"So, like I said earlier, I think you'd benefit from some medication adjustments," Edward says, reading over the screen. "Today I'd like to do my own echocardiogram, and ECG, run some blood work, and just get you as comfortable as possible. I'll want to schedule an MRI, as well. How are you sleeping?"
I shrug. "Not great, but not bad. I've been waking up a lot, but I think that's more the psychological aspect. I mean, I am dying, after all."
He shakes his head, turning in the chair and taking my hand. "Not if I can help it. The fact is that you're going to need a new heart. You will only get worse from here, but there's a lot we can do to help you feel better for longer. Now, bloodwork or echo first?"
He nearly has me in tears, looking at me so earnestly with hopeful, pretty green eyes. I believe in him. I'm not sure I should, but I do.
"Uh-um . . ." I clear my throat and smile softly. "Bloodwork, I guess. How, um, long until I need a heart?"
"I can't say, I'm afraid. When the time comes, we'll do it in Seattle—so you'll need to see the transplant team I work with there at some point. In fact, you'll have quite a few appointments in Seattle, but we'll get to that later. I'm going to grab our phlebotomist and then I'll be back to do the echo, all right?"
I nod and remember how Emmett told me the same thing. This hospital, Olympic Medical Center, is about an hour from home in Port Angeles and not fitted to perform transplants. Emmett goes between here and Forks Community—where Carlisle works—but this hospital is bigger and more suited to his main specialty as a trauma surgeon.
I just wish it were big enough that we wouldn't have to make such long drives, but at least I'm with my family. If I'd stayed in New York, Emmett probably would have actually quit his job.
"How are you holding up?" Emmett asks as a woman comes in to draw my blood.
I shug—because apparently that's all I can do now. "Fine. It's all . . . expected, right?"
"Well, aside from feeding your doctor." He smirks. "And there better be more of that home."
"Leave you cupcake-less? I wouldn't dare," I tease.
Once my blood is drawn, it's not long before Edward comes back in with a machine. Suddenly I remember he's going to touch me again and my heart races. Maybe I should get a nice, ugly doctor in Seattle.
At least he makes it slightly easier by telling me what he's doing, but each time his fingers graze my skin, I can't help but shiver. Eventually he even asks if I'm cold, which I'm anything but.
"Nope, I'm good."
He smiles and the monitor lights it up in the dark room. "Let's see here. Hopefully your ejection fraction hasn't come down much."
He does his thing, eventually saying it's still at thirty-two percent—which, well, is bad, but not worse at least. I'm probably not going to drop dead just yet.
I'm both thankful and a little sad when he's done, and quickly miss the feel of him.
Jesus H Crackerjacks, I have a serious problem.
Thanks to May, Nole, Fran, Brier, and Meg for prereading and Sally for Beta'ing.
As of 6:30pm EST today, I am on vacation, so expect lots of updates! I've written up to chapter 72 so far. The more I write, the more often I'll update so hopefully I can do it multiple times a day soon. Thanks for reading!
