She took a slow sip of the tea after waiting just long enough that she wouldn’t scald her tongue. The heat streaked down her throat but died in her chest, as though swallowed up by ice—which is what her chest felt like these days: as though a snowball sat in its center. Her cardiologist chuckled when she described it. “I haven’t heard that one before.” She didn’t appreciate that he didn’t seem to take it seriously.
She thought she’d feel a lot better if she could just get the energy to do something. She’d lost so much time during her illness; it was driving her crazy to lose so much more. She’d envisioned the new heart being like a new engine in a run-down car, thinking she’d jump back into life and make up for all the days she’d spent on the sofa and in the hospital. But here she was, almost three weeks post-op and only slightly less sluggish than she’d been in the days before her collapse. The problem was that her brain was ready to get back in the game; it was her body that didn’t have the stamina.
Shaun kept telling her to get her laptop out and get back to work on the book she’d started to brainstorm in the hospital. She’d managed to get the whole book’s outline done before growing too weak to work, and at the time she’d been quite pleased with its depth. But she’d made the mistake of mentioning it to her agent when talking to her the week after her surgery, and the agent had called two days ago to tell her they had a contract for the book. “Didn’t even need to see a proposal,” he said with a laugh. “Just happened to mention it to the publisher over lunch and they begged for it. Now, they don’t want to set a deadline for you, because they know you’re still recovering and don’t want you stressing out over finishing it. But the sooner the better, of course, to capitalize on the buzz. It would be ideal if we could get it on the shelves by the end of October.”
She knew her agent didn’t mean to sound heartless. But she couldn’t help feeling hurt by him and her publisher taking such a materialistic view of her personal suffering. She understood the nature of the business, but it didn’t change the fact that it made her mad. Maybe that was why she was balking at working on the manuscript.
Savannah made another cup of tea, then opened her laptop. She briefly thought of launching the word processing program, but clicked instead on the internet browser. She never spent much time online, save for doing email; she’d never felt comfortable navigating the nebulous World Wide Web. But on a whim she went to a search engine and entered “heart transplant support” just to see what would happen.
She hadn’t expected over seven million returns for the search, and laughed aloud when she saw the number. This would certainly keep her busy.
She scanned the first ten returns and clicked on one that said something about a forum. She found herself at a message board, something she’d never interacted with before. It took her a minute to figure out what it was, but once she made it into the forum and saw the list of threads, a smile spread wide across her face. Post after post from people just like herself filled the screen. She began to click each one in turn, reading them voraciously. Finally, people who understood what she felt, what she’d gone through! People who didn’t keep telling her how blessed she was, which made her feel horrible for not feeling more happy. She lost track of time as she read, and jumped when the doorbell rang.
“Surprise!” Her girlfriends stood on the front porch with balloons and a cake. Their festive mood mirrored the refreshing lightness she felt after reading the forum, and she welcomed them in with far more gratefulness and joviality than she would have had they come before she’d gotten online.
“You guys are sweet, thanks. Oh — that cake is too funny!”
Andi set the two-tiered, heart-shaped cake on the kitchen counter. “It’s strawberry, and none of us could recall if we’d ever seen you eat strawberry cake, so we decided to take a chance.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be delicious.” Honestly, she wasn’t a fan of the flavor, but she wasn’t going to admit that after all the trouble they’d gone through. She got a knife from the drawer and wielded it above the frosting. “I much prefer being on this end of the slicing.” They laughed as she cut pieces for everyone, then Mary poured sparkling cider for everyone and they toasted to Savannah’s health.
When she took a bite of the cake, she was stunned at how delicious it was. “Oh my gosh, this is heaven.”
Colleen grinned. “So you do like strawberry cake.”
Savannah took another bite. “Well, I’ll confess I usually don’t. But this is … wow.”
“I’ll give you the recipe.”
“So how is it to finally be home?” Bethany asked between bites.
“Good. Not like I was expecting, but better than being in the hospital.”
“How is it not like you expected?”
“I just thought I’d be back in the swing of things sooner. I didn’t think I’d still be feeling this blah.”
“How long is it supposed to be until you’re back to normal?”
She shrugged. “They don’t know. Some people have more energy, some people never really get back to how they were. It’s just a waiting game to see which way I’ll go. Though these days I have my fears that I’ll fall in with the latter.”
Andi set her plate aside. “So is it weird, knowing a piece of someone else is inside you?”
The question made her squirm. “Um, well … yes.” Though these were her closest friends, she still had trouble talking about the details of the surgery. Even Shaun hadn’t asked questions like that yet. And if he had, she wasn’t sure she’d have answered honestly.
“Can you tell it’s someone else’s? Does it feel different?”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “It’s a heart, Andi. How many ways can it feel?”
“Well, I don’t know, maybe it’s one of those things that you don’t notice until someone goes messing around with it.”
Savannah wasn’t about to admit that yes, it did feel different, and she was acutely aware of it every minute of the day. “I notice it … sometimes … but it might just be the healing from the surgery.”
Mary nodded. “That would make sense. How are you healing up?”
“Just fine, according to the doctor.” She didn’t want to get into how she felt like she was still laid open on the table, at least emotionally, or how the scar running the entire length of her torso would never allow her to forget, no matter how much she wanted to.
Colleen gave Savannah’s shoulder a squeeze. “So the only thing left is to get you back to regular speed and everything will be fine.”
Andi put an arm around her shoulder. “God will take care of you. We’ll start praying that you’re renewed to your old self, or better.”
The comment rubbed her the wrong way, though she didn’t know why. She forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“You know,” Mary said to the others, “maybe the four of us could organize a little prayer team for Savannah. We should have started one back when she first got sick, but I don’t think any of us realized how bad it was going to get. Like you, Savannah, we all figured it was just the flu. And then things went downhill so fast …” She waved away the memory. “Anyway, the four of us, let’s do it. Once a week, we’ll pray over you, and commit to praying for you every day until you’re back to how you were.”
“That’s really sweet, but—”
“I love it!” Bethany said. “How about we meet at my place for coffee next Thursday around ten? Does that work for you, Savannah?”
“Um, I’ll have to check—”
“Why don’t we all check and email Bethany with our availability,” Colleen suggested.
“Perfect,” said Bethany.
“You know who we should invite in on this?” said Mary. “Arlene Wilkins at church.”
Andi nodded. “Oh, yes, she’s such a prayer warrior.”
“I’ll give her a call tonight and see if she’d be able to make it.”
“Great idea!”
Savannah withdrew from the conversation, irritated and feeling like
a project for them to pounce on. She thought back to the conversation with Shaun when she’d suggested having Pastor John meet with them for accountability. Now she understood why he’d been so opposed to it. Hearing people talking about her in a spiritual way made her feel exposed.
She kept herself busy eating cake so she wouldn’t have to talk. A second slice came in handy for that—though admittedly she’d have taken another one anyway, it was so good—and she contributed noncommittal “Mm-hmms” for the next ten minutes while hoping they’d all leave. The goodwill she’d been feeling when they arrived wore off quickly, and now she was just eager for them to go so she could get back to reading her support forum.
After half an hour they still showed no signs of leaving, so Savannah made the decision for them. “Well, I have a doctor’s appointment in twenty minutes, so I should start cleaning up and get going for that.”
“Oh, of course,” Mary said as they all stood. “I’ll bet you’re at the doctor a lot these days.”
“Yeah, they’re keeping close tabs, as you can imagine.”
They took turns giving Savannah hugs, then filed out the door. “Thursday at ten, don’t forget,” Bethany said as she walked down the porch stairs.
“Yes, I’ll let you know about that.” She stayed at the door for a moment, not wanting to look impolite, then shut it and sagged onto the couch, exhausted.
She loved her friends, she really did, but this was beyond the scope of their understanding. They couldn’t possibly fathom the way this experience had turned her inside out in every possible way. She could barely understand it herself, and she was the one living it. They couldn’t know how personal those questions were, and how disturbed she was by their answers.
But the people on the forum could.
She continued to read, indulging in another slice of cake, until Shaun came home. “That looks like it was good,” he said, eyeing the crumbs on the empty cake plate.
“It was. Sorry I didn’t save any for you. I couldn’t stop eating it.”
“That’s alright. Guess I’m on my own for dinner then?”
She smiled. “I think so, yes.”
“I take it you had a visitor today, then? Who brought it?”
“The girls.”
“All four of them? That was sweet.”
“Yes. All four of them.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did it not go well?”
She shrugged. “It’s not that it didn’t go well … I just don’t think I was ready for so many visitors asking so many questions.”
He nodded and gently wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright.”
“So did you find any time to start working on the book again?”
She fought the defensiveness that rose in her chest. “No. I was busy.”
“How long were the women here for?”
“Not with them — I found an online support group for transplant recipients. It’s been really wonderful reading all their stories, hearing how much we all have in common with our recoveries —”
He chuckled. “You’re not going to become an internet junkie now, are you?”
“Well, if spending time trying to help myself understand what I’m thinking and feeling and trying to get back to my life before all this happened constitutes being a junkie, then yes, I might.”
He gave her a look. “I was just playing, Van. I wasn’t being serious.”
She deflated a bit. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling …” She shook her head and shrugged. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m feeling.” She left the kitchen for the sofa and pulled the computer back onto her lap.
“Honey, I’m sorry.” Shaun followed her and sat beside her. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll get a chance to start writing. I really think it will help if you get back in the saddle. It’ll all come back to you. You’re wallowing a bit, I think, and it’s totally understandable; but maybe if you start focusing outward instead of inward you’ll start feeling better.”
She shut the laptop with more force than she intended. “Quit trying to diagnose me. You’re no psychologist, and you have no idea what it’s like to be me right now.” She pushed herself to her feet, shaking off Shaun’s attempt at helping her stand, and headed to her office with more speed than she’d managed since coming home.
She was dying to tell him what she was really thinking, to finally get it off her chest, but she couldn’t voice those thoughts aloud. How could a ministry president like herself admit how angry she was with God right now, how the very thought of his goodness and provision made her want to laugh? Especially when she didn’t understand it herself. Knowing a book was expected from her on the subject made her panicky; she fought that by simply not thinking about it and hoping she’d wake one of these mornings and find those feelings gone.
But so far the mornings only brought more anger and confusion.
JESSIE ZIPPED HER DUFFEL AND TEXTED ADAM.
Ready when u r.
Her stomach fluttered; she took another bite of the sandwich she’d brought back from the cafeteria at lunch and hoped it would give her insides something to do besides reflect her anxiety. This was a new experience, being nervous about going home.
Savannah’s transplant had happened three weeks ago, and Jessie hadn’t been back to visit since that night. She’d almost gone a number of times, but something always stopped her—a project she needed to work on, a meeting she couldn’t miss. Her own nerves. She knew she was being a terrible daughter by not going to visit her mother in the hospital, and now that Savannah was home the guilt was even worse. But Jessie’s remorse over their last conversation held her back.
She should have just kept her mouth shut. What had led her to believe it was wise to try changing the past by confronting a dying woman with her shortcomings? It had solved nothing, had led to no reconciliation, and had only added to the stress her mother was already dealing with as her body betrayed her. Jessie had planned on at least apologizing when she’d visited Savannah before moving to campus, but her mother had only lasted a few minutes before falling asleep, and Jessie had been so disturbed by Savannah’s deterioration that she’d left rather than wait for her to wake. And now she had to go back home and face her again, knowing she’d been selfish in the face of her mother’s decline.
Her phone buzzed.
Ready in 20 or so. Will txt u.
Her nose wrinkled as she looked for something to keep her occupied and her mind off the impending visit. Not enough time to start homework, and too much time to just sit around. She woke her computer instead and tapped in a URL.
Last week she’d stumbled across this website while doing research for her child development class. It was a forum for Christian moms, and while she was nowhere near motherhood, she’d found herself sucked into the message board and had gone so far as to apply for membership. An entire subforum was devoted to developing the parent-child relationship, and reading it was like applying antibiotic to a wound: painful, but healing.
Ever since her relationship with Adam had gotten serious, she’d had motherhood on the brain. Not because she was looking forward to it, but because it scared her. What if she passed on the brokenness of her own mother-daughter relationship to her children? What if she didn’t know how to be the kind of mom she’d always wanted Savannah to be, precisely because Savannah hadn’t been able to model it for her? The posts she read in the forums eased some of her fears, because so many of the other women were doing what she’d eventually have to do—working out from scratch what it meant to be the kind of mother they’d never had.
The forum also gave her something she rarely had: anonymity. All they knew was what she told them, and so far she hadn’t told them much. Her screen name — Mom-In-Training — gave nothing away, and instead of her own picture she posted an image of a sunflower on her profile. The best part was being able to post her frustrations about her relationship with her mom without worrying about how it affected Savannah’s reputation.
She hadn’t gone into much detail, but what little she’d shared had been met with encouragement and messages of commiseration, and with the help of some other women who had weathered similar struggles she’d made a plan for this weekend.
Coming as close as she had to losing her mother had convinced her she needed to make things better between them—she just had to work a bit on how she went about it. Honesty was important, yes, but her own response and attitude was even more so. It was unrealistic to think that one vulnerable and emotionally open conversation on her part was going to make Savannah change her tune. She had to be consistent with her honesty but also grace-filled in her acceptance of her mother’s response; after all, Jessie knew what to expect from her mother. Rather than fighting against Savannah all the time, Jessie was going to try to model the kind of responses she hoped to get from Savannah and not let herself get worked up when her mother’s reaction wasn’t what she wanted.
It was an approach that looked good on paper. She just wasn’t sure how it would actually play out.
She posted to various threads on the message board until her phone buzzed again and
going 2 car now
showed up on the screen. She added a brief prayer request for her weekend to the prayer forum, then shut down the computer and grabbed her backpack and duffel. Ready or not, she prayed, here we go …
JESSIE CAME IN JUST AS Savannah was making herself a mid-morning snack after having spent the last two hours on the transplant forum. Her mind was still engaged in the conversations she’d read about the emotional component of organ transplants, and Jessie’s arrival disrupted her thoughts.
“Didn’t know you were coming home,” she said when Jessie appeared in the kitchen.
“It was a last-minute thing. Adam’s mom needed help with some stuff. That poor house of theirs is just falling apart; they seriously need to apply for that home makeover show.”
“Mmm.” Savannah spread strawberry jam on her toast. “So how are things?”
“They’re fine. How are you? Healing up okay?”
The Heart of Memory Page 10