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

body needs to get rid of.”
    â€œThen it gets pumped to the lungs?” I point to those big pipes at the top.
    â€œYou bet. Those are our pulmonary arteries. They carry the blood full of carbon dioxide from the heart to the lungs. There we breathe in oxygen and that gets exchanged for the carbon dioxide. See.” He drags his finger along what looks like more pipes and back through other sack-like things. “Then it comes through this upper area, called the left atrium, down into the left ventricle, and out the aorta to all the rest of the body.”
    â€œThat’s really amazing, Dad.”
    â€œThe amazing thing is that the heart has to work and pump the blood every second of our lives.”
    â€œSo where’s the hole in Lizzie’s heart?”
    Dad points to the area between the two lower sacks. “Lizzie has a big hole — about the size of a fifty-cent piece is what they say — in the wall between the two ventricles, these two bottom parts.” He pauses again for me to let it sink in.
    â€œHere?” I point to the line in the diagram running down the middle of the heart, then sit back thinking. “Oh, I see. So the blood in one side with mostly carbon dioxide could mix with the blood in the other side that has the oxygen.”
    â€œClever girl.” Dad smiles. I like it when he smiles. His freckles seem to skitter all over his face.
    â€œBut with Lizzie, the blood she sends to the rest of her body has less oxygen in it than it should, so she doesn’t have the energy to run or jump or play?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œHow will you know when she should have the operation?”
    â€œI told you. Every month they know more. Every month they’re getting better at operations on the heart. The longer we wait, the better.”
    â€œYeah, but how would you know when she really has to have it. Like, she can’t not have it or it will be too late.” My voice cracks.
    Dad scratches his head and runs his left hand down the back of his neck. His dark, reddish hair has an occasional streak of grey. “Well, I suppose when she can’t go to school any longer. Or can’t walk very far without stopping. I’m only guessing. I’m not the specialist. I wish I were so I could help her more. But I don’t think they would want to leave it until she couldn’t walk at all. She might be too weak for the operation itself.” It’s like he’s talking to himself.
    I think back to Lizzie’s letter. Don’t you dare tell your dad. But they’re coming down for tests so the doctors will find out. I can’t tell Dad. I’m sure it’s no big deal. It is, isn’t it, Mum? No big deal?
    â€¢ • •
Penticton
    September 26, 1959
    Dear Nor,
    Why don’t you write more often? I asked Vicki if you’d written lately. She said no . Is it that bad? If you’re lonely, isn’t it helpful to write? Or are you so busy with all your new friends and all the sports and stuff? I forgot you said there wasn’t much in the way of sports for girls at your school. Is there something for girls to do, like a choir?
    Mum did find out about me not being able to go up the stairs. Since then I’ve been fine, I told her. But she phoned the doctor anyway. I don’t know what that means. I am more tired. Mum has to wake me every morning. And after school, I’m really slow walking up our long driveway. I have to stop and catch my breath. I let Dougie and Jack run ahead but I don’t think Mum knows that.
    I’m looking forward to seeing you. But not looking forward to being in the hospital. My memory of staying there when I was five is pretty vague. They cut me open all around my chest, and even low down on my stomach, to put in a shunt that’s sort of like a pipe, they said, and fix some valves. You’ve seen the scars. But mostly I remember the loneliness of being left with strangers, even