My brother-in-law was talking to me more than ever before. Maybe it was the freedom of the space. I don’t know. The Helena Montana airport is one big warm room: high ceilings, walls paneled by wood logs, and hanging all around are heads of large elk and moose. I don’t think so.
But in the twelve years I’ve known him, we finally connected. Differing opinions on different sides of the religio-political spectrum had kept us at a cold distance. As my partner and I waited for our plane to be de-iced, he talked nonstop for about an hour, telling us about a mysterious neurological condition that defied explanation and the best diagnosticians.
Something similar had befallen me. And though we had compared notes on medication combinations and treatment modalities, it had never been more than a few minutes. This blow-by-blow account of his harrowing condition was riveting. Because right there, in the Montana airport he just talked and talked, like he was my best war buddy.
The announcer let us know it would still be half an hour to finish de-icing the plane and boarding. Dad, who was also with us, was eager to get going. It was unusual for him to wait around for us when they took us to the airport. Typically we said goodbye after checking in and went right through security. And usually it was dad and mom who dropped us off, but the brother-in-law volunteered.
We all stood up to go. This was my last chance.
“I got a quick question,” I said. “I’m trying to create real drama in something I’m writing. It’s a medical thriller involving stem cells.” I was a little concerned about asking about this. “Remember, it’s a melodrama.”
I asked my brother-in-law what would he do if he had a choice to save his son’s life using stem cells from an embryo.
“To create life to save life?”
“Yep.”
He didn’t think about it, it was automatic. He said, “I would probably let him die.”
“Your own son?”
“Yeah.” He looked me through his eyeglasses with the same charm and connectedness we were sharing earlier. I asked if his wife would feel the same way. He couldn’t say for sure, but he said that she would probably say it was a crime to harvest an embryo.
We were about to start walking toward security. He said, “that would be high drama.”
“Thrilleresque.”