by J. D. Netto
Jonahs lay on the bed, face buried in a pillow, arms wrapped around the Jesus Cabbage Patch doll. Sawyer quickened his pace as I approached him.
“Jonahs,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”
“I need Him,” he croaked. “I need Him. He needs to help me.”
“Need who?” My fingers tingled as I touched his shoulder.
“Jesus.” He sniffled. “He needs to calm my storm.”
“Jonahs, you’re alright.” I sat next to him.
“You don’t know!” he barked, head jolting up from the pillow. His eyes bulged out of their sockets, the veins in his neck visible even in the dim light. “I just want to be alone with Him.”
I had never seen my brother like that. The smart, tender man was replaced by a stranger. He wept, holding on to that doll as if it could save his life. He calmed down after a while, loosening his grip around it.
He slowly stood to his feet, wiping his tears with his wrists. He scanned the room, confused. He spread his fingers and brought them to eye level, surveying his arms, body, and then my face.
“What happened?” he asked.
My mind raced for the best way to answer.
“Did it happen again?” He tossed the Cabbage Patch doll on the bed.
Silence.
“Paul?” he insisted.
“Everything will be alright,” I said.
He sat beside me on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees. “What’s wrong with me? What’s…” Sobs followed.
I placed an arm around his shoulder and listened to his pain. His weeping was a sad song, the low notes so familiar to me. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions.
“We should go back to the party,” I suggested after a few minutes. “People are going to come looking for us soon. Think you can handle it?”
“I guess.” He sniffled. “Oh, man, this is messed up. I’m so messed up.”
“Don’t think that way. Listen, we’ll figure it out. Just focus on tonight. We’re here as a family, together. Everyone loves you. I’m glad I was the one to find you.”
His tongue trailed over his lips. “I saw a few doctors a while ago.”
“Mom told me,” I said.
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have a lot to think about. They have me on some pill. They say it’s just a precaution, but the episodes are becoming more constant.” He frowned. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. You have so much going on already.”
“I’m glad you did. Just take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’ll try.” A discouraged smile followed his words. “And you just remain strong until you find that new heart. Zoe needs her uncle.”
“I’ll try,” I repeated.
“This will make sense,” he said. “This will all make sense one day.”
A buzzing noise startled me awake. I slammed my hand on the nightstand. It was my phone. Olivia shuffled on the bed as the noise continued. I glanced at the digital clock: 12:45 a.m. The number on the caller ID was a familiar one. It was the hospital.
I quickly sat up on the bed, the oxygen tubes on my face, a needle in my arm.
“Hello?” I took in a long breath. “Hello? Hello?”
“Paul.” It was Dr. Brown. “I think you may be getting quite the gift today.” I hoped my suspicion was true. “We have a heart.”
Hearing those words caused an out-of-body experience.
“Still there?” she asked after my silence.
“Yes.” I drew in a shuddering breath.
“Get here by two a.m., alright?”
“Okay!” I chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”
Olivia stared with a gaping jaw, face still puffed. “Is it what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“Time for a Christmas heart.”
She threw her arms around me and whispered, “You’ll be fine. You have to be fine.”
I called my sister Kirsten. She answered with a groggy voice but was fully alert when I broke the news. She agreed to stay with Neil and was at our doorstep in half an hour. We left as soon as she arrived, my parents meeting us at the hospital.
When it came to my feelings, I wasn’t sure what to make of them. This was the only solution to keep me alive. And I could only get it by risking my life.
I was led to a room where the needle party began. A nurse hooked me up to a new IV. I had to shower to get rid of any bacteria before the surgery. Another nurse came into the shower and scrubbed me like I was a kid. I was perfectly capable of cleaning myself, but they insisted on having a professional help me. Any small infection and I could wave this world goodbye.
A gray hospital gown was handed to me after she was done. The needle party continued after I changed. They drew four vials of blood in less than two minutes before leading me to a room where Olivia and my parents waited.
As I lay on the bed, I placed a hand over my chest and followed every single one of Sawyer’s beats. Strangely, my chest tightened at the thought of losing my broken companion. He was to blame for the majority of my life’s casualties, and even though he’d managed to teach me many lessons, Sawyer had to leave. The only part of him I would keep with me was his legacy.
Dad turned on the television, switching the channel until stumbling upon the news. The words coming from the news anchor were an echo in my head as thoughts of life and death waged a battle.
A knock on the door. Dr. Brown entered with a smile. Something glistened on her white coat as she approached. She had a pin shaped like a pine tree with the words Merry Christmas written across it.
A Merry Christmas indeed, I thought.
“Glad to see most of the family here,” she said.
“Ready to do this, Doc,” I said, holding up a fist.
“So are we. I just wanted to see you and say hello to the family. The anesthesiologist should be coming to get you in a few. See you soon.”
Her last words were like a warning sign placed before a forked path. They meant life or death. This could very well be the last time I gathered with my family—or just one of many.
Tension settled after the doctor left. I knew everyone wanted to get a few words out in case this was the end. Since no one mustered the courage, I gulped in a sharp breath and said, “Mom, Dad, can you give me a moment with Olivia.”
“Of course,” Dad whispered.
Olivia came closer and sat on the edge of my bed. Her stare bore into me as if seeing my soul for the last time.
I held her hand and carefully scanned her face: her determined stare, her delicate lips, the hair falling over her ears. “Promise me if I—”
She said something in a gravelly voice I couldn’t understand.
“I’m optimistic about all this,” I continued. “But you—especially you—know the risks tonight. So in case—”
“You have to make it.”
“If it’s my time, promise you’ll find the life you’ve always dreamed of.” Her chin quivered. Her eyes glistened. “You deserve all the happiness in the world. I tried to be as normal as possible and create a normal life for us. For Neil. I know how much you dreamt of that. And there’s no doubt you’ll keep on being a great mom.”
“I want to stay with you and raise our son,” she said.
“When was the last time life asked us what we wanted?”
She gave me a tender kiss on the forehead. A tear dripped from her cheek to mine and rolled down my chin.
“Can you get my parents?” I asked.
She opened the door and left my parents and me alone.
Mom’s cheeks were stained with her tears. Dad’s face was serious, as if lost in thought.
“Thank you for everything,” I said. “It hasn’t been an easy road.”
“One worth taking,” Dad said.
They wheeled my bed out of the room at 5:20 a.m.
In
the cold, brightly lit operating room, the nurses lifted me from my bed and laid me on the familiar narrow operating table. They were gowned and ready to cut me open. After being given a sedative to tame my anxiety, but before I was fully out, I was told everyone in the room needed to hear back from one of the surgeons who had gone to extract my donor’s heart.
The waiting had the unexpected power to wipe the effects of the sedative. What was taking so long? My mind was bombarded with thousands of reasons for the delay—none of them positive.
The phone on the wall rang. A nurse picked it up. I tried to eavesdrop on the conversation, but her words were distant whispers. She put the phone back and trudged closer to the bed. Even with half her face hidden behind a surgical mask, she wasn’t able to conceal her worried stare.
“There was a problem with the heart,” she said in a flat voice. “An aneurysm. They found it after it was removed.”
I was having a nightmare. There was no way this was real.
“This might be your only chance, Paul.” No, this wasn’t a dream. “We can put the heart in, but you’ll have to come back in a week to fix it. If it works.” A pause. “Or you can keep waiting.”
I searched for reason. Life had given me an ounce of hope only to steal back ten times as much. But it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to die on my little boy today.
“I guess I’ll keep on waiting,” I said.
The Broken Miracle: Part One
© Copyright 2020 by J.D. Netto and All Heart Publishing
ISBN: 9781734381214
www.allheartpublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected].
Though this was book is inspired by real events, character, names, and incidents are a fruit of the author’s imagination to reflect the truth. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover design © 2021 by J.D. Netto Designs
Book design and production by J.D. Netto Designs
Edited by HubEdits
Piano and mountain photo: Shutterstock
Acknowledgements
It’s not everyday that one gets to work with one of their inspirations. I was already a fan way before I got to write this. Paul and Tina, thank you so much for entrusting me with this life-changing story. This journey has been my own broken miracle. I am forever grateful for your love and friendship.
To my incredible family, thank you for always cheering me on. You’ll always be my inspiration to stay the path.
My legendary friends scattered across the globe, thank you for always keeping me grounded. Here’s to many more adventures.
To every reader who has supported me in the past few years, thank you. You’re the reason I get to keep on telling stories! Please forgive me for all the tears. You all know I am definitely not sorry for them though.
Last but definitely not least, I’m thankful that God has given me this platform. I will never take it lightly.