“What’swrong?”Bethfrownsas she looks between us. It’s one in the morning—no wonder she’s alarmed to find me pounding on her door like a madwoman.
“You’re getting a new heart,” I announce. It takes a second for the gravity of it to sink in, but when it does, her face lights up with a radiant smile that could rival the sun.
“Hell, yeah! About time!” She pumps her fist in the air.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the hospital—Beth’s bag has long been packed in preparation for this moment. A flurry of activity begins as soon as we step through the doors. We’re whisked from one specialist to another—the cardiologist, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist—each one briefing us on their role in the procedure ahead. The nurses bustle around us, preparing Beth for surgery with quiet efficiency. Everything moves so quickly that I don’t get a chance to fully process the enormity of what’s happening. Or check in with Beth.
Dameon’s steady presence by my side is a relief as we navigate the flood of information. True to his word, everything outlined in the contract has transpired seamlessly. The team of professionals he has arranged for Beth’s surgery are nothing short of exceptional, and I know she’s in safe hands.
Before they wheel her away, I’m granted a quiet moment alone with my sister.
“How are you feeling, Betty Boo?” I gently sweep back a stand of hair from her forehead.
“You know I hate that name,” she grumbles.
“Alright, alright, poo brain, chill out,” I tease, holding my palms up. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”
“I’m good. I’m ready.” She nods with determination, her gaze steady.
“Are you sure? It’s okay to feel scared or nervous.”
“No, seriously, I’m good. We’ve been waiting forever for this, and now that it’s finally here, I’m just… relieved.” She blows out a deep breath.
“You’re in good hands. And you’ll come out of this bigger, better, faster, and stronger,” I assure her.
“I don’t want to be bigger,” she retorts, frowning.
“Okay, wrong choice of words. Not bigger. Better, faster, and stronger, though. You know what I mean.”
“I do.” She squeezes my arm, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I love you very much, and I’ll see you on the other side.”
“What?!” she splutters.
My eyes widen. “The other side of surgery! Not the other side of the tunnel. Just don’t go toward the light,” I add hastily.
“God, you suck at pep talks,” she laughs, shaking her head.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m doing my best!” I say, wincing.
A nurse pops her head around the door. “We’re ready for you now, Beth,” she announces softly.
“Let’s do this,” Beth says, her voice clear and sure.
The nurse fusses around the bed, preparing to wheel Beth to the operating room. Before she goes, I lean down and place a tender kiss on her forehead, silently conveying all the love and support I can muster into the press of my lips. I follow them out of the room and join Dameon in the corridor. He wishes Beth luck with a wink before she disappears behind the double doors of the operating theater.
With a heavy heart, I stare at the doors for a beat longer. All I can do now is trust the skilled hands of the medical team, knowing they will bring her back to me. They have to.
***
The one constant in life, the bedrock upon which everything else rests, is time. It moves forward steadily, indifferent to our desires or fears. Every second passes without fail, an unyielding march toward an unknown future. We know and accept that time moves forward, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, reverse it, or change it. Each tick of the clock repeats at the same pulse forever.
Yet, despite its unwavering nature, time has a peculiar way of bending and warping depending on the circumstances. On vacation, having the time of your life? It slips through your fingers like grains of sand, each day blending seamlessly into the next.
But in the sterile confines of a hospital, waiting for news that could alter the course of your life? It slows to a crawl; the second hand of the clock drags around the face. Each passing moment stretches out into an eternity of anticipation and anxiety. I’m convinced time doesn’t just stand still here; it goes backward. I would know, as I’ve been staring at the clock relentlessly, willing it to go faster. And I could have sworn at one point that I saw the second hand hesitate, faltering in its forward momentum before flickering backward. I’ve even entertained the notion that the clock itself might be faulty. I’m on the verge of lodging a complaint with the nurse. But I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Time will do that to you. Maybe I simply need another cup of coffee to jolt me back to reality.
It’s been six hours, thirty-eight minutes, and twenty-two seconds. No, twenty-three seconds. But it feels like it’s been days.
