Open Hearts by Erin Hayes

Author:Erin Hayes [Hayes, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Amazon: B01BX34PHG
Goodreads: 27793223
Publisher: Erin Hayes Books
Published: 2016-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Becks

“The old ticker is sounding great, Becks,” Dr. Patel says.

He takes the stethoscope out of his ears and puts it around his shoulders. He slides his chair over to the counter and checks through my file, clicking his tongue as he does so. Mom is sitting next to me, and I can almost feel her holding her breath. Her hand is white-knuckled on mine. It may have been tense between us for the last week and a half, but she’s hanging on every word Dr. Patel is saying as well.

I love you, Mom, I tell her silently.

“Biopsy looks good,” Dr. Patel continues. I’m actually still a bit woozy from the general anesthesia they used to take samples of my heart. “Blood tests look good. EKG’s fine. On a scale from zero to four for rejection, you’re at a zero, so it seems we’ve gotten the dosages correct.” He drops the papers. “How’ve you been adjusting?”

I shrug. “Fine, I guess?”

“You’ve been taking your immunosuppressants?”

“Of course.”

“Notice any pain or swelling? Feeling like you have the flu?”

“Nope.”

He gives me another suspicious look before finally letting the smile spread across his face. “Well, that’s great,” he acquiesces. “You seem to be adjusting to your new heart just fine.”

“Awesome.”

“So what does that mean?” Mom asks, her voice slightly hoarse.

“Well.” Dr. Patel flips through my file some more. “It looks like we have established the right medication regimen for your body. And you’re exercising all right?”

“Stretching before I go out like my physical therapist told me to,” I say. “Walking the dog every day. I’m working up to an Iron Man by November.”

“Rebecca,” Mom chides at my lame joke.

“Okay, I’m just going for longer and longer walks.” Which drives me nuts because I used to play tennis. I used to be on the swim team in school. Between my reduced exercise routine and my steroids, I’m driving myself nuts.

He nods, tapping his pencil against the file. “How are you emotionally these days, Becks?”

“Huh?” That catches me off-guard, although I should have been expecting it.

With his index finger, Dr. Patel indicates a box on my file. “How are you emotionally? Are you going to the support group like Nikki and I discussed?” Nikki is the post-transplant coordinator who I talk to about questions and any help I need.

“Oh.” I shrug. “Yes, I have been to a few.”

Dr. Patel raises an eyebrow. “How have they been for you?”

“All right, I guess.” I’m chewing on my bottom lip, and I force myself to stop.

“And?”

Mom’s watching me intently for my answer too.

“I…I don’t like them,” I admit. “I think I’m fine without them.”

My cardiologist sits back in his chair and studies me for a few heartbeats, an unreadable expression on his face. I expect he’s going to give me an earful about needing to open up about this whole experience and to fully grasp it.

Instead he gives a nod. “All right. If you say you’re fine, then I believe you.”

I blink. Sometimes I believe Dr. Patel is as much of an emotional-heart doctor as he is a physical-heart doctor.

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