A Hole in My Heart by Rie Charles Read Free Book Online

smoking. You know Mum doesn’t like you doing that.” His face blanches. “Didn’t,” I add.
    He puffs twice more and cradles the pipe in his hands. A curl of whiteness sweeps up and over his face. Why has he started smoking again?
    â€œI was pretty sure that’s what she had and I was worried for a whole month until you were born that there might be something wrong with you, too. I didn’t tell your mother.” He twiddles the pipe in his hands.
    â€œBut Dad, Lizzie had an operation before. She already has a huge scar all across her front to right up under her arm. Didn’t that fix it?” I ladle out Aunt Mary’s home-canned cherries into two bowls and put the half empty jar in the refrigerator.
    â€œOnly a bit. That’s all they could do then and even that operation was really new. They had only been performing it for a couple of years.”
    â€œYou mean she was experimented on?”
    â€œNot really.” He tips the half-burned tobacco from his pipe onto a plate. The smoke wisps up. It has a sweet smell. “They had done lots of those procedures on animals and a few on children. I’m not sure how many.”
    â€œSo, what exactly did they do?” I slurp a mouthful of cherries and carefully spit out the pits onto my spoon.
    â€œBecause of the hole, the blood on the right side in the heart, which is low in oxygen, mixes with the blood on the left side, which is full of oxygen. Therefore, the blood sent to the lungs has more oxygen in it than it should.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? I thought you want your blood to have lots of oxygen.” More mouthfuls of cherries. More pits piling up on the side plate.
    â€œYou do — going to the rest of your body. But the blood going to your lungs should have mostly carbon dioxide, so that when you breathe in, the oxygen from the air can get exchanged for the carbon dioxide. That way you continue to get more fresh oxygen in your blood.” I listen hard. The to-and-from directions are very confusing. “Then that blood goes back from the lungs to your heart and is pumped to the rest of your body. You want the blood that goes to your lungs to have lots of carbon dioxide in it, not lots of oxygen.” Giving the bowl of his pipe a few more upside down taps on the plate, Dad checks that it’s completely empty and places the pipe in his shirt pocket. “Is that clear?”
    â€œNot really.” I busy myself, removing the dirty dishes from the table. It gives me a chance for what he said to sink in. Maybe. I bring back the steeped tea and place the pot next to Dad’s untouched dessert bowl. “But what did they do for Lizzie in her first operation?”
    â€œThey put in what’s called a shunt. They separated a branch of one of her arteries here,” he runs his hand up his chest towards his neck, “and connected it with the artery that takes blood to her lungs. That artery didn’t have much oxygen in it, relatively speaking, so they sent it back again to the lungs to get more oxygen.” He cups his hands on either side of his rib cage.
    â€œYou mean so she has more oxygen for her brain?”
    â€œThat’s right. And everywhere else. When she had that operation, it was meant to help only until they figured out how to fix the major problem, the hole in the middle of her heart. What it did was give her time to grow bigger and time for surgeons to work out how to help her more.”
    â€œWhy haven’t they done it before?” I push Dad’s cherries closer to him. “You should eat your fruit, Dad.” I sound like my mother.
    â€œBecause they couldn’t. They didn’t know how.” He dives into the cherries. “But antibiotics and new operating techniques have been developed in the last little while.” His words come out garbled through a full mouth. “Mmmm. These cherries are good. I told your Aunt Mary when you girls were