Page 96 of A Really Bad Idea

“It’s too new, and you told me yesterday that she could stroke out. Besides, that procedure is for the aorta. We’re talking about a mitral valve here. It’s completely different.”

Christian places a hand on his hip and points at his father with the other. “We’re not waiting anymore. I’m tapping the lung, and tomorrow, I’m getting a good look at that valve with a nuclear cardiology test. If I can find a pathway, I’m performing the surgery.”

“Christian.” Thomas looks exasperated. “This isn’t a chance for you to play mad scientist. This is Gail we’re talking about.”

Christian doesn’t miss a beat. “Exactly.”

He doesn’t wait for his father as he walks away and back toward Mom’s room. Thomas stands at the desk for a long moment, his hand on the Formica as he shakes his head in dismay, and then walks back in the opposite direction Christian went.

I knew there was a reason they were postponing Mom’s surgery, but the fact that they’re discussing survival rates like this is staggering. When Mom had heart surgery a few years back, it was pretty cut and dry. She wasn’t sick like this and checked into surgery that morning, as she would a dental cleaning. She was in recovery a few hours later and home in ten days. We were a wreck with worry, but there wasn’t this back and forth, waiting in the hospital for days. That was stressful, to say the least, but this is downright shattering.

I don’t go back into Mom’s room. Instead, I wait outside the closed door and play with the charm on my necklace, feeling it run up and down along the metal chain.

The door opens, and Christian comes out of the room, not surprised to see me leaning against the wall.

He closes the door behind him and takes a spot next to me. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“You knew I was eavesdropping?”

“You’re hard to miss. Not very stealthy.” He grins at his joke and then inhales, his smile leaving. “Your mom is my patient now. I sat with her, held her hand, and explained what will happen.”

“And that is?”

“I am going to fix her heart.”

I let out a half-laugh. “With the radical new procedure that has only been performed how many times?”

“In the world? Thirty-six. By me? Eight.” His dark eyelashes bow down to mine. “Are you worried?”

“Yes. Less, knowing you’re the one who’s going to do it. Is it even possible? Do you think she’ll stroke out?”

He sways his head to the side. “With her fast and irregular heart rate, she’s a high stroke risk whether or not we do the procedure. I’ll look at the scans tomorrow and make a plan for surgery. I wanted to see you later tonight, but I have work to do.”

“So, you can perform mock procedures to ensure you don’t kill my mother while you attempt to heal her?”

“That will be my focus tomorrow. Tonight, I need to study her previous surgery.” He runs his hands up my arms, warming me up. “You should go home and sleep.”

“Fuck that. I’m staying here.”

“Meadow.” He uses a tone of authority.

“I’m not leaving. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to become a psychotic family member who won’t let you do your job. I’m being very good, by the way.”

“Surprisingly.” He raises his hands to my head and taps me on the temples. “Just make sure you talk about what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“You already know my thoughts.”

“Just when I think I do, you go and get a new crazy thought.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ve got this. I am the best.”

“Only because there’s about three of you doing this procedure in the world.”

“Case in point.” That cocky attitude of his is back in place. “Sweet dreams.”

I watch as my handsome, smart, cocky doctor walks down the hall. Knowing Mom is in his hands has me feeling better because he’s right; he is the best. And, even so, I can’t help that gnawing feeling in my gut as I wonder what would happen if he failed. Not only do I not know what I would do without my meddling mother, but I also wonder if Christian could forgive himself.

With the shake of my head, I walk back into the hospital room and take a seat by the window. Mom has fallen asleep, and Dad is sitting by her side with her hand in his, watching the news. I sit in the guest chair and take her other hand and hold it. My dad gives me a small smile. His eyes are glassy from the concern he’s holding.

“She’s been like this for a while. I wasn’t allowed to tell you guys. She’d sleep for five hours in the middle of the day. If she knew we had something coming up, she’d stay inactive to save up her energy. She said it was fine, but I knew, and I said nothing,” he explains quietly, careful not to wake her.