Mending Defects

by Lynn Galli

  From the Journal of Lena Coleridge:

  I gave her every opportunity tonight. I made the first move by going over there. Yeah, she was shocked that I’d left the other night. Left her practically naked and so ready, but that was it, wasn’t it? Practically naked wasn’t going to cut it. I can’t do that again. Can’t let someone get everything I have to give while she keeps parts to herself. I won’t be hurt like that again. If she’s not willing to be completely open with me, I’m better off without her. I learned my lesson with Regina the Money Grubber. I doubt Glory would be like that, but hiding part of herself from me was all the warning I needed. Damn, I wanted her. Want her still. I gave her a chance tonight. Gave her the choice to resume our friendship or take a chance with me.

  And she let me walk away. Again.

  Chapter 26

  Sunday night, I was restacking my depleted wood pile to ready it for delivery tomorrow. I always received deliveries in the summer. It was less expensive and they could get it out to me right away. My parents sometimes waited until November before they got their wood. It had backfired a few times, leaving them without heat from the fireplace for a couple weeks in winter.

  Complete fatigue plagued me by only the fifth log. My breath came in gasps, and it felt like a small vehicle was trying to parallel park on my chest. Fleeting spasms followed by massive pressure. It was all I could do to get back into the house and lie down. I hadn’t felt this kind of chest pain in years. Something had to be wrong. I didn’t want to think about it, but I was adult enough to deal with it.

  “Back again, Glory? I’m going to get a complex.” Dr. Pickford took his spot on the rolling stool and gave me an encouraging smile when he’d rearranged his schedule to see me the next day. The chest pain had subsided, but those were always the magic words when dealing with a cardiologist.

  “Apparently I can’t stay away.”

  We went through an ultrasound. Then he hooked me up to the EKG. “Oxygen level has dropped again.”

  “Another stent?”

  “Possibly, but I’d like to wait for the MRI results to come in.”

  We waited in silence while Stacy went to collect the folder from my MRI at the imagining lab this morning. Dr. Pickford must have been throwing his weight around to let me jump the line like that. She came back into the exam room with a large envelope. The doc took his time looking at the images. He turned with a heavy expression. My heart jumped, making my chest hurt again.

  “It’s not good news. It’s your valve.”

  “Pulmonary?” I swallowed what felt like a large, hard lint ball.

  That was the one I’d needed replaced when I was seventeen. If it was my tricuspid, that could mean a repair only. Pain and recovery on that would be minimal compared to what I was used to. Replacement was a much bigger production.

  “Yes.” He let that sink in. Compassion poured from his eyes. He gave his patients this kind of news every day, and still he was able to feel for them. “We knew it would need to be replaced at some point. I’d hoped it would last longer, but the good news is there have been a lot of advancements in the last ten years. You may not have to replace it ever again.”

  I fought against the lump in my throat again. “You think it’s my valve? Not just an artery?”

  He reached for my hand. “I do.”

  He never pulled punches with me. It was one of the reasons my family had moved from Portland to Aspen when he’d moved his practice to Denver. He had been one of a few qualified pediatric heart surgeons on the west coast. I wasn’t willing to shift to the others, and my family thought nothing of moving to be near him. Ours wasn’t the only family to think that way either. Several others had relocated to the Denver area to keep seeing him. We all consider ourselves stalkers.

  He pointed to the valve on the image and reran the ultrasound pictures on the screen, explaining as he went. “It’s the valve. And it needs to be soon.”

  Tears built behind my eyes as I tried to shake them off. I swallowed roughly again and tried to speak. “You have to go in again? Open me up?”

  “I have to go in, yes, but it’ll be minimally invasive this time. Valve advancements aren’t the only improvements. I’ll make three incisions and go in through your ribs.”

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding, not quite sure I’d heard him correctly. “You won’t crack the breastbone?”

  “It’s possible I may have to, but I’ve got robotic help now. I should be able to get in through the ribs. You’re still looking at six to ten weeks of recovery time, but it’s less painful and less time than when you were younger.”

  “Okay,” I tried to process that. “No other options?”

  He waited for me to retract that question. He didn’t like being scary blunt, but I had to know for sure. “Your valve needs replacing, Glory. If we don’t, it will stop working. At that point it will be a lot more pain and maybe too late.”

  More pain and too late. Words no heart patient liked hearing. I wouldn’t be able to ride this value until it died, hoping it might repair itself. He was telling me that my heart would overwork itself to compensate for the bad valve until it stopped working altogether. Nope, no other options.

  “You’ll have to decide on mechanical or tissue.” He knew I’d get to where he’d been as soon as he saw the MRI. “We didn’t give you that choice when you were younger for a couple of reasons. Mechanical is a good option now, and the only chance at not having to do this again. Some fail, but most last for a lifetime unlike tissue valves.”

  “I’ll be on blood thinners for life.”

  “Yes, that’s the drawback.”

  “And they click.” I’d done lots of reading on the subject, knowing at some point I’d be facing this decision unless I had a miraculous tissue valve. I wasn’t sure how I felt about something inside me that made a mechanical sound, no matter how soft. “The tissue valves last longer now?

  “Some patients get lucky and go twenty years, some longer. At your age, you’d be looking at another two to four more replacements if you go tissue again.”

  “How long do I have to decide?”

  “We need to get you scheduled soon. I don’t like that you’re having chest pain. We can’t risk valve failure.”

  I nodded, trying to delay the feeling of being rushed. “Surgery when?”

  “I can get you in tomorrow. Wednesday would be more difficult.”

  Not even a day. My muscles felt tight and my head pounded. Tears pushed at the back of my eyes. I wasn’t ready for this. The stent replacement should have cleared me for years until the stated expiration date of my tissue valve. Two years at least. I would be prepared to make this decision and face another recovery in two years. But I wouldn’t get that two years. I wouldn’t even get a full day.

  “Wednesday isn’t good?”

  “Tuesdays and Thursdays I’m at the hospital.”

  I knew that but needed the extra time to decide. “Tomorrow.”

  I found it harder to stand from the exam table this time. When I’d made the appointment I was hoping for sheer exhaustion and a lecture from the doctor about pushing too hard. I didn’t imagine I’d be walking out of this room and needing to check into a hotel because I’d be expected at the hospital first thing tomorrow morning. Flashbacks of my last valve replacement recovery flooded my mind as I left the office. Eight days in the hospital followed by two months of slow recovery at home. I didn’t feel whole again for another two months after that. Facing even half that filled me with dread. Of course, all of that assumed I’d make it through the risky surgery.

  *

  Coasting down the hallway toward the operating room, I held my mom’s hand. My dad was right behind her, a brave look on his face. Mom and I had been giving him a hard time all morning as I signed the forms for the surgery. He seemed more nervous than both us of combined.

  Dr. Pickford stopped the gurney at the double doors leading to the operating suites. He looked at my parents and told them what they’d he
ard six times before. “I’ve got your girl from here. I’ll do everything I can to take care of her.”

  Mom squeezed my hand and leaned down to kiss me. “We love you, sweetie.”

  Dad stroked my shoulder. “You’ll do great, honey.”

  I blew them both a kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”

  The routine had worked for us every time before. It would work again, no matter how worried I was. To think otherwise right before surgery could invite disaster.

  In the operating room, Dr. Pickford’s masked face loomed over me. His kind eyes calmed some of my nerves. He told me to count back from one hundred by sevens. Math before surgery. Ugh. I got down to seventy-two and closed my eyes. I’d think of the next number in a second.

  My eyes opened, and I tried to remember what came next. A nurse appeared and disappeared. I felt a lot more groggy and disoriented and had to close my eyes against the dizziness. Dr. Pickford was there when I opened them again. I tried to focus on his familiar face. The nurse fluttered in and out of my line of sight, touching various machines and checking the tube in my arm. I turned my head to examine the operating room, but pain flared in my chest and side.

  “You’re in the ICU, Glory. You’ll be here a day or two. Everything went well. You have a shiny new valve working and ready to take you to old age.”

  I understood the words but couldn’t reconcile them with what I knew to be true. I still had to subtract seven from seventy-two before he could start with the cutting. Maybe I was dreaming already.

  “You’re done, Glory. You’re out and done,” he repeated.

  This time I got it. I tried to smile but that took too much effort. I’d save it for my parents when they were cleared to visit me in the ICU. I’d thank him later, too. Right now, I needed more sleep. Coherent thoughts and feelings would have to wait until the anesthesia wore off and I could stay awake for more than a few minutes.

  It took a day and a half, but I was finally using most of my mind. When they moved me to a regular room, I yearned for that just-came-off-anesthesia feeling. My new roommate talked nonstop. She’d had a quadruple bypass and seemed to be giving credence to her doctor’s recommendation of a healthier lifestyle. If I wanted to be cruel, I’d guilt her about having a choice on her heart surgery if only she’d eaten better or exercised more. Neither would have helped me. Instead, I let her chatter on, not adding to the discussion.

  I hurt, even with the drugs. My side blazed at any little movement and my chest ached in dull throbs. My roommate didn’t seem to hurt. Not when she pressed the nurse’s call button every thirty seconds, not when she used her bedpan every hour, and not when she tore the orderly’s hands off when he brought her food trays. For my next heart procedure, I’d ask for a bypass instead of any of the other painful things my doctor always went for.

  My parents came into the room as bypass lady was talking about her love of ice cream and how it had taken her straight to her hospital bed. They introduced themselves and tag teamed her so I could get some peace. I watched Mom get comfortable in the reclining chair next to my bed. It was going to take a tough nurse to get her to leave tonight. She hadn’t been able to stay over when I was in the ICU, but she owned regular hospital rooms. Nurses didn’t stand a chance.

  I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten how awful the whole surgery process was. From the scrubbing with special soap the night before to all the tests right before surgery, the endless forms, the heart wrenching worry on my parents faces before and after, plus all the pain, aches, involuntary narcolepsy, exhaustion, and tedium. It was all too much. The antiseptic smell, endless rotation of nurses, inedible food, and having to rely on someone for every single want or bodily function didn’t add to the glamour of hospitals.

  I’d experienced a whole range of emotions this time. I remembered being afraid when I was seventeen, but this time exasperation, envy, dismay, embarrassment, despair, hope, distress, gratitude, and even rage joined my fear. Happiness wouldn’t break through until I was released.

  Chapter 27

  Pain meds made the car ride home unpleasant. No matter how many positions I tried, I couldn’t get comfortable. Car sickness was no fun either, especially when the act of getting sick felt like being stabbed and beaten at the same time.

  It was all worth it just to be home. Nothing felt as good as when my dad set me on the couch after being too exhausted to finish walking from his car. I felt love for this couch because it was in my house not in a hospital or beside the never ending drivel of some lady I didn’t know. I’d liked my couch before, but here settled on it after a really horrible five days, I actually loved it.

  Mom and Mei hovered nearby, watching me adjust my position to get more comfortable. Dad turned on the television and began bouncing through the channels, checking with me on each one to see what might be of interest. I doubted I’d be able to keep my eyes open for more than fifteen minutes but it was important to him to do something for me. Spence was just coming out of the bedrooms where he’d deposited Mom and Mei’s suitcases. I loved these people. They thought nothing of taking time off work to drive to Denver and be with me in the hospital, arranging among themselves who would have which days so that I was never without a visitor for even one day. Now that I was home, they would be there for support, assistance, care, and love. I was one lucky woman.

  The doorbell sounded, and Spence dashed off to answer it. If I’d had the energy, I would have been disappointed that I couldn’t get in a nap before some of my friends stopped by. It had to be Brooke. She’d been checking in by phone daily while taking care of the office for us, but she’d probably want to see for herself that I was okay.

  Lena appeared in my line of sight, worry and irritation in her expression. My heart started beating harder. So not good for a person just out of valve surgery. I wanted to stand to greet her, but my legs and back felt like clay. I’d be able to get up, but I didn’t think I’d be able to stay up. I opted for the I’m-completely-healthy-nothing-is-wrong-I-just-feel-like-reclining-here-because-it’s-comfortable look.

  “You should have told me.”

  My parents’ eyes went wide at Lena’s stern tone. I think mine did as well. Nearly everyone treated me like I could crack open at any second after a surgery. At best they’d fuss over me, but no one would challenge me. No one.

  “We haven’t exactly been…” What? Talking? No, we’d managed that in the week after our little incident. Muddled through as if nothing had happened between us. As if I didn’t know what it was like to have her body sliding against mine, mouth hungry and searching. “Besties,” I finished.

  “Cut that out!” she demanded. This time everyone’s eyes widened.

  Spence turned away, his shoulders started to shake with silent laughter. He’d been the leader of the Glory-you’re-an-idiot-if-you-don’t-snap-up-Lena club for a few weeks now. Mei had to pull him into the back hallway, probably ready to join his laughing fit. She thought Lena would be good for me, too. Having Lena tell me off seemed to solidify that notion for them.

  “You have the nerve to hang out with me acting like nothing is wrong, knowing full well that you’re going into the hospital soon.” Her eyes blazed.

  She wasn’t kidding. She was really angry. I looked at my mom. I expected to see her chest puffing out, ready to defend me. Instead I saw what looked like admiration in her eyes, happy to let this play out.

  “It was nothing.” I wasn’t lying. Comparatively speaking, it wasn’t as bad as my open heart surgeries. And what would I have said? Hey, I know you didn’t want to have sex with me unless the conditions were perfect, but I’m headed to the hospital tomorrow, so want to drive to Denver and give it another try?

  “I don’t want to hear your carefree B.S., Glory.” Lena’s tone made me abandon the sarcastic thoughts. “You can drop the easy going act. This was serious. Wasn’t it? I don’t even know what you had done, but I can tell. It’s serious. You and I, we’re…hell, I don’t know, but we’re definitely at the stage where yo
u tell me if you’re going to be hospitalized. You got that?” She looked fierce, like she might slap me silly.

  “I like her,” Dad tried whispering to Mom, but he sucked at whispering. They always carried across two rooms.

  Lena stepped back to take them in. Anger dropped from her expression. Embarrassment seeped in. She’d only met them a couple times before. “Sorry, but your daughter just, just…”

  “We know,” Mom supplied with a sweet smile. “She does that to us, too.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” I reminded them, flabbergasted by their complete support of Lena’s ranting at their recovering daughter.

  “Of course, dear,” Mom placated me.

  Lena refocused on me, stepping up to where her knees brushed the couch. She looked beautiful when she was angry. Then again, she looked beautiful with any emotion. I tried not to smile at how riled up she’d gotten. “Do we understand each other?”

  That was a loaded question. I thought we did. Then she walked out at a time when I didn’t think anyone would have the ability to leave. I thought I knew her, thought I could guess her actions, but she’d proven me wrong. Even for an easy going gal like me, her walking out had turned me sideways.

  My throat didn’t seem to want to work, so I managed a stiff nod. Pain sparked from my chest. My hand came up to press against it. Lena bent to reach for my hand, concern now erasing any anger or frustration. She pulled her hand back when she realized her touch may add to my pain.

  “I’ll get an icepack.” Mom headed into the kitchen. “Henry, a little help?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “She’s good, Dana” Dad told her.

  “Henry!” Mom ordered in a tone that always made him hop to.

  Lena smiled as she watched my dad hurry into the kitchen. She waited until he’d cleared the room then knelt beside the couch to be at eye level. She watched my hand settle back between us on the couch. After a moment, she reached for it, touching lightly until I squeezed hers in return. “Are you well, truly?”