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Dr Matthews’s eyes open a fraction wider, and he stares Marcy down like a disobedient schoolboy. Marcy’s shoulders flop forward. Her eyes twinkle, and she half smiles as she warms to the idea.
‘It won’t make her any sicker than she already is, Holly,’ Dr Matthews assures. ‘And if there’s a chance, even a fraction of a possibility, that it will make Annie happy, then I think, crazy or not, it’s a wonderful idea. And I say go for it.’
‘Holly, excuse my husband,’ Marcy says with a grin. ‘He’s a hopeless romantic.’
‘Your husband?’ I smirk, suddenly understanding their chemistry.
‘James thinks the heart is all that matters.’
‘Well, Iama cardiothoracic surgeon,’ he jokes.
‘Oh, stop it, James,’ Marcy scolds playfully. ‘You can’t wriggle your way out of this one with your job title. You believe love conquers all. And over the years, you’ve convinced me that you’re right.’
Dr Matthews’s expression takes on a sudden seriousness, and he claps his hands and tucks them against his chest. ‘Holly. Sit for a moment, won’t you?’
I glance at the door of Nana’s room. I’m growing anxious to get inside, but I offer the polite doctor my time nonetheless and take a seat. Dr Matthews sits beside me. Marcy sits on the far side of him. No one says anything for a moment, and my heart beats so furiously in my chest I worry that it will be heard.
Dr Matthews crosses his legs and manages to appear comfortable despite the rigid, uncompromising metal seats. But his confident body language is tinged with an unmissable sense of poignancy, and I suspect he has grown to like my grandmother just as much as Marcy has.
‘I performed my first heart surgery when I was thirty,’ Dr Matthews tells me. ‘The patient was a young woman. She was about twenty-three at the time. She presented with chest pain, and her aorta was so blocked, we knew surgery would be difficult. There were some complications, and she began haemorrhaging heavily.’
I hold my breath; certain I know where this story is going. I have friends who have used similar anecdotes to try to comfort me since Nana’s diagnosis. ‘Isn’t she a great age,’ some say; as if once you reach a certain age you’re outstaying your welcome on this planet. But I don’t understand how a person can be measured in years. Age is a number. It doesn’t define you, and it certainly doesn’t dictate how much the people around you love you.
Other friends envy our relationship, having lost their own grandparents as children or before they were even born. ‘At least you had lots of time with her,’ they say. That point is harder to argue with, and I can’t deny that I’ve been fortunate to have such a wonderful relationship with my grandmother. Not everyone is so lucky. I try to explain that no amount of time is ever long enough, and no one is ever ready to say goodbye, but they don’t always understand. It doesn’t matter if you love someone ten minutes, ten years, or one hundred and ten years; once that person owns a piece of your heart, you’ll never be ready to let them go.
I wait for Dr Matthews to draw the comparison between Nana’s long, happy life and the short life of someone who’d barely begun to live. I sit very still and watch as Dr Matthews scratches his forehead, and I can tell the memory of the young woman is as fresh in his mind as if he operated yesterday.
‘Did she pass away?’ I ask, finally.
‘No.’ He smiles. ‘She made it.’
‘Oh.’ I straighten, and suddenly, I have no idea why he’s sharing this story.
‘She’s sitting next to me,’ Dr Matthews says. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘James saved my life, Holly,’ Marcy says, taking Dr Matthews’s hand in hers. ‘He literally healed my broken heart.’
‘Wow,’ I say, stuck for words. ‘That’s an amazing story.’
‘Actually, Holly…’ Dr Matthews shakes his head ‘…I didn’t save Marcy that day; she saved me.’
Marcy giggles. ‘This is the part where my husband becomes all mushy and romantic, Holly. He does this every time he tells this story.’
‘I was at an impasse in my career, you see,’ Dr Matthews continues, tracing the freckles on the back of Marcy’s hand with his thumb. ‘I wasn’t sure if medicine really was the right path for me. I wasn’t sure if I could stare at blood and guts as a patient lay sleeping on the operating table every day for the rest of my life. Sure, saving a life was a great feeling. Like when you finish first in a race or you win a couple of euro on a scratch card, but it wasn’t as all-consuming and passion-driven as I thought it should have been.’
‘James had decided that morning that my surgery would be the last he ever performed,’ Marcy adds. ‘He had his written resignation waiting in his locker ready to hand over as soon as he put the scalpel down.’
‘What changed your mind?’ I ask, looking at his grey hairs and the lines and folds that time had patiently etched into his middle-aged forehead.
‘Marcy’s father met me in the corridor just before I scrubbed up. It was an emergency surgery, and we’d never met before, but he told me he was placing his daughter’s life in my hands, and he begged me to save her. He told me,When you physically hold my daughter’s heart in your hand, understand that you are also holding the heart of everyone who loves her, too.’
My shoulders shake, and silent tears stream down my cheeks.
‘I tore up my resignation that day and followed the path that lead me to oncology and your grandmother,’ Dr Matthews says, placing a gentle hand on my knee. ‘You see, Holly, every time I check a pulse or raise a stethoscope I remember Marcy’s father’s words. When I open a chest, I only see one heart with my eyes, but I know I’m also responsible for the hearts of everyone who loves my patient.’
‘You hold Annie’s heart, Holly,’ Marcy says. ‘And no matter what happens, you never have to let go.’
THIRTY
