They scheduled the operation for the following Tuesday. Five days from now. Five days to wait and try not to imagine all the things that could go wrong.
I texted Snapper constant updates. He immediately replied, steadying me even though he was four hundred miles away.
How are you holding up?he asked Saturday night.
I’m okay. Scared.I sat in the guest room at Felicity’s house, staring at my phone.Beatrice is so tiny. The surgery seems huge.
She is tougher than she looks. She gets it from her aunt.
How is the wine doing?
It is fine. Do not worry about it.
I am trying not to.
I miss you,I typed.
I miss you too, sweetheart.
Tuesday morning arrivedgray and cold. We convened in the surgical waiting room at six in the morning—Mom, Dad, Wagner’s parents, and me. Wagner and Felicity were with Beatrice, at least until the surgery started. Then they’d be in another waiting room just for the parents.
The doctor told my sister that the surgery could take as long as six hours. I couldn’t fathom that. Six hours to open her tiny chest, repair a valve in her heart, and close her back up.
I texted Snapper to say the surgery was about to start.
His response came immediately.She is going to be perfect. Just like her aunt.
I held onto those words like a lifeline.
The first hour crawled by. No news. That was normal, they’d said. We would only hear if something went wrong.
Felicity came out to where we waited, saying she needed to be with her family, then paced, unable to sit still. Wagner stayed near her, murmuring things I couldn’t hear. My mom prayed, her lips moving silently. Dad stared at the television mounted in the corner, not really watching.
I texted Snapper.One hour down.
It’s gonna go great. I know it.
At hour two, a new family came in. Their daughter was having her tonsils out. The mother was chatty, nervous, trying to fill the silence with small talk. I wanted to scream at her that tonsils were not the same as open-heart surgery. That her daughter would be fine and my sister’s might not be. But I couldn’t think that way, let alone say it.
Two hours in, there still wasn’t any news.
My chest felt tight, compressed. Every time the door opened, we all turned as one, with our hearts in our throats, but it was never someone looking for us.
At hour three, Felicity broke down. “It has been too long. Something’s wrong.”
“They said six hours,” Wagner reminded her.
“What if…?” Tears streamed down my sister’s face.
My mom wrapped her arms around her. “Beatrice is going to be fine, Felicity. The doctors are making sure of it.”
“You don’t know…”
“I do know.” Mom spoke quietly but fiercely. “I know it because she is a Staglin and a Hope, and we do not give up. She is going to fight, and she is going to win.”
I texted Snapper.Felicity is falling apart.
Be there for her. That is all you can do. You’re doing great.
