Eyes Turned Skyward
Page 24“I reckon ten minutes or so?”
“I’d like to start you on some medication to help regulate your heartbeat in addition to what you’re already on. We’re going to need to schedule a new round of testing and probably a heart MRI so we can get a good look at what’s changing and where you sit surgically.”
My stomach rolled. “Pacemaker?”
“That’s definitely a good option, if that’s what you want. It would control your heartbeat, but there’s also the internal defibrillator that shocks your heart if it fails.”
He went into the details of each, which I already knew, but my mind shut down, choosing instead to concentrate on the bird perched on the windowsill. He could fly away whenever he wanted—why would he stay here? I would fly away. I would soar above everything, choose what I really wanted for my future without thought for my heart’s ability to handle it. But that wasn’t my life.
I was held prisoner by my own body.
“Paisley?”
“Yes?” I blinked twice.
His lips pursed. “Do you need a minute? I know this is a lot to take in.”
“No, I’m here. Sorry.”
Mama was going to cry. Then she’d scream at me for being childish, but I knew it was fear getting the best of her. The pacemaker was the more reasonable choice, but I couldn’t silence the nagging, unexplainable instinct that it was the wrong choice, that it wasn’t going to save me.
“Have you given it any more thought since your last appointment?”
“My parents think—”
“I want to know what you want. You’re almost twenty-one years old, and as much as they’d like to control every aspect of your medical care, they don’t. They can’t.”
I licked my lips, dry from the hospital air, and finally gave voice to what I’d never been able to say aloud. “I don’t want to keep coming back. I want this to be over with.” Either way.
The bird flew from the windowsill.
“You’re going to have to come back. This is something you’ll monitor your whole life, Paisley, regardless of the treatment we choose here. Even something as drastic as a transplant would need to be checked on.”
You sound like a petulant little baby. “Of course, I’m sorry. I do understand. What gives me the best chance at a normal life?” The life where I could take off my heart monitor, and drink coffee, and run after my kids.
“That would be the surgery we discussed, septal myectomy, where I would remove enough of the thickened area of the heart to eliminate the obstruction. But, given the abnormal rhythms you’re experiencing, there’s no guarantee you wouldn’t develop a branch bundle block or need an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator. There are no certainties here.”
“How long do I have to make the choice?”
He set my chart down on the rolling table. “These episodes are only going to increase the worse the obstruction gets, and SCD is a very real possibility. We’ll try the medication first, but if that fails, we’re going to need a decision in the next few months. Six at tops.”
One hundred ninety-two days. There were still so many little boxes I had yet to check off the list. I needed every one of those days to live, really live, not just exist. “I need more time.”
“And I’m trying to give it to you. Medication first, but the choice is coming at you fast.”
“I’ll think about it. I understand what you’re saying. I know I have to make a choice, and I’m thinking about it, but I’m not ready to decide. Not yet.”
“Okay. Well, let’s see how the medication goes. Moderate exercise, watch your sodium intake, and be aware of how you’re feeling.”
“Swimming? I’m taking lessons.”
“Perfect. Don’t go for laps or anything, keep it—”
“Moderate.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Something occurred to me. “Oh, one more thing?” He raised his eyebrows, and I flushed hot, but had to ask. “Um…about…sex?”
He didn’t blink, God bless him. “As long as you can climb a flight of stairs and you’re not winded—you’re good to go.”
Morgan walked into the kitchen as I examined the label on my new meds. Less energy, quivering, loss of appetite, nausea, and vomiting. Yay, couldn’t wait to see if any of those side effects called my name. First dose was down. I reckoned we’d see soon.
“Choose the darn pacemaker, Paisley.”
“No,” I replied calmly, taking a sip of the tart orange juice. The more I said it, the easier it became.
“Why not?” She raised her voice. “If it means you live, then why the hell not?”
I took another long drink and gave her my full attention. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Don’t you dare condescend me. I’ve been with you since day one, sat through every late-night internet search, and joined every it’s-not-fair cryfest.” She folded her arms across her chest, but they didn’t cage the tension emanating from her.