Page 31 of Saving His Heart
“He has, Emory, but you know as well as I do that people with group O blood types wait longer.”
“Yes, because while I can donate blood for all other types, I can only receive organs from other group O’s. The longer I have to wait, the more damage is done. The more damage, the more likely heart failure becomes. You both know I’ve done my research, so give it to me straight. What are we looking at now?”
Staring at Emory, I wish I hadn’t repeated all my research like a robot. She may be the doctor, but even our doctor-patient relationship has never been normal. She said she wouldn’t be a good doctor if she couldn’t handle death, but I’d counter she wouldn’t be a good person if she could spend every day with someone and not be overcome with emotion when their days get a literal number. It’s the emotion in her eyes that gut me.
“Emory?” Dr. Terry says, silently asking if she would like him to deliver the news.
Sadly, she shakes her head. “Your transthyretin has become unstable, creating amyloid fibrils that are building in your heart. That means the heart muscles are stiffening at an accelerated rate, which will eventually cause your heart to fail.”
Swallowing, I nod along to her explanation. I know it’s coming, and I’m not sure I can make eye contact when she says it. Dr. Terry sits next to me and takes over Emory’s diagnosis. Glancing up, I realize she is trying to compose herself.
“I am guessing, based on all evidence, that you have about three months, son,” he exhales loudly. “I’m suggesting Emory hook you up to the ECG twice a day. She and I will speak nightly to go over results, and your care will be day to day. I think you should prepare for the placement of the Ventricular Assist Device as a last resort.”
The VAD. I haven’t decided it’s worth it, to be honest. It appears it will only delay my destiny.
“I understand you’ve turned down a do not resuscitate order? Is that correct?”
I think back to the day my father died. Had he not signed a DNR, there is a possibility we could have all gotten to him in time to say good-bye. I won’t do that to my family.
“No, sir. I want everyone to have a chance to say their good-byes. I don’t want to live on life support, though, for any longer than necessary. I’ve thought about it a lot.”
“Then I suggest you appoint your medical power of attorney as soon as possible, Preston. Preferably, a family member who will follow your instructions to the letter.”
“Th-That means whoever I choose will be forced to decide when to let me die?” There’s gravel in my voice, making it hurt to speak.
“Technically, yes.”
How can I put that pressure on someone?
“I say this as your friend, not your doctor, but whoever you choose, you must be sure they can go head to head with your mother because she will fight it. She hated me for years for following your father’s DNR, and I get it, but it’s something to think about. Appoint someone who can help her see reason and understand your wishes.
“And, Preston? I’ve listened to your reasons for not telling your family for years, but I do believe we’re at the point now where it is imperative to let them know.”
God, Dr. Nathan Terry really knows how to turn the knife when he wants to.
“Not yet. Help me get through Dexter and Trevor’s weddings, then I’ll tell everyone.”
“Preston,” Emory finally finds her voice, “Dexter’s wedding isn’t for two-and-a-half months. You cannot seriously still be considering holding off on the VAD until that is over? I understand you wouldn’t be able to hide open heart surgery, but Jesus, Pres. That will ensure you make it to both weddings.”
“Obviously, I agree with Emory,” Dr. Terry says pointedly. “I’ll let you get dressed, and I’ll collect the equipment you’ll need to take home with you. I am going to encourage you to reconsider your plan, though.”
Emory and I sit in silence as we watch Dr. Terry leave the room.
“Honestly, Preston, we—”
“Ems, I know that you’re the doctor here, but I have done research on this disease for ten years now. We have flown everywhere from Japan to a remote village in Australia, trying different treatments. When the muscles of the heart become stiff, the only treatment left is a transplant. I have also done the research on wait times, and it doesn’t seem as though I’m going to make it to the top of the list in time. Please,” my voice cracks, “please just help me live the best life I can for as long as I can.”
A single tear stains her face before it’s hidden from my view. Emory steps behind me to help guide my arms into my button-up. It’s entirely out of character for her, and I know it’s a defense mechanism because I do the same thing.
Dressed, I turn to her, lowering my face into her personal space. “If you’re feeling down, I can feel you up?”
She chokes on a sob mixed with laugher, causing a snot bubble to form under her nose. I want to cry, too; not for myself, but for her. For the first time since I’ve known her, I realize how well she hides her pain. Her pain right now is caused by me.
“Here you go.” I hand her a tissue, and she punches me in the chest.
Now it’s my turn to choke on a laugh as her face goes ashen when she realizes what she just did.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.” Her hands are flying all over my chest, inspecting for injury.
