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“We’re going to put you on medication right away and will monitor your heart here in hospital.”
“I can’t go home?” I ask, shaking my head. I hate hospitals. I don’t want to stay here.
“No. The stress test revealed that your heart is struggling to keep up, hence your fainting spells. There are defects in the size and shape of your heart as well as the valves. You’re facing complications, Miss O’Neil. You’re at severe risk of heart failure.”
There is only silence in the office.
My eyes widen and I blink a few times.
What?
Heart failure?
My chest tightens in response, my stomach lurching. Suddenly feeling brutally ill, I bend over and grab the waste bin, dry heaving into it. Of course, nothing is expelled… there’s nothing in my stomach.
Both Doctor Miller and Aiden are by my side in an instant, helping me sit up again. The doctor handing me a glass of water, while Aiden rubs my back soothingly.
“So what’s next, Doctor Miller?” Aiden asks. “Is the medication going to be sufficient?”
Doctor Miller returns to his desk, letting out a long sigh. “I’m afraid medication can only help manage the situation. Miss O’Neil, you already have an advanced condition. I’ve arranged a peer review conference in the morning, but I already had a few conversations, and it seems clear you’re going to need a transplant… and soon.”
I pale. The blood draining from my head.
“A h-h-heart t-tr-ra-ansplant,” I stutter.
Doctor Miller’s eyes meet mine. “Yes, until then you will have to remain hooked up to machines monitoring your heart. No exertion, no excitement, strict bedrest.”
What?
“But… but I’ve been fine so far.”
This isn’t happening. Not when I’m finally getting my life back.
“Your heart could have given up at any moment.”
“But I have a job, a life to live… I can’t be in the hospital,” I mutter stupidly. I can’t be holed up here. I stare at my palms as if they would hold the answers.
Aiden’s voice is choked as he asks, “How long before she can have the transplant?”
I didn’t think it was possible, but the doctor’s demeanor turns even more serious. The lump in my throat grows unbearably tight. I can’t swallow.
“Miss O’Neil, you have a rare blood type—B negative. It’s found in only one point five percent of the population.” He doesn’t have to say the rest.
The chances of finding a donor heart are minuscule.
“I’m sorry,” Doctor Millers says.
I’m a dead woman walking.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ella
“LexandIaremoving to Atlanta,” Rhia says excitedly, when she rings me at our usual time.
I’m in a small private hospital room, hooked up to beeping machines, monitoring every beat of my heart. It sounds normal… at least to my ears. How can there be something so significantly wrong with me?
I can’t get my head around it, staring mindlessly at the walls for the last hour.
