“Okay, well, as you probably already know, the procedure we would be performing is called a septal myectomy. We would be removing a small amount of the thickened septal wall surrounding his heart to eliminate the obstruction. This will make it easier for the heart to pump blood. We’ve always felt that he’s a good candidate for this procedure, because Damien is fairly young and because of his significant septal thickness.”
When I drew a blank, Damien decided to embarrass me. “Sorry, Doc…you said thickness, and her mind must have gone to another part of my anatomy.”
The doctor chuckled but otherwise decided to ignore the comment. “Anyway, the surgery will likely provide him with relief from his symptoms, but more than that, it can lengthen his life expectancy.”
“Is it safe?”
“It is generally very safe, yes. As with any surgical procedure, there are risks, albeit very low.”
“What are those risks?”
“Infection, heart attack, stroke or death. But we do everything in our power to reduce the chances of anything like that ever happening.”
“I’ve read a lot of conflicting things about whether this operation actually impacts life expectancy.”
“You’re right. There have been differing schools of thought on that. But the newest research has shown that for individuals like Damien who are symptomatic, myectomy may actually normalize their life expectancy. Ten-year survival would be ninety-five percent, which is on par with the general population.”
“What’s the ten-year survival for those who don’t have the operation?”
“About seventy-three percent.”
“Wow.”
“There are no guarantees, Chelsea. Even with the surgery, we wouldn’t be able to say with absolute certainty that sudden cardiac arrest won’t happen. But given his family history, with his father dying so young, we recommend being as proactive as possible. He’ll, of course, continue taking his medications either way.”
Dr. Tuscano continued answering my questions. My feelings went up and down on the matter. Just when I would conclude that the operation was the way to go, I’d look over at Damien and shudder at the thought of him having open-heart surgery. Even though the doctor had said dying during the procedure was rare, it has happened. I’d read a couple of stories online that terrified me. I would never be able to forgive myself if I encouraged him to do it and God forbid, he died on the operating table.
At the same time, what if we put it off out of fear and something happened to him that could have been prevented? It was impossible to feel comfortable with either scenario. The only thing I was sure of was that it needed to be his decision and that I would support him no matter what.***The Wednesday after Christmas, Damien left me a huge surprise on the kitchen counter.
Printed out were two e-tickets for direct flights from San Francisco to JFK.
“Damien? What are these?”
“It’s my apology for fucking up our first Christmas.”
“We’re going to New York?”
“Yes…for New Year’s Eve. You can see your sister. I know you said how much you missed her, since she couldn’t be here over Christmas.”
My eyeballs moved back and forth as I examined the details. “Okay…these are first class! During the holidays? These tickets cost a fortune.”
“We can afford it.”
“Are you serious?”
“We never go away, and we fucking deserve it. We need a change of scenery to try to forget about all of this depressing shit for a few days.”
Reaching on my tippy toes to embrace him, I cried, “I could hug you!”
“I hope I get a little more than that.”
“Oh, you’ll get a lot more than that.”
He lifted me into a kiss as I wrapped my legs around him. When he put me down, his expression turned serious. “I can tell you’ve been worried since the appointment yesterday. I just need a little more time living in denial with you, okay?”
“I can handle that.”
He put me down. “Let’s have some fun.”***New York City was a welcome change of pace.
We’d just gone to see Jade’s evening performance and were out to eat at a restaurant not far from the theater district. I’d gone to the bathroom when I heard two of Jade’s friends enter. One of them had apparently just arrived.
“Oh, my God, who is that guy out there sitting next to Jade?”
“That’s her sister’s boyfriend. His name is Damien.”
“Holy hell.”
“I know. He’s fucking hot. He’s visiting from California.”
“They grow them well in California, then.”
“Seriously. Makes me want to visit the West Coast. I’m sick of the guys here.”
When I emerged from the stall, the one I’d met previously bit her tongue.
“Oh, hey, Chelsea.” She turned to her friend to introduce me. “This is Jade’s sister.”
The other girl looked horrified. “You heard us.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Your boyfriend is gorgeous. We were just admiring him and didn’t mean any harm.”
“Thank you. I know. None taken.”
Even though I couldn’t blame them, I still felt like strangling someone. As I washed my hands, I thought about the fact that I’d never felt this possessive over my former boyfriends. My feelings for Damien were at an entirely different level. The idea of someone trying to steal him—even just someone coveting him—made me crazy. Thankfully, he only ever seemed to have eyes for me.