by Karen West
I didn’t bother telling her the truth. I nodded, and she started walking with us, steering us in the direction of the lift. ‘Once the operation is underway, I’ll come up and see you. If you have questions or concerns, I’m here to answer them for you. Ask me whatever you like, and if I don’t have the answer, I’ll find someone who does.’ I pursed my lips. ‘Steph,’ she said, drawing me into her arms and close to her chest, ‘try not to worry.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ I sighed, and a nerve below my left eye began to twitch. ‘I just want the operation to be over. I’d like to ask you a question in private, if you don’t mind.’
Aunt Cass squeezed my hand. ‘Take all the time you need,’ she said, and started walking.
‘Yes?’ said Janice.
‘I read that, like minds, a person’s heart has a memory.’
Janice’s eyes rounded. ‘There have been cases where recipients believe that to be true, but it’s not proven.’
‘So, when my mum has the transplant, she might not love me the same?’
Janice reached out and put her hand on mine. ‘Having a heart transplant doesn’t erase a person’s memory or affect the way that they live or love, but it does offer precious time to live and love longer. Does that make sense?’
I wiped my hot, clammy hands on my uniform. ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Thanks. It’s weird knowing that Mum is being prepped for a heart transplant. It’s too surreal to comprehend. Is that normal?’
‘Yes, Stephanie, it is.’
‘Where’s my dad?’
‘He’s with your mum, but he’ll be out soon.’
‘Can I see my mum before the operation starts, please?’
‘Of course.’
Aunt Cass squeezed my hand so hard I thought that I’d never get the circulation back. When she released her hold, she started slipping Gran’s wedding ring on and off her finger.
‘You’ll end up losing it,’ I warned, pointing to the crack between the doors, and she stopped.
The lift doors opened and a male nurse rushed past pushing a stainless steel cart. Dad was sitting in the corridor, eyes closed, head resting against the wall. His face wasn’t showing signs of strain, but maybe it was hiding under his skin.
‘Dad,’ I called, and he sprang to his feet. He spread his long arms so wide they engulfed me, and his nervous energy flowed into mine.
‘It’s happening,’ he said, releasing his hold, and concern washed over his face. He rubbed his hands and started cracking his knuckles. I hated it when he did that. Dad put his hand over his heart. ‘The waiting is over, Steph …’
I was too busy thinking of the moment during the operation when Mum’s heart would be removed, and she’d be lying on the operating table without a heart in her body. Dad pointed to a row of chairs. As we sat down, I noticed the swelling in Aunt Cass’s ring finger, and my brows knitted.
I reached across Dad to take a magazine off the table. The girl on the front cover was dressed in a full hot-pink dress accessorised with matching bag and shoes. The caption read: Pink is in this Spring. Not everyone’s life revolves around beautiful clothes, wild parties, fast cars, and fabulous holidays in far away places. Sometimes life is full of steep hills and winding roads.
I closed the magazine, placed it back and received a text alert from Libby.
So, so, so happy for your Mum. Call me when the op is over, ok! LUV U xxxx
I went to reply, but a nurse walked out with a chart in her hand. I knew that it belonged to Mum because when she made eye contact with me, she dropped her head and shuffled off like a meerkat hiding something from the mob.
Dad reached out and touched my brow. ‘You’ve got a worry wrinkle.’
I moved his hand away from my face. ‘It’s a line, Dad.’
We’d been sitting in the corridor for more than an hour with no sign of Janice, no doctors, and no updates – just that freaking nurse. I leaned forward, beyond Dad, to see that Aunt Cass’s focus had changed from her ring to her watch, which she was tapping with her fingernail.
We all stood when a squeaking sound turned our attention to the doors and Mum was wheeled out in a clapped-out wheelchair that was pushed by an orderly with tattooed arms. Seeing the tattoos made me recall the guy who was shot dead. Mum was dressed in a blue hospital gown. I glanced at her feet in her crocodile slippers that were now clad in blue disposable covers. A cotton blanket with the words St Vincent’s Hospital stitched in navy blue writing was wrapped around her small shoulders, like an old lady’s shawl. The orderly stopped in front of us, allowing us to speak with Mum.
‘They’re sending me for a chest X-ray. I shouldn’t be too long,’ she explained. Dad’s face lost all expression. Mum reached for my hand. I leaned forward, kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelt of medicated soap. ‘Promise me that you’re not stressing?’
‘I can’t. This is huge.’ I shouldn’t have said that.
‘Steph’s doing fine,’ Aunt Cass assured Mum.
Mum’s eyes met Dad’s. They had a special language between them that needed no words. When Dad’s eyebrows knitted, I knew something wasn’t right.
As the orderly reversed the wheelchair the squeaking sound returned, and Mum disappeared around the corner.
My body went cold. I wanted to vomit. I sat, dropped my head to my knees and Aunt Cass rubbed my back.
‘Maybe Cass should take you home and bring you back later,’ Dad suggested.
I lifted my head and gave him the worst stare that I could conjure up. ‘I’m not going anywhere!’ I informed him. ‘Dad, I’m not a child.’
‘Maybe later,’ he mumbled.
When the need to vomit passed, I occupied myself with my ponytail, slipping the end under my nose holding it in place with my top lip, dropping it, and repeating the action until boredom set in.
Another hour passed.
A small boy walked up the corridor holding the hand of a man much older than Dad. The boy sat on the floor opposite us and started playing with his red matchbox car. ‘Broom, broom,’ he sang, running it up the leg of the chair, across the plastic seat cover to the other side. He stopped playing, tilted his head and studied me watching him. I gave him a wave. He waved back, adding a cheeky grin. His face was familiar.
Lots of girls I know would give anything to be an only child, but not me. When you’re an only child, the focus is always on you, which is intense.
A nurse walked out into the corridor. Dad went to stand, but the nurse walked past him to the man with the boy and shared a whispered conversation. I was puzzled as to why they avoided eye contact with us. The man scooped the toy car off the floor, swept up the boy’s hand and the nurse escorted them away.
Soon after, Mum’s squeaky wheelchair was back. She gave us a little wave before disappearing behind the doors. I disliked having walls between us.
I hated waiting. ‘Waiting is bullshit,’ I said, way too loud, knowing that I should be grateful, and proceeded to gnaw at the skin around my thumbnail.
Aunt Cass stood up. ‘I’m going to get a coffee. Steph, would you like to come?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
Dad let out a sigh. ‘Please, Steph, go with Cass, stretch your legs. I’ll text you if anything happens.’
As Aunt Cass entered the café, I pulled back on her arm. ‘There’s Janice,’ I told her, pointing to the exact spot where she had met us earlier. Just then Mr and Mrs Thompson walked through the hospital entry with one of their twins, and Janice greeted them. The boy upstairs was the other twin – the kid playing. ‘They must have two donors. How cool for Mr Thompson.’ I had the urge to run over, but decided not to intrude on their space.
The coffee shop was busy. My legs ached as we waited to be served. Aunt Cass waved a waitress over. ‘A skim hot chocolate,’ I said, ‘thanks.’
‘The same with full fat,’ said Aunt Cass.
I leaned across the table. ‘The Thompsons arrived,’ I shared, struggling to hold in my excitement.
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��The Thompsons?’ she asked vaguely.
‘Yes, the boy upstairs was one of the Thompson twins. Mr Thompson is on the heart transplant list too. Janice was with them. There must be two donors. How cool is that! It’s huge. Their boys are too young to understand.’ Doubt snuck in. ‘Mum will go first, won’t she?’ I frowned. ‘She was here first.’
Aunt Cass struggled to smile. I realised that I was blabbering. ‘I’m certain your mum will go first.’
Another text alert came through from Libby.
Hi, Steph, what’s happening? Are u OK? How’s your mum?
I replied.
Nothing much. Still waiting for the op to start. Can you tell Richard and Willow?
I handed Dad a coffee. ‘Mr Thompson’s here. He’s with Janice and …’
Worry lines cut across Dad’s forehead. ‘I know who Mr Thompson is!’ he snapped.
‘Sorry for sharing.’ I snapped back, wounded and confused.
‘Glenn,’ scolded Aunt Cass, in my defence.
Dad stood and handed his coffee to Aunt Cass. I was shocked when he walked through the doors, leaving us behind.
Aunt Cass’s forehead creased. ‘What just happened?’ I asked confused.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I thought Dad would be happy for Mr Thompson.’
‘Your dad’s under a lot of pressure. I’m sure when he comes back, he’ll explain.’
Anxiety flowed through my veins. ‘That’s still no reason to snap like that,’ I murmured.
Dad was gone for a long time. When the lift door sounded, Janice stepped out. As she walked towards us, she wasn’t her usual bubbly self.
Darkness filled the corridor, like the calm before the thunder claps. I think Aunt Cass felt it too. The doors swung open and Dad came back out with Dr Wong. I stood between Aunt Cass and Janice.
Dad folded his arms. His expression was stern. Something was wrong.
‘Let’s take a seat,’ Dr Wong suggested.
We sat in the chairs against the wall, like carnival ducks waiting to be shot. Dr Wong picked up a chair and positioned it directly in front of us. Although I sensed the news wasn’t good, I was calm.
‘Kim’s chest X-rays are showing an underlying infection,’ he told Dad, ‘and although we can clear it up with antibiotics, we can’t go ahead with today’s transplant. I’m sorry, it’s just not meant to be this time round. We’d like to keep Kim in the hospital for a few days.’
I put my hand over my mouth to stop the scream escaping. I spoke from behind my hand. ‘What happens to the donor’s heart?’
‘We have a compatible recipient on standby,’ he told us.
‘Mr Thompson?’ I whispered.
Dr Wong didn’t answer. He reached out for Dad’s hand and placed his other hand on Dad’s arm. ‘Don’t forget to give me a call.’
‘That’s it?’ I spat.
‘Once we’ve cleared up your mother’s infection, we’ll try again,’ Dr Wong assured me. ‘It’s important that you and your parents focus on living as normal a life as possible.’ I didn’t bother telling Dr Wong that I had forgotten what normal was. ‘Give the nurses a few minutes, and you can take the family in to see Kim.’
‘Thanks,’ said Dad.
My brain froze with disappointment.
When Dad faced the wall, I thought that he was going to punch it. ‘I should have picked up on the chest infection. How could I have missed it?’ he asked Aunt Cass.
‘Glenn, when you’re too close, change is easily missed. It’s not your fault.’
Janice reached out to Dad. ‘You can’t blame yourself, Glenn.’
Dad’s Adam’s apple moved up and down like a lift jolting between floors. I think that meant that he was crying on the inside. I stepped back to give him space.
‘Would you like to pop into my office, Steph?’ asked Janice.
I knew it wasn’t Janice’s fault that Mum’s transplant didn’t go ahead, but I wasn’t up to sharing the depth of my disappointment in fear of saying something hurtful. ‘No, but thanks.’
As we walked past the room where I had visited Katie earlier, I crossed my fingers and prayed that the doctors and nurses didn’t register that I was back. Mum was sitting up in bed. Her hand was bruised where a cannula had been inserted. She smiled as we approached. If it were me lying in that bed, I would have been pissed off big time.
I fought to hide my disappointment. Mum waved me closer. ‘Don’t be upset, Steph. It’s all right.’
My throat ached, making it impossible to speak. I wriggled my hand free and backed away. Aunt Cass moved in, and within seconds she had Mum laughing.
Stepping out, I made my way to the visitors’ lounge. Mrs Thompson was talking to the man with the twin. There was an older woman with them. My guess was that they were Mr Thompson’s parents.
‘Poppy, Poppy, watch this,’ called the boy with the matchbox car, running as he ran it along the wall. He tripped on the leg of a chair and rolled around the floor laughing.
The boy’s happiness set off a spark of jealousy.
Mrs Thompson started walking towards me. I searched for somewhere to run and hide, but my feet were rooted to the ground.
Her arms opened like giant wings. I stood like a statue while she hugged me. ‘I’m sorry, Stephanie,’ she whispered kindly. When she stopped hugging, I followed her over to a lounge chair, and she sat beside me. ‘Janice explained the situation. You must be terribly disappointed.’
Words backed up in my throat like fragments of glass. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ I managed. ‘Someone had to get the heart. I’m glad it went to Mr Thompson.’
‘Why is the girl sad?’ asked the boy. I wasn’t sure if he was Harry or James.
‘I’m not sad,’ I lied.
Mrs Thompson walked me back to the ICU, stopping short of the curtain that surrounded Mum’s cubicle. I sensed that she wasn’t up to facing my mum and dad.
‘Thank you, Stephanie,’ she whispered, moving the hair away from my eyes.
‘Don’t thank me, Mrs Thompson, thank the donor,’ I whispered back.
I sat with my head resting on the seat as Aunt Cass drove. ‘Do you want to talk?’ she asked.
I was afraid to open my mouth for fear that my anger would ignite the car, engulfing it in flames. I rolled my head towards the window and back again, and Aunt Cass gave up.
On arriving home, I headed for the lounge room and made a fire.
When the light on my phone came on, I chose to ignore it. Aunt Cass reached across me and swept the phone off the coffee table. ‘It’s from Libby,’ she said, passing the phone.
‘Later.’ I went back to watching the logs burning, listening to the crackling of the wood that spat out the odd spark.
‘There are texts from Richard and Willow,’ she added.
‘I said that I’ll answer them later.’ My voice was higher than intended.
‘Steph, it might help to talk.’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘I’m sure your mum will get another chance.’
‘And what if she doesn’t? What if that was her one and only chance? I can’t live without my mum!’
Aunt Cass reached out, but I pulled away. ‘We’re not going to let anything happen to your mother. The most important thing we can do is stay positive.’
‘That’s what Janice said, and see what happened.’
The light on my phone flashed again. I picked it up and wrote a group text.
My mum’s transplant didn’t go ahead. I need time, so don’t come over, and please don’t call or text.
Chapter Fourteen
‘STEPHANIE, BREAKFAST,’ I heard Dad call.
I dragged my feet across the floorboards into the hallway, ‘I’ll have some later,’ I called back.
‘Come down now,’ he ordered.
I threw the paint brush in the direction of the table and it bounced off the corner, landing near the store cupboard. When I slammed the door behind me, the walls vibrated.
/> Dad had my breakfast laid out on the kitchen bench.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I told him, but there was no reply.
‘I’m picking your mother up from the hospital at nine, so I’ll drop you off at school on the way. You have an hour to get ready,’ he said, taking my lunch box from the drawer.
‘I’m not going back to school, not yet. Maybe never,’ I declared.
Ignoring my words, Dad took the bread from the freezer and reached for the butter. ‘Steph, you can’t stay home forever. When your mother arrives home, she doesn’t need you moping around feeling sorry for yourself.’
‘Why am I the only person who cares?’ I cried out. ‘Why aren’t you angry? Ever since Mum missed out on the heart, you carry on as though nothing happened. It did happen, Dad, and apparently, I can’t move forward as quickly as you. If I go back to school, I won’t be able to concentrate. It would be torture. Is that what you want? You want to torture me?’
Dad’s eyes filled with frustration. ‘If you insist on staying home from school, you can run the vacuum cleaner through the house while I’m gone, maybe give the lounge room a bit of a clean – open some windows, let in some air.’
‘It’s winter, Dad.’
Dad planted his hands on the bench, and stretched his arms. ‘I know what season it is,’ he said, defeated, ‘but a bit of fresh air might be nice.’
The moment the Jeep backed out of the driveway, I put on my earphones, replacing the roar of the vacuum cleaner with Prince, and realised that the music was helping settle my anxiety.
I was startled by a figure on the balcony, peering in, and realised it was Libby. I switched off the vacuum cleaner, pulled the earphones from my ears and opened the sliding door.
‘Hi,’ she said, staring at my top that was covered in paint, and frowned at my matted hair. ‘Your Dad called. He gave the impression you might be coming to school today, but he called again and said that you weren’t.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘What else did he tell you?’
‘He suggested that I might like to swing by, see if you wanted me to ask your teachers for work, so as you don’t get too far behind.’