“I’ll bet.” Dr. Cohen took hold of her bedrail and stared down at her. “We pulled volumes of water off your heart. More than I’ve ever seen on a patient who lives through it.” He lowered his brow. “I’ll never understand how you survived the trip home. Each flight puts pressure on the heart as it is. But in your condition?” He shook his head. “You must have someone watching out for you.”
Marcus grinned. “Dr. Cohen said I’m your bodyguard.” He looked from the doctor back to Mary Catherine. “I told him God needed more than a bodyguard to get you home. He must’ve given you a whole team of angels.”
“I like that. A whole team of angels.” Mary Catherine’s voice still sounded weak. But she wasn’t wheezing. That alone made her feel like she could walk out of the hospital without any help. “My breathing’s so much better. It’s amazing.”
“I’m glad.” He sighed and pulled a clipboard from the counter behind him. “The reality is you’re very sick, Mary Catherine. Your heart is finished. You need an immediate heart transplant. I moved you to the critical list. Even so it could be months . . . or not at all.”
Mary Catherine nodded. None of this was a surprise, but it still hurt. Hearing the reality that her heart had given up.
“So what happened?” Dr. Cohen looked from her chart back to her. “What made you realize you needed to get home?”
“The fever, most of all. You told me that was a danger sign.” Mary Catherine was glad for Marcus’s hand in hers. He gave her strength without saying a word.
“It’s a very bad sign.” Dr. Cohen looked over her chart. “Your heart’s not only very sick, it’s infected. Another reason it’s time.”
“But”—it was the first time Marcus had interjected—“you said there wasn’t a heart available.”
Dr. Cohen nodded. He looked at Mary Catherine a long time, the way a father might look at his troublesome daughter. “I have a question for you, Mary Catherine.”
“Yes, sir?” She was nervous, wondering where this was headed.
“Do you want to live?” He crossed his arms. “When you went to Uganda, basically against my orders, I wasn’t sure.”
“You weren’t sure?” She felt her heart beat harder. She squeezed Marcus’s hand, her attention still on the doctor. “Yes, of course I want to live. I just . . . Uganda was a dream for me.”
“Okay, then.” Dr. Cohen exhaled. “I’m glad to hear that. Because you have to want to live if you’re going to fight the battle ahead.”
“I’m ready.” She felt terrible. Was that how she’d come across to Dr. Cohen? Like she didn’t want to live? It was the exact opposite. She’d gone to Africa because she did want to live.
She focused on the doctor. Help me listen, Lord. I’m ready to fight for my life. Really, I am.
“Here’s what I’d like to do.” Dr. Cohen pulled a brochure from Mary Catherine’s file. “This is a different kind of heart transplant. A mechanical one. I believe it could save your life.” Dr. Cohen handed her the brochure. “Take a look. It’s called a left ventricular assist device.”
“The LVAD!” Mary Catherine remembered now. “You wrote me an email about it, telling me to come home and get to your office to be tested. In case I was now a candidate for the LVAD.”
For a moment no one spoke.
“I never sent an email.” Dr. Cohen’s brow knit together. “I haven’t told you about it until just now. Someone must really want you to get better, because this brochure kept showing up. And even though I’ve known about the LVAD all along, you were never a good candidate because diabetics don’t do well with this device. Now, though, your blood sugar is fully normal. That’s the only reason it could work.”
“You did email me.” Mary Catherine could easily find his letter on her laptop. “You told me the LVAD could possibly work in my situation. That it could buy me eight years or ten even.”
“Mary Catherine.” The doctor looked beyond confused. “I didn’t send you an email.”
“I’ll show you later.” She didn’t want to argue. How else would she know about the device? “So you think I’m a candidate for it now?”
“I do. Now that your fever is gone, we can operate first thing in the morning. The situation is . . . dire, Mary Catherine. I can’t express that enough.”
She handed the brochure to Marcus and kept her attention on Dr. Cohen. “Can you tell me more about it? How it works?”
“Definitely.” Dr. Cohen explained that the device was like an artificial heart. It would piggyback on a person’s failing heart and take over the work of the left ventricle. Then it would continue to work until a donor heart could be found. “Some people have lived nearly normal lives for eight or ten years on an LVAD. On rare occasions we’ve even seen a heart recover completely. So that the need for a transplant is eliminated.”
Mary Catherine felt stronger just listening to the man. “What does it look like?”
“Well.” Dr. Cohen used his hands to show the size of a small apple. “It’s not very large and it runs on a battery. You’ll have a driveline from the device through your chest wall. The wire will run from the exit site on your chest to the battery pack, which you’ll have to wear all the time.” He paused. “The pack has to be charged while you sleep, so you’ll need to be near an electrical outlet for at least ten hours each day.”
Not ideal, Mary Catherine thought. But doable. “What about the rest of the time?”
“Again, you can live a fairly normal life. We have LVAD patients who exercise and ride bikes. The only thing you really can’t do is get pregnant or swim. You can’t get the exit site wet. A nurse will teach you how to shower so it stays dry.”
No swimming. Mary Catherine blinked back the sting of tears.
“It’s okay.” Marcus’s whisper was only loud enough for her to hear. He gave her hand a soft squeeze. She pictured herself in the waves off Santa Monica Beach, swimming with the dolphins. “No swimming . . . ever?”
“Not until you get a transplant—or the device is removed. That could be a while.”
Mary Catherine nodded. And the other . . . she couldn’t get pregnant. That was fine. But it raised a question she hadn’t thought about before. “I shouldn’t get pregnant while I’m using the LVAD. I get that, but what about later? After I have the transplant?”
Dr. Cohen nodded. “It’s a little more complicated, but we’ve had much success with women having normal pregnancies and deliveries after a heart transplant.”
A surge of hope ran through Mary Catherine’s veins. “And I’ll stay on the list the whole time?”
“You will. Like I said, in rare cases a person is actually healed while using an LVAD. It’s something we don’t quite understand yet. It could happen—though I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Okay, then. That’s all I need to know.” She swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat. “I’m ready.” Mary Catherine smiled at Marcus and then back at Dr. Cohen. “Let’s get this done.”
Days ago, Mary Catherine was certain she’d be in heaven in a matter of hours. She couldn’t breathe or walk or do anything to stop the way her body ached. Today she could breathe without wheezing, and she’d just been given something she hadn’t thought she’d have again.
Hope.
Francesca Battistelli’s song came to mind, the one she loved so much. The song was called “Hundred More Years” and it talked about living life to the fullest, holding on to precious moments. Even as a person longed for a hundred more years of this wonderful life. Suddenly the song didn’t just apply to regular people, people without defective hearts.
It applied to her.
MARY CATHERINE SLEPT much of the day, but every time she woke Marcus was there, right beside her. Holding her hand or watching her, making sure she was okay. Other times her parents were in the room, one on either side of her bed.
The first time Mary Catherine saw her mother, she began to cry. Her mom was at her side immediately. “Shhh.” She kissed Mary Catherine’s cheek. “
Don’t cry. We’re not upset.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked to her dad also. “I should’ve told you.”
Her dad took her hand. “Honey, we love you so much. All that matters is you’re home. And you’re getting help.”
Tears slid down Mary Catherine’s face. “Thank you.” She felt tired again, her eyes barely able to stay open. “I love you both.”
After that, she slept most of the afternoon. Before dinner, her parents, Sami, and Tyler came to visit.
It was the first time Mary Catherine had sat up in bed all day. Normally a patient in ICU could only have one visitor at a time. But because of Mary Catherine’s surgery in the morning, Dr. Cohen had made an exception. Sami’s eyes welled up the moment they saw each other.
“You crazy girl, keeping all this a secret.” Sami came to Mary Catherine’s side and hugged her, careful not to disturb the wires and IV tubes. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Because of Marcus.” She looked at him, still amazed. Then she remembered the letter to Sami. Her eyes found her friend again. “So you got my email? The one where I told you about my heart?”
“And that you wanted to come home.” Sami’s concern flashed in her eyes. “I called Marcus right away.” She looked at Marcus and back to Mary Catherine. “Three hours later, he was on a plane.”
“I was so sick. I remember writing the email.” She hesitated, thinking about that early morning. “I feel like I passed out before I sent it.”
Marcus stood at her side. He took her hand in his again. “Maybe Ember sent it. She said she got you from your bed to the main building.”
Mary Catherine tried to imagine how that was possible. Ember didn’t look strong enough to carry her. “I’ll have to call and thank her. As soon as I’m better.”
“I’m just glad you’re here. However it all happened.” Tyler stepped up. “We want you up there with us when we get married.”
Tears blurred Mary Catherine’s eyes. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see these two again. And now here they were talking about the wedding. Like she was any other normal, healthy girl.
“I have so much to tell you.” Sami ran her hand over Mary Catherine’s arm. “Lexy is living with me now.”
“What?” Mary Catherine wanted to jump from the bed. “That’s wonderful.” She hesitated. “It is wonderful, right?”
Sami gave a quick version of what happened. “I told her she could stay until she had the baby. You and I would talk about things after that.”
“Of course.” The news about Lexy being pregnant was tough to take. “Poor girl.”
Mary Catherine wondered if things might’ve turned out differently if she’d stayed. Suddenly she remembered Aspyn, one of the volunteers, telling her she should consider making this her mission field. But Mary Catherine hadn’t listened. By going to Africa, she’d done what she wanted to do, what she had dreamed of doing. And she had loved every minute of her time with the children. But had she even listened to the wisdom of people she trusted? Godly people? Had she followed the Lord’s leading? Or just her own?
The regret was hard on her.
A nurse came in with more medicine. It was time for visitors to leave. Sami smiled, but she wiped away a few tears as she gave Mary Catherine another hug. “We’ll be praying for you. Everything will be fine. I believe that.”
Mary Catherine nodded. “Me, too. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When they were gone, Marcus slid his chair closer and sat beside her again. “Are you afraid? About tomorrow?”
“No.” The peace Mary Catherine had felt before getting so sick was back again. “God brought me halfway around the world so I could have this surgery. He’ll see me through it.”
“He will.” Marcus lowered the bedrail that separated them. Once it was down he moved his chair even closer. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if . . .” He paused, searching her eyes. “I can’t lose you.”
She kept her eyes on his. How could I have run from him? A man who would rescue her from Africa to prove how much he cared? She touched his shoulder, his cheek. “I asked God to give me this.”
Marcus searched her eyes. “This?”
“You.” She felt at home with him. “The chance to be with you in person . . . and tell you I was wrong.”
He looked relieved. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His eyes grew a shade darker, more troubled than before. “Even after our time at the airport that day. Before you left.”
“I figured you’d hate me forever.” She slid a little closer to him. It was still hard to believe she was back home, alive. And he was here with her. “I’m so sorry.”
“I told you back then.” Marcus allowed the slightest smile. “I didn’t believe you.”
Mary Catherine didn’t have to think about what to say next. She was tired of sidestepping the truth. Again she put her hand alongside his face. “You were right.”
It took Marcus a moment to understand what she was saying. He sat up a little straighter and studied her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. “Meaning . . .”
“Meaning you were right.” A quiet giggle came from her. “Of course I’m the marrying type.” Her smile faded. “I just didn’t think I’d live long enough.”
“Mary Catherine.” He kissed her hand, his eyes locked on hers. “People never know how long they have. Less time doesn’t mean less life.” He held her hand to his cheek. “You of all people should know that.”
She nodded. “I do now.”
Marcus leaned his forearms on her bed and brought his face as close as he could to hers. “This might be a strange time to ask.” He looked around. “I mean, if I had it my way we’d be on some windswept beach and there’d be dolphins playing in the surf.”
She laughed, her heart suddenly giddy. She had no idea where he was going with this, but she loved how it felt to be this close to him.
“Since we can’t have that . . . and since it looks like you’ll be in here awhile, let me tell you again what I told you at the airport.” He smoothed his hand over her hair and down her arm, his eyes still holding hers. “I’ve talked to your parents.” A depth of emotion seemed to come over him. He had to work to find his voice. “I have their blessing.”
“Marcus?” Her mind raced, disbelief and the most beautiful joy colliding around her.
“Mary Catherine, I want to marry you.” He searched her eyes. “As soon as you’re well enough, please . . . would you be my wife?”
This time there were no walls between them, nothing to stop her from really hearing him, from seeing past her obstacles to the heart of the man. The very real man that was Marcus Dillinger. She rolled onto her side and took his hands in hers. “Yes.” She looked deep into his eyes and she could see the future they might have together. Whether it was hours or years, she only wanted to be by his side, only wanted to be his wife. As long as God would give them. She laughed even as her tears came. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Marcus looked beyond relieved, as if he’d been holding his breath waiting for her answer. “You don’t know how long I’ve prayed for this.”
They stayed that way, searching each other’s eyes, and eventually neither of them was afraid any longer for what tomorrow held. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” Mary Catherine spoke in a whisper. “I want to be in your arms so badly.”
He leaned in and kissed her lips. “I thought I’d spend the rest of my life wondering about you, missing you.” He smiled at her. “I could never find someone like you, Mary Catherine. My heart was made for yours.”
Her heart. The reminder sent a ripple of doubt through the beautiful moment. “The surgery . . . it’ll go fine. It will.”
“Yes.” His strength was tangible, a physical presence. He kissed her again. “God brought you this far. You’ll get through it.”
Mary Catherine nodded. She needed to live in that place, believing that God had brought her home for a reason. That she would have a succ
essful surgery and live long enough to marry Marcus. Maybe even have children one day.
A week ago she was sure she’d be in heaven by now. But now God had given her another chance at life, and she wanted it desperately. And though she believed in the best, Mary Catherine knew the statistics. Not everyone survived open-heart surgery. A person’s body could reject a mechanical heart the same as a donor heart. She could contract pneumonia or even succumb to infection in the valves.
Every day God gave them would be a gift.
Mary Catherine ran her hand alongside Marcus’s face. “When the doctor asked me . . . if I wanted to live . . .”
“The question killed me.” He spoke softly, straight to her soul.
“I want to live, Marcus.” She felt a rush of sadness. “If I would’ve died in Africa . . . I can’t think about it.”
He searched her eyes. “What changed your mind? About coming home?” He took hold of her hand again. “What made you want to fight for your life?”
Mary Catherine looked toward the window. She was back at the orphanage again, dust on her shoes, the hot air all around her. “It was Ember.” She blinked and looked back at Marcus. “She told me it wasn’t God’s will to give up on life. Not ever.”
Relief softened Marcus’s eyes. “Thank God for that woman.”
“God sent her at just the right time.” Mary Catherine closed her eyes. She was tired again, but she still had more to say. She forced her eyes open again. “Marcus?”
“Yes, love.”
She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to put words to the possibility. But if this was her last time to see Marcus, she had something to say. “If I don’t . . . if something goes wrong tomorrow.” She put her hand against his chest, the place over his heart. “Keep me here. Please, Marcus.”
His eyes filled and his chin trembled. “You can’t think like that.”
“I have to.” She blinked and a few tears slid down her cheeks. “I always have to. There’s no guarantee.” Her hand remained. “Please, Marcus.”
A Brush of Wings Page 18
