Chapter 8: Surgery Morning

They gave me a bed on the fourth floor at six that evening, and a form to sign at seven.

I read every line of it myself.

*Patient understands that open mitral valve repair carries a risk of death.*

I signed my full name at the bottom, and then I wrote the date and the time, because I wanted it on the page that I had done it.

Ezra sat in the plastic chair by the window with his coat still on.

"You don't have to stay," I said.

"I know."

"It's going to be hours. You'll be bored."

"I'll survive."

He stayed.

He sat there through the blood draws and the nurse who took my pulse and said it was the most interesting thing she'd seen all week.

At nine, the anesthesiologist came by and explained what would happen in the morning, and I nodded at all of it and remembered none.

When she left I took the napkin out of my coat on the hook and held it up.

It was soft now from being folded.

"If this goes wrong," I said, "I want you to know the debt dies with me."

"Mara."

"Don't make that face. It's practical. I don't have anyone to inherit it."

"You're not dying tomorrow."

"I might."

He took the napkin out of my hand.

I thought he was going to put it in his pocket.

Instead he set it on the tray table by my water cup and put my hand back over it, folded.

Keep reading free with an account. Start They Borrowed My Surgery Fund To Leave Me Behind from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.