Chapter Thirteen
Millie
Idon’t know why I ran. All I know is I had this overwhelming urge to flee as soon as Rowan asked me to tell him what happened when I was a child.
It’s like my entire body revolted at the idea of showing him the thing that’s consumed my life since the day I was born.
It’s not like I haven’t talked about it before.
I have, lots of times. I’ve explained my condition to countless people, granted most of those people were in the medical field. Maybe that’s what the problem was.
I’m also used to explaining it to people that know or at least have some semblance of understanding about my condition. Rowan won’t, at least I assume he won’t and that somehow seems scarier.
So I ran away like a scared little chicken as soon as I saw the opening with his friend asking to talk to him.
Now, I’m regretting my hasty decision but I’m already halfway home and it would be super weird to turn around and go back, right?
Like, oh hey! Sorry I was super awkward and just ran away when you asked me a question. You want to talk about it now?
Nope, not doing that. I’ll call or text him as soon as I get home and hopefully I can smooth over my rude behavior.
The light in front of me turns yellow and I slow the car down before coming to a complete stop just as it turns red.
I see a car fly by at an alarming speed and the sight causes the same tingling the back of my neck, the sensation crawls up and down my spine, just like in the ice cream shop with my mother and after hearing that voice in my room but what follows is a reaction I’ve never experienced before.
Even with all the hospital stays, the uncertainty of my illness and having open heart surgery I’ve never felt my whatever consumes my body next.
It almost feels like an out-of-body experience.
My throat tightens and my pulse quickens as I try to pull a breath into my lungs like I normally would. My eyes water as I try to stay focused on the red beacon of the stop light ahead of me to keep me anchored to the present, the here and now.
It feels like my body is being pulled into two different directions.
But I soon lose sight of the red light as my vision blurs and I become more desperate to feel air fill the cavities in my lungs and experience that sweet relief from this burning that’s consuming my entire chest. But no matter how hard I try I can’t pull in enough air.
My chest starts to feel heavy and tight, the scar that runs the entire length of my sternum burns like it’s on fire, right along with my lungs. My eyes widen in panic when I reach up and my skin feels hot to the touch.
What is happening? What’s wrong with me?
I close my eyes and move my fingers up my throat to find my pulse. Hoping like hell the soothing thump, thump, thump helps settle whatever is gripping my body right now.
I work to steady my breathing, pulling in deeper breaths every third inhale. I count my pulse, one quickened beat at a time until the feel of my blood humming beneath my skin finally starts to calm the chaos in my body.
A bead of sweat rolls down my back and I feel my muscles tighten in anticipation of another attack. I reach up, placing my palm flat across the jagged scar that’s still warm to the touch and my heart that beats erratically right underneath it.
I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I chant over and over.
Beep. BEEP. Beep.
I jump at the noise, the sound of the car honking behind me zaps me from the trance that seems to have consumed my entire being. I blink several times, coming back to the here and now before slowly moving into the intersection.
My hand shakes where I’m gripping the steering wheel. I look over my shoulder and quickly pull my car over to the shoulder of the road, unwilling to drive in this condition.
As soon as I’m safely pulled over my muscles sag in exhaustion.
I feel moisture gather in the corner of my eyes and I immediately blink several times to clear them, but it doesn’t work.
It’s like I don’t have any control over it as one tear falls, then the next.
Before I know what’s happening tears are running down my cheeks in a heavy flow.
Sorrow fills my chest, replacing the tightness and burning I felt just moments before.
I’m terrified another attack is coming on so I try to control my tears by trying to force them to stop but I can’t. The sorrow in my chest turns into something more foreign. The strange feeling settles over my mind and consciousness.
I reach up and touch the moisture still tracking down my cheeks and as I pull my hand away I stare at the wetness coating the pad of my fingers.
They don’t feel like my tears.
I shake the thought away. Of course, they’re your tears, Millie. You’re the one crying! But even as I try to convince myself they are, I can’t shake the feeling that they don’t belong to me.
“Hi, honey.” Mom looks up from the book she’s reading at the kitchen island as soon as I walk through the garage door. “You’re back late. How was the game?”
Darn it. I was hoping she was going to be asleep by the time I got home. I drop my head ever so slightly so she can’t see my red, puffy eyes from crying relentlessly in the car.
I sat there on the shoulder of the road for what felt like hours but was more like thirty minutes just trying to get my tears and the heaviness in my chest under control before I felt safe enough to drive home.
I still don’t understand what that was or what’s happening to me, and I can’t tell my mom about it because she’ll freak out and drag me to the doctor first thing in the morning.
I know that whatever the hell that was, it wasn’t normal, but I don’t want to be poked and prodded like a freaking science experiment either.
And that’s exactly what will happen if I tell her.
“It was good. I’m super tired though. Can we talk about it in the morning?” I rush out, already headed towards the hallway leading to my bedroom.
“Oh, I— I thought you would want to talk about the cute boy?” she asks, confused by my demeanor.
“I do! Raincheck?” I call over my shoulder, feeling guilty as hell for brushing her off but not enough to stop me from running away for the second time tonight.
“Yeah— sure. Love you!” she shouts. I’m halfway down the hallway now, my bedroom door is in sight. I practically sprint the rest of the way there.
“Love you too!” I say right before shutting my bedroom door a little too loudly, jerking from the sound reverberating around the silent room.
I sink down on my bedroom floor, the door to my back, my room coated in darkness. My fingers go up to my pulse point like it’s my lifeline, and in many ways it is.
Thump, thump, thump.
My fingers push in deeper into my skin. Thump, thump, thump.
I don’t understand what’s happening. Was that just a panic attack? Or was it something more. My heart races right along with my mind as I try to unravel what just took place.
I’ve had a panic attack before but it was nothing like that.
This was so much more intense and at times I felt like it wasn’t me that was experiencing the pain and panic.
Just like my dreams. But how is that possible?
I was the one on the side of the road struggling to breathe and tightness consuming my chest. I was the one crying.
I drop my hand from my neck and push up from the floor, heading straight to my computer that’s sitting on my desk in the corner of my room. It only takes a moment for the screen to light up. I pull up the search engine and type: Side effects of a heart transplant
A plethora of results pop up, most of which I’m already familiar with. It’s not like you go into something like this blind. No, there’s endless classes, so many pamphlets I could have lined my entire street with them, not to mention all the research I did on my own.
My eyes frantically scan what I’m looking for, but I don’t see it. I try another search. Unusual side effects from a heart transplant.
Of course, there’s chest tightness, shortness of breath, increased heart rate or bradycardia, all of which I experienced but it felt like so much more than that.
It’s just more of the same results. None of it all that unusual considering they take your faulty heart out and replace it with a new one.
I sit back in my chair to think. I don’t even know how to describe what I felt outside of a panic attack and that’s not what it was. I know it was something different, even if I can’t explain it.
Suddenly I sit forward and type on my keyboard: Out-of-body feeling after heart transplant.
There aren’t nearly as many search results as my first two inquiries but there are a few. I click on a link that shows a thread from a kidney transplant recipient. Is it possible to adopt the same likes and dislikes of your organ donor?
This isn’t exactly what I’m looking for but I feel drawn to it, nonetheless. My eyes frantically scan the page.
I had a kidney transplant one year ago and now I suddenly like tomatoes and broccoli, two things I absolutely detested before my surgery.
I’m told those were two of my donor’s favorite foods.
But it’s not just food, I like the smell of cinnamon now which I was indifferent to before, but my donor loved because it reminded her of fall which was her favorite season.
I also feel different. Like sometimes my body isn’t my own or reactions I have don’t feel like mine.
Does any of this make sense to someone? I’ve tried talking to my doctors, but they shrug it off as though it’s nothing and maybe it is.
But sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy.
I feel like my donor has a hold on my body that I can’t explain and can’t control.
Someone please tell me I’m not going crazy.
My breath hitches and my lungs seize. I scroll up and look at the date of the post. Three years ago. Then I quickly scroll past her passage to see if there are any replies, there are, but only a few.