Thank God I wasn’t driving when it happened. And if I’d been home alone? I probably would have died. It was never easy to think about that. But I refused to dwell on what might have happened. It would have been easy to let all of the “what ifs” flood my mind, but I had too much to live for.
It had been three weeks since they’d admitted me, and I was finally set to be discharged today. I was more than ready to go home. Keeping me here was standard protocol, though, because of the high risk of complications after surgery.
I remembered very little about the moments before my aneurysm ruptured—aside from the urgent need to talk to Heather to tell her I loved her, and a headache. Other than that, I didn’t remember anything until I woke up and found Heather and my dad hovering over me. It had taken a while to realize I wasn’t dreaming.
It was better that I hadn’t been aware of what was in store for me that day. If I’d known my head was going to be sliced open, and that fifty percent of people don’t survive a ruptured aneurysm, I probably would have had a heart attack—especially since at the time, I hadn’t had the chance to tell Heather how I feel.
The first week after my recovery was the toughest. People visited, but I still felt really out of it. Heather was my rock through it all. She’d left everything behind in Vermont to stay by my side. I couldn’t even argue with her decision because I didn’t know how I could get through this time stuck in the hospital without her.
There were no words for how grateful I felt to be alive. My memory was unaffected. My speech and motor skills were intact. Basically, I was a living miracle. I hadn’t lost function, and in fact I’d gained something: a new perspective.
I could no longer waste my life in any way, couldn’t get stuck because of indecision or fear. Every day, every moment needed to matter.
Heather had been sleeping at my house and spending each day at the hospital. My mother and brother had also been staying at my place. They’d just left to go back to Minnesota yesterday, so Heather had gotten to know them really well. I no longer had to wonder how my family was going to react to her. They’d fallen in love, just as I had.
My beautiful girlfriend beamed as she walked into my hospital room. “I just got word from the final professor I’d been waiting to hear from that I can complete my last few assignments from here. I won’t have to go back to school to get full credit for this semester. I won’t lose anything.”
Sitting up on the bed, I leaned in to kiss her. “That’s the best news. We can drive out there and get the rest of your stuff in a few weeks.”
“Whenever you feel up to it. It’s no rush. Ming says she’s not going to get another roommate until the fall. So my stuff will just be sitting there until we get it.”
“I owe that girl an entire case of baby powder.”***Walking into my house after being gone for nearly a month felt freaking awesome. And it seemed more like home than ever, because Heather had put her touches on it. There were fresh flowers on the table and some candles scattered around.
It felt like I’d missed so much, like I’d come back from the dead.
I got emotional when I looked over at the cage—a new and much bigger cage—and saw it filled with four guinea pigs—Clyde and three babies. Bonnie had died giving birth. Evidently that was typical with older females. I’d barely cried over my near-death experience, but when I found out Bonnie hadn’t survived her labor, I’d lost it. Heather had been the one to break the news. She’d gone to my house for the first time shortly after my surgery to feed them and realized the babies had been born. Soon thereafter, she’d discovered Bonnie wasn’t breathing.
“Hey, little guys.”
“We still have to name the babies.” Heather was suddenly in tears.
She’d been pretty good about not losing it lately. I think she was just happy to have me home.
She rubbed my back. “Feels good to be home, huh?”
“It does, but mostly because you’re with me. I couldn’t imagine walking in here alone after all this.”
We lay together on the couch for a while. I had a lot on my mind that I needed to let out. I hoped she didn’t think I was crazy after what I was about to propose.
I took a deep breath. “Everything I thought I knew about how life is supposed to work has gone out the window,” I told her. “I never realized how fast things can change. I pushed you away because I thought that’s what was right for you. But if I’d died on that operating table, I would have thrown away the only time we’d ever have together—those months you were in Vermont.”