The Christmas Blessing

by VanLiere, Donna

  I folded my hands on top of the counter. “You know, everybody keeps telling me that. But those people have never actually worked under Dr. Goetz.”

  Denise shrugged her shoulders. “Just telling you what I’ve seen for years around here. People love him.”

  “Med students don’t love him.”

  “Med students aren’t people,” she said, straight-faced. I looked at her and she broke out laughing. I noticed the sponsor sheet next to my clipboard.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s for a scholarship run for the pediatric heart patients.” She started typing into the computer. “Each year there’s going to be a run to raise some scholarship money for college. The money will go into a trust, and when the patient is old enough and accepted into college, they’ll receive a portion of the money as a scholarship and hopefully it will help pay some of the bills.” She pushed the sheet toward me. “Do something good in the world. Sign up.”

  “Is this your idea of peer pressure?” She put the pen in my hand.

  “You bet. Now sign up and help the kids.”

  “Who’s the sponsoring organization for the run?” I asked, signing my name.

  “It’s not an organization. It’s Meghan Sullivan. She’s one of the fastest runners in the state.”

  “Is she on staff here?”

  “No, she’s one of our heart patients.”

  TWO

  All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

  —Leo Tolstoy

  Meghan was startled when the phone rang. She bolted upright in bed and stumbled through the dark hallway into the living room, where she picked up the receiver. It was Denise from the pediatric unit. Meghan’s mother, Allison, crept up behind her and was able to make out bits and pieces of the conversation.

  “What time,” she heard Meghan ask. “How is she?” Allison watched as Meghan nodded and said, “Don’t worry about it. We were up anyway,” and hung up the phone. Meghan looked at Allison. “A heart is available for Hope.” Hope Reed was a five-year-old who had been waiting for a heart transplant for six months. She had dilated cardiomyopathy, which meant her heart was enlarging, causing its ability to squeeze to deteriorate over time. An early-morning car accident five hundred miles away claimed the life of a five-year-old boy. Meghan was quiet as she put on her running shorts and shoes and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  “I won’t be gone long,” she said as she closed the door behind her. The early-morning air was cold, and the sun was just beginning to break through the orange-and-red leaves of the trees. Fall was her favorite time of year to run. She went to a nearby park and started to stretch, looking for the runner with the neon ball cap. When she saw her, Meghan took off, speeding behind her.

  Meghan pushed herself to keep up as the runner in the neon cap made one lap after another around the lake.

  “She’s like a gazelle,” Meghan told her father one day. “I clunk around like a goat compared to her.”

  “It’s because she’s taller,” her father said.

  “No, it’s not, Dad. It’s more than that. There’s a beauty when she runs.”

  Jim Sullivan held his daughter’s face in his hands. “There’s a beauty when you run, Meghan, and everybody around you can see it.” Meghan dismissed what her father said. Of course, he had to say that, that’s what fathers do. He put his arm around her and pulled her down next to him on the sofa.

  “Why do you wait around for her every day?”

  “Because she’s the best runner I’ve ever seen. If I’m going to run, I’m going to run after somebody better than me.”

  The fall air was stinging Meghan’s lungs, but she pushed harder to keep up. When the runner finally slowed down and walked over the crest of the hill toward her car, Meghan stopped, breathing hard, and stretched her arms high over her head. “One of these days I’ll catch up to you,” she said toward the empty hill. “And then I’m going to pass you!” She sat down on the wet grass beside the lake and pulled her knees up to her chin. “Help Hope through the operation,” she whispered. “Please let this new heart work.” She paused, looking out over the lake. She rested there for several minutes, tossing tiny pebbles and acorns into the lake, and watched as small ripples spread out over the water’s surface. She got up, brushed herself off, and ran home to help her mother get Luke and Olivia ready for school. Although most students lived in the dorms or nearby apartments, Meghan wanted to live at home for her first year in college.

  At first I thought it was too cold for a run. I hadn’t been a diehard since my college days, but today I decided it was okay and drove to the park. I stood by my truck and stretched my legs. In the distance I saw two other runners on the path, a young woman wearing tight black spandex and a neon ball cap who blazed around the lake, and another woman wearing a knit cap. I watched Neon Lady as she ran the perimeter of the lake; she was serious and focused. No doubt a gunner, I thought. A gunner runner. But she was a great runner, all fluid motion when she breezed around the path, but then I noticed the young woman running behind her; she was pacing herself against Neon Lady. That’s what it looks like when you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, I thought, watching them. They finished their run before I started mine. I walked toward the lake to begin my run when the young woman with the knit cap sat beneath the giant oak tree by the lake. Probably routine for her, I thought. Runs her body hard, then clears her mind for the rest of the day. It was something I should have done, but instead I finished my run, then jumped back into my truck and drove to my apartment. I had to get to the hospital.

  I arrived at the hospital thirty minutes early to speak with Peter; he was the only one who carried enough weight to help me.

  “I was wondering if I could possibly be part of another rotation.” My voice sounded weak inside my own head, but I hoped it sounded convincing to Peter. He seemed a bit distracted, and I couldn’t help but feel that things were already off to a poor start. He looked me over for a moment.

  “But Dr. Goetz is a fine physician. I would say he’s the finest at the hospital.” I rubbed my temples. I couldn’t take the “fine physician, one-of-the-best” speech again.

  Peter took off his glasses. “Is this because of Helen Weyman? Because if it is, there will be other patients who will die unexpectedly. The hospital’s not in the habit of accommodating the wants of medical students, anyway. You know that.” I sensed that the bomb was about to drop—there was no way Peter was going to pull me from this rotation.

  “It’s not necessarily a want, Peter. I need to change to another rotation,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m thinking of dropping out of med school, and if I stay under Dr. Goetz, I’m sure I will.” There was a long pause. I hated putting Peter in the middle of my problem. He was supposed to be responsible for the med students on his team; coddling a student’s emotional dilemma wasn’t part of that responsibility.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I felt the weight of the world lift from my chest.

  I looked at my watch; I had to get going. The other med students and I had to scrub in to observe a heart transplant for a five-year-old patient.

  Meghan opened the door and saw Luke and Olivia eating breakfast at the kitchen table. “Was Neon Lady there?” Luke asked, as she stepped into the kitchen.

  “She was there.”

  “Did you beat the pants off her?” Olivia asked, mashing the eggs on her plate into a fine, yellow mess. Meghan slid in next to her sister at the table.

  “Nah, I let her win. I feel so bad for her. She’s fast, athletic, attractive. How’s she ever going to get ahead in this world with those kinds of attributes? If I didn’t let her beat me every morning, she wouldn’t have anything going for her.”

  After breakfast Meghan helped dress Olivia for school. “I can do it myself, you know,” Olivia said. Meghan pulled a fuzzy sweater over her sister’s head.

  “I know you can, but I like to do i
t.” Olivia sighed as Meghan tucked and pulled and straightened and buttoned her into her clothes for the day. Truth was, Olivia loved all the attention her older sister gave her. Meghan was more than generous with the time she gave both her sister and brother. Outside the bedroom door, Allison listened as Meghan and Olivia talked. To think that for so long, she and Jim never believed they’d have a family of their own. After seven childless years, Meghan was born in 1981.

  Every night when Meghan was a little girl, Jim would carry her to the back deck and lift her head toward the stars. “That’s the Big Dipper,” he’d say, pointing, “not to be confused with the big dope . . . that’s your daddy.” He’d show her one constellation after another, then, pointing to a bright light, say, “That’s what you are, Meg. You’re a star. You’re daddy’s little star.”

  As he lifted her from the crib one morning, Jim noticed something was wrong: Meghan was lethargic and nonresponsive. He was in the car with Meghan and backed halfway out of the driveway before Allison knew what was happening. She jumped in the car beside them and rode to the hospital without taking the time to put on her shoes.

  The doctors took X rays and Meghan screamed; they drew blood, and she screamed louder. “You need to get her to a heart specialist,” the emergency room doctor said. Jim and Allison were terrified. How could this be? The baby they’d tried so long to have was sick.

  Dr. Crawford Goetz held the squirming child close to him and cooed in her ear. When Meghan looked into his eyes, a small smile broke over her face. “There’s a hole in her heart,” he said, gently running his pinky over Meghan’s cheek.

  “Oh my God,” Allison gasped.

  “However, it’s an odd size. Normally, if the hole is too big, we go in and repair it. When they’re small, we just leave them, knowing they’ll eventually close on their own.” Jim and Allison waited for him to continue. Dr. Goetz cradled Meghan in one arm, pulling her close to him. “I don’t think this hole is big enough to repair.”

  “So it will close on its own,” Jim asked.

  “It may not close all the way.”

  “What if it doesn’t? What will that mean?” Jim said.

  “You’ll need to monitor her activities, make sure she doesn’t do anything too strenuous.”

  “But she can live a normal life,” Allison said, taking Meghan from the doctor’s arms.

  “With restrictions she can. She might not be able to ride her bike as fast as the other kids in the neighborhood or jump in the pool twenty times in a row or run up and down the street playing tag, but it’s too early to tell. We’ll need to examine her throughout the years to monitor any changes.”

  Jim and Allison took their child home determined to treat her as a fragile gift, but Meghan rejected any acts of delicacy from the beginning. She loved to stand, balanced on top of her daddy’s feet, and he would dance her around the living room, making her giggle and laugh with every spin. “Be careful, Jim,” Allison would caution.

  “She loves it!” Jim said.

  “She might get too worked up.”

  But Jim would pick Meghan up and spin her till she kicked and bounced in his arms. If Meghan was sick, she didn’t know it.

  On her fifth birthday Jim and Allison took her back to Crawford Goetz, who took more X rays of her heart. For the last several years, the hole hadn’t closed at all, but Dr. Goetz always beamed when he saw Meghan; she was proving him wrong, and he couldn’t be happier. The child wasn’t fragile and frail; she was a ball of fire. He listened to her heart through his stethoscope and smiled. “It sounds strong.”

  After school, Meghan would hop on her bike or run up and down the street with the neighborhood children. Allison would watch through the window from inside, rocking from one foot to the other, and chewing the inside of her mouth.

  “Let her be,” Jim would always say.

  “What if something happens to her, and we don’t see her fall,” Allison snapped back, craning her neck to see Meghan through the window.

  “She has to play, Allison. We have to let her play.”

  “The doctor said we’d need to monitor her.”

  “He didn’t say to obsess over her.” Allison moved from the window, pretending to busy herself around the house, but she always kept an ear tuned for Meghan’s voice.

  In second grade, after her parents had given up hope of having more children, Meghan became an older sister when Luke was born. Four years later, Olivia was born. When Meghan was in the third grade, the Sullivans moved to a larger house to accommodate their growing family. Their new home was situated on the other side of the city, in a different school district. Meghan was distraught over the move. She was moving away from her friends and beloved teacher. “Meghan,” Allison said, tucking her in bed one night, “just think about all the new friends you’re going to make.”

  Tears filled Meghan’s eyes. “I don’t want new friends.”

  “But you don’t know who you’re going to meet there,” Allison said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “This could be the best thing to happen to you. This one little move will change all our lives. You just wait and see.” The little girl nodded, telling her mother she understood. But when Allison left, Meghan cried herself to sleep, thinking of the friends she would be leaving behind.

  Instead of riding the bus like she used to, Meghan became a “walker.” Allison walked with her those first several weeks, pushing Luke in the stroller. “You can’t walk her every day,” Jim said. “We have to let her walk with the other kids.”

  So the next day, Allison helped Meghan with her backpack and sent her out the door for her first solo walk to school. But Meghan didn’t make friends on her walk that morning and found none at school, so when the final bell of the day rang, she ran down the stairs and all the way home. Meghan ran to and from school every day for the next three years. Of course, Meghan’s running made Allison a nervous wreck, but Jim would say, “Maybe she was born to run.”

  “Not with that defective heart, she wasn’t.”

  “Dr. Goetz said her heart is strong, Allison. Let her run if she wants to.”

  Allison couldn’t deny that Meghan’s heart was strong. It was stronger than any of them had ever expected: their sick little baby was an athlete.

  • • •

  After Meghan finished getting Olivia ready that morning, Meghan showered and dressed, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

  “The meet starts at three, Mom,” Meghan said, putting her books in her backpack.

  “Look for us, right side, fourth row up,” Luke said.

  “By the foghorn man,” Olivia added. So that Meghan could spot them with ease, the Sullivans sat in the same place every time for her races: fourth row up, right side, by the coach with the bullhorn.

  I washed every inch of my hands and arms, then a nurse slipped the surgical scrubs up over my shoulders and slid gloves onto my hands. Dr. Kenneth Jonan, one of the transplant surgeons, would perform the surgery, with Dr. Barry Mann assisting. Dr. Goetz filed our team into the operating room, and we waited for the transplant to begin. When Dr. Goetz entered, he bent low to the girl’s ear and whispered something, squeezing her leg. As third-year students, theoretically, we were prepared to participate on some level in the operation, but Dr. Goetz kept us from it, with the exception of handing the surgeon an instrument if he chose to ask us for it.

  From time to time, Dr. Jonan would speak to us without taking his eyes off his work. I noticed that on several occasions, Dr. Goetz leaned down and whispered in the girl’s ear. “Doing great, Hope. Everything’s looking good.” Hope’s new heart was inside a plastic bag filled with a sterile solution, sitting in a pail of slushy ice water. I was drawn into the surgery in a way I hadn’t expected. I saw the heart beating inside the girl’s tiny chest and was so moved by the sight that my throat tightened. Dr. Jonan stopped her heart and removed it; it was swollen and dark red. He passed the heart to a nurse, and she set it on a towel, where we watched it pump several times before stopping alto
gether. Unbelievable, I thought. The new heart was pale pink and glossy. Dr. Jonan rolled the heart into Hope’s empty chest cavity, and we watched as he connected the back of the heart first. After thirty minutes of stitching, the heart was in place. Dr. Jonan removed the cross clamp and we waited for the blood to flow into the coronary arteries that fed the heart and watched as it began to pump. I felt like throwing my hands in the air and cheering. It was the most remarkable thing I’d ever seen.

  “Amazing,” Dr. Goetz, said under his breath, watching the heart. “It just never ceases to amaze me.” He clapped Dr. Jonan on the back, and I could see him smile through his mask. Dr. Jonan bent over toward the heart again and continued his work.

  “Clamp.” There was silence in the room. I glanced up and saw Dr. Jonan looking at me. He held out his hand. “Clamp.” I looked at the instruments and was afraid I’d hand him the wrong one. “Clamp,” Dr. Jonan said, looking at William. William stepped forward and handed him the instrument, securing a better spot for the remainder of the surgery.

  Dr. Jonan and Dr. Goetz had a focused, professional rapport throughout the surgery and it was obvious that the medical team also respected Dr. Goetz in a way I didn’t. Maybe he is the best, I thought.

  After scrubbing up, Dr. Goetz met with us to recap the operation and to answer any questions we might have. For a brief moment I looked down at my watch and realized it had stopped running again. As I gave it a couple of quick taps, I noticed that Dr. Goetz was no longer speaking.

  “Am I boring you, Mr. Andrews?” I could feel the weight that had been released earlier with Peter fall heavy on my chest again.

  “No, sir.”

  “I would only hope that your patients will have your undivided attention and you won’t be so easily distracted when talking with them.” He reached for a pair of glasses in his pocket and began cleaning them with the sleeve of his white coat. “May I ask if you feel this is your calling, Mr. Andrews?” I could feel the eyes of my peers on me.