Read Online One Last Thing Before I Go by Jonathan Tropper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Tropper
Ads: Link
aneurysms?”
“Yes, they do. But you caught a break here. The TIA tipped off the ER doctors, who did an MRI and found the dissection.”
“Rich.”
“Yes?”
“You have to stop speaking doctor.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Silver.” And he is. The remorse cuts deep furrows in his wide forehead, making his eyebrows flex like caterpillars. When Casey was little, Silver would read a book to her about a caterpillar. The caterpillar would eat its way through fruits and vegetables and, ultimately, through the hard pages of the book. Casey found it hysterical. Silver never really got it, but he loved the unfettered way she laughed.
“A TIA is a transient ischemic attack. A ministroke. It’s why you briefly lost the ability to speak.”
“Oh.”
“The blood running into the tear has distended your aorta, which can sometimes cause small clots to form. When those clots break off and get up into your brain, they can impair various functions.”
Silver takes a minute to absorb this news. He imagines his aorta, like an unspooled garden hose, bent and torn. It feels right to him.
“So, am I going to die?”
“No!” Rich says emphatically. He gets to his feet. “We caught this in time. You need emergency surgery, but when we’re done you’ll be good as new.”
“Just like that.”
“Well, I don’t mean to minimize the risks of surgery, but you’re young and healthy—”
“I have an aneurysm. I just had a ministroke. I don’t feel healthy.”
“Well, yes, obviously. What I meant was, you’re a perfect candidate for the surgery. I’d like to operate first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’d be the one operating?”
“Yes.” He considers Silver for a moment. “Would that be an issue for you? If it is, I could refer—”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“If I was having the surgery. Which I’m not.”
That shocks Rich, almost as much as it shocks him. Rich’s eyes grow wide with concern. Rich is a good person. Silver would like to punch him.
“Silver, without this surgery, you will die.”
“When?”
“That’s impossible to predict. But your aorta will ultimately rupture, I guarantee it.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
Rich looks around the room, at a loss. Without realizing it, he turns in a complete circle, looking for an answer. He wasn’t on call today. He has come in for this.
“You have a daughter, Silver.”
“And she has you.”
Only when he sees Rich shake his head sadly does Silver realize he said it out loud. There is something about being around nice guys that brings out the asshole in him.
“I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Rich nods, accepting the apology. “Listen,” he says. But Silver can’t. He knows Rich is still talking, but his words are congealing into gibberish and fading to background noise. All he can hear is the ringing in his ears, scrambling his brain, and he closes his eyes and disappears into the soft angry noise.
* * *
He loved a girl named Emily. A lifeguard. She had wavy dark hair that always looked like she’d just stepped out of a light wind, and the first time they kissed it happened like this. They were in his car, hugging good-night. They had already established a manifesto of reasons why they could not get involved, reasons based largely on geography and chronology that they’d already talked to death. So she kissed his temple, and he kissed her cheek, and then they hugged some more. He could feel her shaking, could feel her smooth face moving against his rougher one, her fingers moving in his hair, their lips sliding along skin until their searching mouths could feign surprise at stumbling upon each other. And then, with gasps and groans, they surrendered to the hot wetness of their bad idea. There were reasons they could never be together, insurmountable obstacles he can’t recall
“Yes, they do. But you caught a break here. The TIA tipped off the ER doctors, who did an MRI and found the dissection.”
“Rich.”
“Yes?”
“You have to stop speaking doctor.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Silver.” And he is. The remorse cuts deep furrows in his wide forehead, making his eyebrows flex like caterpillars. When Casey was little, Silver would read a book to her about a caterpillar. The caterpillar would eat its way through fruits and vegetables and, ultimately, through the hard pages of the book. Casey found it hysterical. Silver never really got it, but he loved the unfettered way she laughed.
“A TIA is a transient ischemic attack. A ministroke. It’s why you briefly lost the ability to speak.”
“Oh.”
“The blood running into the tear has distended your aorta, which can sometimes cause small clots to form. When those clots break off and get up into your brain, they can impair various functions.”
Silver takes a minute to absorb this news. He imagines his aorta, like an unspooled garden hose, bent and torn. It feels right to him.
“So, am I going to die?”
“No!” Rich says emphatically. He gets to his feet. “We caught this in time. You need emergency surgery, but when we’re done you’ll be good as new.”
“Just like that.”
“Well, I don’t mean to minimize the risks of surgery, but you’re young and healthy—”
“I have an aneurysm. I just had a ministroke. I don’t feel healthy.”
“Well, yes, obviously. What I meant was, you’re a perfect candidate for the surgery. I’d like to operate first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’d be the one operating?”
“Yes.” He considers Silver for a moment. “Would that be an issue for you? If it is, I could refer—”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“If I was having the surgery. Which I’m not.”
That shocks Rich, almost as much as it shocks him. Rich’s eyes grow wide with concern. Rich is a good person. Silver would like to punch him.
“Silver, without this surgery, you will die.”
“When?”
“That’s impossible to predict. But your aorta will ultimately rupture, I guarantee it.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
Rich looks around the room, at a loss. Without realizing it, he turns in a complete circle, looking for an answer. He wasn’t on call today. He has come in for this.
“You have a daughter, Silver.”
“And she has you.”
Only when he sees Rich shake his head sadly does Silver realize he said it out loud. There is something about being around nice guys that brings out the asshole in him.
“I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Rich nods, accepting the apology. “Listen,” he says. But Silver can’t. He knows Rich is still talking, but his words are congealing into gibberish and fading to background noise. All he can hear is the ringing in his ears, scrambling his brain, and he closes his eyes and disappears into the soft angry noise.
* * *
He loved a girl named Emily. A lifeguard. She had wavy dark hair that always looked like she’d just stepped out of a light wind, and the first time they kissed it happened like this. They were in his car, hugging good-night. They had already established a manifesto of reasons why they could not get involved, reasons based largely on geography and chronology that they’d already talked to death. So she kissed his temple, and he kissed her cheek, and then they hugged some more. He could feel her shaking, could feel her smooth face moving against his rougher one, her fingers moving in his hair, their lips sliding along skin until their searching mouths could feign surprise at stumbling upon each other. And then, with gasps and groans, they surrendered to the hot wetness of their bad idea. There were reasons they could never be together, insurmountable obstacles he can’t recall
Similar Books
