I couldn't go through it again. Even after all this time—even after seeing my sister, Theresa, alive, clean and sober—I couldn't face it. It would rip me apart, tear open all the emotional wounds that had almost healed in my psyche. I couldn't look into that curved-walled room and see Theresa lying there, a sickly yellow umbilicus connecting her comatose body with the wall of the chamber ...