She smiles patiently, then nods her head,“It’s finally your turn.”
I sit up almost robotically. There’s a flurry of emotions in my chest right now. I never truly thought this day would come. We’ve waited for so long. There’s always been someone else that was sicker, someone that needed a heart more than me.
But my number has finally been called. I guess this means I’m the sickest one.
“I’m getting a new heart?”
My mom sags with relief as she pushes my hair back out of my face.“You’re getting a new heart, Millie.”
Six months after that
"Everything looks great, Millie. Your body has accepted the heart better than we anticipated."
I reach up and gently rub across the thick scar that starts just below and in between my collarbones. Even though it's fully healed, I still have a hard time touching it without wincing in pain. This surgery was by far the hardest thing I've ever gone through in my life.
That includes all the countless surgeries before it. Nothing could have prepared me for them to crack my chest wide open and pull out my heart, then replace it with a stranger's.
That in itself is an odd feeling. Knowing that the organ beating inside my chest didn't used to belong to me. That someone else once claimed it as their own but now it's mine.
I slyly slide my fingers up to my throat just to feel the steadythud, thud, thudunder my fingertips. The sensation instantly calms me.
Dr. Richards gives me a knowing smile. I quickly drop my hand back down into my lap, suddenly embarrassed that I was caught checking for my own pulse. It's become almost a compulsion since the day I came out of surgery with a heart that didn't feel like it belonged to me.
I didn't trust it. I had grown accustomed to my weak one, a heart that couldn't take too much excitement or strenuous activity. I had learned to live within the restraints of my body, or more specifically, my heart.
With this new one, I didn't understand my limitations. Of course, I knew it was fragile because there was a three-to-six-month period where my risk of rejection was high. And I guess I still don't, because what happens beyond this point? Beyond all the doctors' checkups and tests? I'm talking about years down the road.
What is my life really going to look like?
A question I haven't been brave enough to ask yet, because I mostly just feel grateful to be here. It's a miracle that the doctors were able to find me a match after so many years of looking.
It is not lost on me that someone had to die in order for me to live, and that's a feeling I haven't found a way to cope with yet. The guilt makes me anxious and uncertain.
"Millie, is there anything you want to ask Dr. Richards?"My mom looks at me patiently. She's the only one who knows howI've been feeling lately, because she's been there with me every day of my recovery. Dad's been working overtime to help offset the enormous medical bills my parents have accrued since the day I was born. Even with good insurance, it's still more than what my parents can afford.
My mom reaches over and places her hand on top of mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"I—"I know I need to ask him all the questions that have been swirling in my brain since the day of the surgery, but every single one of them seems to have gotten caught on my tongue.
"It's okay, hon. Just ask him,"my mom says reassuringly.
Dr. Richards' smile is warm and patient as he waits for me to speak. I feel my palms grow clammy and my heartbeat quicken from its normally steady pace."I was just wondering if it was normal—"I clear my throat."If it was normal to not feel...normal?"I laugh, suddenly feeling even more nervous than I was before, because I don't know how to adequately describe what I'm feeling.Not normalis the best way I can put it right now.
He lightheartedly chuckles and nods, "That is perfectly normal, Millie. Your body has gone through something traumatic and life-altering. This is no easy feat, and it will take time for your body to accept its new normal—which is a perfectly healthy heart. Be patient with it. Soon you won't be able to tell that anything is different."
Patient I can do. Lord knows I've had plenty of practice with that.
I smile as relief floods my chest.
"What about strenuous activities? When would it be safe to try something outside of my normal routine?"
Dr. Richards laughs as he settles in to answer each and every one of my questions. It's the most optimistic I've felt in a very long time.
There's finally room for hope—for something more, for dreams and aspirations I long gave up on.
There's room to finally live.
And that's exactly what I plan on doing.
