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The doctor nods. "It's a start." Her voice is deliberate. Emotionless. "You have a weakened heart valve. With medication and lifestyle changes, you'll have another six to twelve months."
The words fall with a thud.
Six to twelve months.
That's all?
I bite my tongue. I'm here because I'm the strong one.
"It's nothing dramatic. A lot of rest. A diet with no red meat. You'll be tired the way you have been, but you'll have a good quality of life." The doctor presses her lips together. "Some people do well on treatment. It could be years."
Mom blinks.
"There's a surgery to replace the valve. It's another option, but the recovery is hard and the survival rate isn't good."
Mom's face is blank. It's like she's analyzing data, not hearing that she's going to die. "What are the numbers?"
Doctor Wilson frowns. She lowers her clipboard and leans down to look Mom in the eyes. "Fifteen percent."
My stomach twists.
Dad's jaw drops as he shrinks back. "Shirley, you can't—"
Mom shakes her head. "And I'll get my life back?"
"If recovery goes well, yes." The doctor straightens.
Mom answers right away. "I want the surgery."
"I'll let you sleep on it," the doctor says.
Dad jumps in. "Shirley, a year is good. Think of everything we can do."
She shakes her head. "I want the surgery. It's my final decision. You can ask again in the morning if you insist, but I'm not going to change my mind."
The doctor looks to Dad. Then to me. My face is frozen. My entire body is frozen. I can barely think much less move.
"I'll schedule a consult." Doctor Wilson looks at us. "Visiting hours ended at six, but I won't say anything."
She leaves the room. I can hear Piper getting up, asking someone something, but I'm not sure what it is.
I stare back at Mom. Words don't make it all the way to my brain. They fall off my lips and the blowback lands in my gut. "What the fuck, Mom?"
"I want my life, sweetheart," she says.
"What about Ethan and Piper? You give a fuck about their lives?" I ask.
"You think they want to sit around watching their mother die?" Mom looks up at me. "I know I haven't always been there when you needed me—"
"We could have a year together," I say.
"Or we could have our entire lives," she says.
"Shirley." Dad presses his lips together. "We need to think about this."
"I'll cancel the tour right now, Mom. We could spend the next six months together. We could do whatever the fuck you want." I'm grasping at straws. I can see it in her eyes—there's no way I'm convincing her. But I'm not giving up.
"Malcolm, sweetie…" She looks up at me. "You're such a nice boy. I don't know how I got so lucky."
