Matters of the Heart
I was in the middle of math homework when I heard a knock on my door. I heard Mom's voice from the hallway. "Sweetheart? Your father and I need to talk with you," she said loud enough over my music.
Mom didn't bother waiting for an answer, and the door opened. My parents stood in the doorway, awkwardly giving each other looks that they think I never see. I sighed, but turned off my music. They never came to my room together, let alone barge in like that. Finally, Mom moved to sit on my bed. I stayed at my desk, but turned the chair around so I could see both of them.
Dad peered at me through his glasses. "Remember your last doctor's visit?" he asked. Did he really think I would forget? I glared at him without answering. Dad pushed his glasses back up his nose.
Mom's hands gripped my blanket where she sat. I waited, but they kept exchanging looks and fidgeting. I already had a suspicion what the results were. I wasn't stupid. Mom and Dad didn't realize how transparent their emotions and actions were. I wanted them to hurry up and get on with it.
Dad looked away. His gaze settled on my dresser. "You remember that I had a sister who passed away really young?" he asked. I nodded. She'd died before I was born. I'd forgotten her name, so I didn't say anything. I could guess what was coming.
Mom watched Dad. When he didn't go on, she continued for him. "The doctors say you have the same disease," she said. Nothing that I wasn't expecting. I nodded. I had known about the risk for a long time, but now it was confirmed. It seemed more real. It meant I would most likely not live very long. I figured I had about ten years.
Mom fingered the bedspread instead of looking at me. "The school already knows. You won't need to take P.E. classes anymore," she said. I grunted. P.E. was stupid. I didn't care about that. Mom looked like she was going to say something else. "The doctors recommend you quit doing sports too," she added quickly.
"What?" I shouted in surprise, even though I knew the doctors would say it. "I was going to try out for the track team this year," I complained. Mom and Dad knew that I loved running. I had a good shot at making the team.
Dad looked tired. "We're sorry, but the doctors are afraid it will shorten your lifespan," he said.
"Just because the EEG says-"
Mom interrupted me. "ECG," she corrected.
"Whatever! Just because the ECG says something, doesn't mean the doctors know what's going on in my life," I argued. I crossed my arms. I was not going to budge on this. I loved track. I was not giving it up. They knew that.
Dad avoided looking at the trophies on my dresser. "The doctors know best," he said, trying to be convincing.
"What do they know? They don't have cardiomyo-whatever. They're not the ones that have to live with it," I said angrily. Other kids dealt with their parents divorcing. Other kids found ways to get ahold of cigarettes. Me, I had a broken heart. Literally.
Mom had tears in her eyes. "We don't want you to die! Being athletic increases your risk of heart failure. All the people with it who did sports died in their twenties," she pointed out. I knew the statistics too.
"Yeah, and Dad's sister didn't live that long either," I grumbled.
Dad looked at the ceiling. What was he looking at? Heaven? "But she lived longer than expected," he said. They were telling me that I couldn't do sports. Couldn't do anything. What about sex?
"You'd rather I die a 30-year-old virgin instead of being happy!" I shouted in exasperation. I didn't care if the neighbors could hear me.
Dad shook his head. "Oh, god. I can't do this," he grumbled. He turned and left the room.
"It wasn't god who gave me this fucking gene, it was your fault!" I called after him. I stood up. I wanted to go after him to yell some more. He couldn't run away from this any more than I could.
Mom grabbed my arm and stopped me from moving. She tried to calm me down. "It's not his fault, sweetie," she said quietly.
"Yes, it is," I insisted, shaking off her hand. "Yours too. You could've both decided not to have children," I said. I was furious. Why me?
Mom looked hurt. "No! We knew the risks. We wanted to have you. We gave you life," she said slowly.
"Then why won't you let me live it?" I shouted.
Mom grew quiet. Neither of us said anything for a while.
"Might as well commit suicide right now because you weren't smart enough to abort me," I muttered. I knew Mom could hear me.
Mom had tears in her eyes. "Don't say that," she said. Instantly, I regretted saying it. I didn't mean to hurt her. She opened her arms, and it was all I could do to collapse into her embrace. One moment, I was standing, and the next, I was sprawled half on the bed and half in Mom's lap. I cried into her shoulder, leaving cold wet stains on her shirt. I couldn't remember the last time I had cried like that. Mom held me for a long time before she spoke again. "I'll talk to your father," she said. Had I convinced her?
"I'm going to try out for track. You can't stop me," I mumbled into her shirt.
Mom rubbed my back soothingly. "I know," she said. "I know."
"I'm going to start training for Ironman too," I insisted.
Mom pulled away a little so we could face each other. "I don't know what that is, but I have a feeling I'm not going to like it," she said with a smile.
I was still crying, but I laughed a little at that. Mom was right; she wouldn't like it. After I had calmed down, Mom handed me tissues from the box on my desk, and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I felt a little better.
Mom looked at me carefully. "So, are you using protection?" she asked inquisitively.
"Mom! We are not having this conversation."
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