WHAT THE HEART WANTS

WHAT THE HEART WANTS

By John Tuft

It was well after midnight when the phone rang. It was an old rotary dial phone that hung on. the wall in the kitchen. That meant Jonas had to get out of bed, navigate the stairs in the dark, and try to avoid stubbing a toe on the old kitchen table. Which he did not succeed at doing. So, when he finally answered the phone his voice was filled with irritated pain. “Mr. Smith, this is Marjorie, head of the transplant team. We tried paging but it must be turned off. We have a heart for Melissa.” Jonas stared at the phone, not comprehending. “What? Who?” Marjorie repeated the message, adding, “The procurement team has flown out to do the harvesting, so you need to get Melissa here within the hour.” The language struck him as odd, but he also knew it meant his little girl was getting a new chance at life.

The next hour became a blur of bundling 11-year-old Melissa into blankets and the back seat of the car, contacting his wife, Kay, at work in her night shift at the Amazon warehouse, and making the drive into the city in the nerve-wracking darkness, into more uncertainty at just what lay ahead. Melissa’s face was pale and swollen from all the steroids and other medications. Jonas wasn’t sure if she was fully aware of what was happening, but the transplant team hustled her away in minutes, leaving Jonas in the waiting area just off the surgical suites. Parents of chronically ill children cannot afford the luxury of self-pity. But there are the bouts of guilt over what they feel they are subjecting their offspring to in the name of health. And this was a big one, major league back and forth between life-saving procedures and invasive mutilation of a child’s barely formed psyche.

Jonas tried to relax in an uncomfortable chair, but he kept coming back to the undeniable fact that somewhere out there other parents were saying goodbye to their child and giving permission for the use of organs to help others. In fact, to help his own daughter have a chance to have a better life. Who came up with these kinds of rules? We can save your daughter but only if another kid dies first. And a specific child, one with the same blood type, similar sized chest cavity, and on and on. His thoughts were interrupted by the doors swinging open and a surgical tech coming through carrying a small cooler with medical markings, The precious cargo, leaving one life and transplanting into a whole new life. A second chance born of an ending. The awful sacrificial calculus of life.

Jonas could not remember the last time he felt rested. He and Kay were both running on fumes. Teetering on financial ruin, dreams and plans put on hold, family life revolving around the physical limitations of their only child. This was a big day, with a big price tag, huge expectations, the highest of stakes. But what Jonas felt mostly was numb. Exhausted and numb. And scared beyond all measure. A child’s life ended, which meant his child got another chance. And, of course, she deserved it. She was a sweet, funny child with boundless curiosity and imagination. The delight of his life. Of course she should get another chance at life. Kay finally arrived and he could tell from the look on her face that she was wrestling, too, with the enormity of what was happening.

The uncomfortable furniture cradled their foolhardy expectations of what normal might mean. No more sickness and dreariness in their lives? Time for themselves again, as if they could remember what that was. Fewer medical bills. Their child restored to them the way she was before the illness attacked her heart. But that was all distraction to present reality. Their thoughts were mainly on the operating room where two hearts were being handled, one forever stilled, and another being reborn. The calculus of life has achingly clear parameters.

In due time, Jonas and Kay were informed that the surgery had been successfully completed. A couple of hours later they were allowed to see their daughter. Melissa’s usually pale face had a healthy pink tinge to it. The breathing tube was out and although she was tired, Melissa’s eyes were lively. “Billy likes you both,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. She gave a weak smile. “He misses his dog. Can we get a puppy, Poppa?” Jonas looked at her, confused. “Billy? One of the doctors or nurses?” She shook her head, growing tired from the effort. She pointed to her chest. “We talked while they operated on me. It was a nice yard, with flowers and butterflies and trees to climb. Billy wanted to stay but then they restarted his heart.” She looked at her parents, expecting perfect understanding. Which was not there.

“His heart? He was having surgery, too?” her mother asked. Melissa pointed to her chest again, shaking her head. “No. His heart was inside me then.” Jonas felt the floor dropping away beneath him. “You talked to the boy whose heart you have now.” She nodded. “I promised him that I would do what everybody wants for their heart.” She looked at their astonished faces. “I promised that I would care for it with tenderness.”

And when it comes down to it, isn’t that what we all really desire for our hearts? Tender care…

Words are magic and writers are wizards.