didn't bother to call me when my son slipped into a coma. I woke that night with chest pain from a dream of Jeff calling me over and over untill I woke up. I called the hospital to see how Jeff was and was told to get there quickly. I wonder if anyone ever would have called me. When we got to the hospital we were told that it was time to let Jeff go. He was given two of the three meds that they give at that time. About that time the surgeon came in like a storm. He wanted to know who told me my son was dead, He was not. Who told me there was no hope, there was. He then took Jeff back into surgery for the fifth time in 3 1/2 weeks to open his chest yet again and put the heart pump back on him, giving us so much hope that my beautiful son would live. He did not. About 20 hours later the surgeon called me at the hospital and told me that it was now time to let go. I could hear children laughing in the background. I'm assuming they were his. How can life go on for other people when my heart is so broken?