Page 143 of Before You Can Blink
With my eyes closed, I swallowed, grateful to discover that there wasn’t a tube shoved down my throat. That was the fucking worst.
Lifting my heavy eyelids, I blinked a few times before Daisy came into view, seated in the chair at my bedside.
Weakly, I said, “We have to stop meeting like this.”
Her blue eyes snapped up, so full of sadness it about damn near broke my heart. “Not funny.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, reaching for her hand.
Even though I wasn’t feeling any pain, that wasn’t an indication as to whether I was post-op or not. The good meds made it so I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, for a few days at least, and then it was gonna hurt like a bitch.
“They already open me up, or do I still have that whole process to look forward to?”
Daisy shook her head. “No surgery.”
Well, that was a pleasant surprise. I could get on board with that.
“Who knew those two words could sound like heaven?”
That’s when she burst into tears, and confusion stole over me.
“Daze, what’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled squeak came out.
Unable to pull her into my arms to comfort her in my current situation, I fumbled around until my hand closed around the remote and I hit the call button. Within minutes, a nurse with a kind smile walked in, and when she caught Daisy crying, she offered her a box of tissues. Then, she rounded the edge of the bed to check my vitals.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Sullivan?”
“Fuck how I’m feeling,” I groused. “I want some damn answers.”
“Of course.” She ducked her head. “I’ll page your doctor and let him know you’re awake.”
“Great.” The word came out on an aggravated sigh. I already knew whatever he had to tell me wouldn’t be good, judging from Daisy’s reaction.
The minute the nurse was gone, I asked my wife, “It’s bad this time, isn’t it?”
Lips folding inward, she nodded. “Yeah.”
There wasn’t much time to sit on that before Dr. Terrier, who had become my permanent cardiologist after my first heart attack, entered the room, holding the tablet that seemed like a permanent fixture in his hands.
One look at the grim set of his face told me everything I needed to know, so before he could utter a single word, I demanded, “Just shoot me straight, Doc.”
Nodding, he did just that. “There’s no easy way to say this, Jett. We’ve reached the point where you need a transplant.”
I huffed out a wry laugh. “Can’t imagine those are too easy to come by for an old man like me.”
“Unfortunately, not,” he agreed.
“So, um—” My voice cracked, but I pressed on. “How long do I have?”
“Hard to say. Could be weeks, maybe a couple of months if you’re lucky.”
It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing the end was near, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. At least I was being given a warning, so I would be able to say my goodbyes properly. Neither of my parents had been that lucky—or Murph, for that matter.
Dr. Terrier tapped on his tablet. “There are a few hospices I usually recommend—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m going home. Today.”
