18
Paul
“So, what does this mean?” Shelby asked, her brow furrowing as she looked at her cardiologist.
I’d had a bad feeling throughout the entire exam, and now it seemed like I’d had a reason to worry. I reached over and took her hand, my stomach turning with anxiety over the doctor’s words.
As soon as we’d gotten in the car after skydiving yesterday, I’d told Shelby I wanted to come with her to the appointment. I wanted to be there for her, right next to her, involved with all of it—as more than her friend. As her friend, I’d been on the sidelines helping her manage how she felt about everything and doing what I could to take her mind off things. But now, knowing I loved her enough to spend the rest of our lives together, I wanted to step up and make sure she knew she didn’t have to do anything alone.
“It means that your condition is worsening, even with your medications,” her doctor told her. “Based on what I’m seeing, and with the way you’ve been feeling lately, I think it’s time for you to consider an implantable cardioverter defibrillator.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Dr. Evans turned to me. “Basically, Shelby is at risk for a cardiac event, and if we implant the ICD, it will detect an arrhythmia and send an electrical current, potentially saving her life before she even realizes there’s a problem.”
I gulped, giving her a nod of thanks for her explanation, but having no idea what to say to that. My mind was a crazy mixture of hope and fear as I listened to the doctor continue to explain everything to Shelby. From what I understood, this device could have saved her cousin’s life if they’d known there was a problem in the first place. That made me want to jump in right there and tell them to just do it. No more questions, no more explanations. Just do it.
The fear of a sudden heart attack was never far from Shelby’s mind—or mine—so if the doctor thought this was the right move and it could save her life if that happened, there was no downside in my mind. But apparently, there were cons, so I listened carefully while the doctor went over them with her.
“I know we talked about this years ago,” Dr. Evans said, “but at the time, we didn’t think it was necessary. We weren’t even sure if it ever would be. Twenty-five percent of people with HCM live long and happy lives with an ICD. The other seventy-five percent manage their symptoms with medication, as you have been.”
“But now I’m in the twenty-five percent?” Shelby asked meekly.
“It’s not unusual for HCM to worsen over time, and I do think it would be a good option for you to consider at this point,” her doctor replied. “ICDs don’t prevent heart attacks from happening, but it can save your life if they do. That makes it an incredibly powerful tool not only for your physical health but also for your mental health. Many patients have an incredible amount of peace knowing that the device is there, just in case. And with what we know about how stress and fear affect your physical well-being, the benefits of that cannot be understated.”
Shelby cleared her throat. “I understand.”
“I know how overwhelming this can be. Why don’t you think about it, and we’ll follow up on Wednesday?” Dr. Evans asked when they were finished going over everything. “I’ll send you home with some resources, but if you have questions, please call the office before you turn to Dr. Google. There are a lot of things out there that will scare you about your condition and the ICD. But remember that not everyone’s experience is the same, and every heart is different. Okay?”
Shelby nodded, squeezing my hand that she held firmly between hers. “Okay.”
We said our goodbyes, then checked out at the front desk before stepping into the bright sunshine outside the office. Since we’d met there and had separate cars, we walked over to a grassy area and stood next to a large palmetto tree.
I turned her in my arms to face me, wrapping my arms around her waist. “So, what do you think?”
“I think I don’t know what I think.” A glazed look of despair began to spread over her face. “I can’t believe it’s gotten worse.”
I reached up and put my hand on the back of her head, pulling her close so she could cuddle against my chest. Words totally failed me, but I could hold her. I could let her feel my arms around her. I could continue to be the guy she could lean on no matter what was happening. I knew I wouldn’t push her to get the implant if she didn’t want it, but man, my own heart ached with the raw hope that she would.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked, her voice muffled against my shirt.
“I think you should get it,” I said, relieved that she’d asked. It was an easy answer for me and there was no hesitation in my voice when I told her so.
“I know it will help, but it’s still a medical procedure. On myheart. So far, everything has been scans, and tests, and medication. I always knew in the back of my mind that an implant or even a transplant might someday happen, but now that we’re here… it just sucks.”
I pulled back, holding her by the tops of the shoulders so she’d look at me. “Hey, we’re not talking about heart transplants right now. It’s not that bad. She said you might never need one. Right now, we’re talking about a device that will give your heart a little jump to kick it back into a normal rhythm if needed.”
“True. But still, what if something goes wrong during the procedure? Or during recovery? I won’t be able to drive while I’m healing, and I won’t be able to lift anything with that arm. I’ll need to take off work for weeks and I—”
“Hey, breathe,” I said, rubbing my hands up and down her arms. “First of all, nothing is going to go wrong. She said there’s only a one percent chance of that, but honestly, risking that seems better than worrying about what could happen if you don’t do it and you have a heart attack.”
She winced but nodded. “Yeah.”
“And as for recovery, I’ll help you. I have a ton of leave saved up because I rarely got to take any when I was on recruiting duty. You won’t have to lift a finger.” Sensing the need to lighten the mood, I trailed my fingers up her arm and to her neck, then down over her shoulder where they said the access point would be, wagging my eyebrows at her. “I’ll even give you sponge baths since you won’t be able to get the incision wet for ten days.”
She laughed heartily at that, pushing my chest. “No, you won’t.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I grinned at her, glad to see her smiling.