\u201cWe\u2019re too busy today. Just call an Uber,\u201d wrote Diana, my daughter\u2011in\u2011law of fifteen years, the woman whose children I had raised while she climbed the corporate ladder at Meridian Pharmaceuticals.<\/p>\n
Then my son, Philip, my only child: \u201cWhy don\u2019t you ever plan anything in advance, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n
Something cracked inside me. Not my recently repaired heart, but something far more vital. Twenty\u2011three days ago, I\u2019d kissed my grandchildren goodbye before flying to Cleveland for experimental surgery, telling everyone it was just a minor procedure to spare them worry. I\u2019d faced the possibility of death alone in a strange city, signed waivers acknowledging the risks, and woken up in blinding pain with no family member\u2019s hand to hold. And now I couldn\u2019t even get a ride home from the airport.<\/p>\n
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I thought about telling them the truth\u2014about the titanium device now keeping my heart chambers from collapsing, about the nights I\u2019d lain awake listening to the woman in the next hospital bed sob in pain, about the terror of nearly bleeding out on the operating table. Instead, I simply typed, \u201cOkay!\u201d<\/p>\n
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