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My mouth feels like cotton as his words land. “Fifty percent?” I repeat.
“Yes, but it needs explaining. It’s uncommon to find Brugada in young people. If a child inherits this condition, it usually manifests during teenage years to middle-aged adulthood. As it did with you.”
“So having a kid is like flipping a coin and hoping for the best—maybe they get Brugada and maybe they don’t get a fucked-up heart.”
The doctor focuses his attention on me.
“No. Even if your child inherits this, it doesn’t mean they would display symptoms.”
I interject, “But there are kids who do show symptoms at a young age.”
Wilson sits up straighter. “Brian, truth be told, we don’t know enough about the precise prognosis or threats of Brugada in children. But I’ve seen through my years as an expert in this syndrome that many offspring who acquire the gene won’t require any treatment and possess a low risk of developing abnormal and dangerous heart rhythms. If you are considering having children, my advice would be to screen the boy or girl for Brugada at a young age.”
The reality of what he is saying sinks in, and fear and disbelief take over. I pull my hand free from Amanda’s before rising from my stool and walking toward the door.
“Brian, where are you going? Amanda asks.
“I’m sorry. I know enough. Thanks for your time, Doc. I need fresh air.”
Wandering through the halls, swirling thoughts crowd my head. Once outside, I stop and lean my back against the wall. The number fifty percent blinks in my mind like a neon sign, illuminating the stark truth of the situation and taunting me with its bright, unyielding presence and reminding me of the risk that looms ahead.How can I bring a child into this world, knowing it could have this? It isn’t fair.
“Brian?”
Amanda’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts. A pang of guilt emerges as my gaze meets Amanda’s worried expression.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I swallow hard before giving a curt nod and mumbling, “Can we go?”
She nods and a moment later, Amanda climbs behind the wheel, since I’m not allowed to drive, and takes off. The world outside is nothing but a blurry haze until Amanda stops and turns off the engine. I blink, only to find she stopped us at a nearby park.
“Let’s take a walk. We both need fresh air,” she says before getting out.
Side by side, we walk through the park, taking in the beauty of nature.
The park is alive with sound as the warm winter sun filters through the trees, creating dappled light on the ground. I take a seat on a bench near a playground and watch as a few children play around on swings and slides while their parents watch from other nearby benches, smiling fondly at their antics. I take it all in while pushing the tears away before turning to Amanda.
“I’m sorry for walking out,” I say.
“It’s okay,” she says before squeezing my hand and leaning her head against my shoulder.
I take a deep breath. “Fifty percent. That’s the chance that any child of ours will have Brugada.”
Amanda takes my hand in hers. “There is also a fifty percent chance that our children won’t inherit Brugada. We don’t know for sure until it happens. I know this is hard for you to accept—”
“But it’s the reality,” I interrupt, pulling away from her touch and leaning my elbows on my knees. “This isn’t something we can just ignore or hope away.” I gaze at the ground and wait for her reaction.
“I know it’s scary,” she murmurs. “But...”
I glance sideways to find her gazing at the playground with kids. “But what?” I say.
“I want to be a mother one day, Brian. It’s not just hormones and biology; it’s something deeper—a longing to experience the ultimate connection with another human being. I want to create a life that reflects both of us. I want to feel a human growing inside me knowing it’s part of you and me.”
Images of Amanda as a mother come to mind. She’d be the ideal parent—patient, kind, and filled with love. I can already picture her cooing over a baby, singing lullabies and telling stories.
But a wave of guilt washes over me, knowing I can’t give her that.
I take Amanda’s hand in mine, forcing myself to look into her eyes. In that moment, a million words are spoken between us, conversations about love and fear and our future together.
