I’ve always had a weak and pathetic little heart.
When I was little I was diagnosed with a rare heart condition that resulted in bi-monthly trips to the ICU since the age of one. I’ve always been in and out of the hospital. I remember that when I was little the trips were painless, just check-ups and the normal shit. But as I got older the trips became… less easy for me to endure.
When I was seven my doctor was doing her normal check-up when she noticed an irregular tightness in my chest.
In an instant, I went from being a kid with a promising future to having no more than 10 years left before my heart tumor caught up to me.
Every night my parents held me close, saying things to the extent of, “ I’m so sorry angel” and “ I wish we could’ve done something to save you”.
These words of reassurance began slimmer and slimmer each night as they left the hospital, words of sympathy became words of resentment, “ god dammit, that pathetic little heart, why did this happen to her?”, is what they’d say with their heads in their hands.
I could see that they were done, done with this life. Done with me. At 15, they were done with me.
By that time I had two years left to live.
That didn’t sit right with me.
So, I devised a plan, an awful but doable plan.
I had heard the nurses say that if they could find a heart that’s arteries were strong enough to suit mine, with a willing donor then they could do a transplant. I had a better idea. It took years to construct, but I think that if I carry it out right then I might have a chance past my 17th birthday.
I’ve been studying heart anatomy for two years, everything that the nurses brought for me, every extra pill, every book, and with every single chance that I got, I tried to learn more about the anatomy of the human heart.
I’d researched hearts of pigs, horses, chickens, what have you. Nothing else compares to the human heart. No medical study could convince me of that.
I checked the clock, 9:32 pm, the clock reads
I glance at the anatomy and stolen procedure papers I’d stolen earlier this year along with the stack’s latest addition, a brain-dead widow’s file, Margaret Willson.
You might think this next part is rather gruesome, but when the daughter of the couple who stole your perfectly healthy heart to spare their sickly daughter is in the recreation center feet away from you, you might feel the way I did when I put two and two together about the ‘Willson’ family who had been convicted earlier this year for being in possession of illegal organs.
Elena and James Willson were sent to prison for 45 years due to the illegal possession of organs, the headline read.
So here I stand, scalpel and knife in hand. I really hope this goes well, I wouldn’t want my weak little heart to fail me right before the operation.