Reading About A Man Needing A New Heart
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

I found his book on Long Island in a used bookstore along Hempstead Turnpike.  It was a grey cover, smooth and interesting, and I traded one book for it.  It might have been one of my Stephen King’s, but I don’t remember which book.  What I do remember is this man’s story, his true story of needing a new heart.

I read through a good portion of it before finding that I could read no more.  Something about his words, his life echoed deep into mine, a hello into my subconscious mind.  I couldn’t put a finger on it, and I never would until 2008, where I would discover that I had a moderate to severe Mitral Valve Prolapse.  Of all the doctors that I’ve seen, it was my GYN that caught that, but still, it was a far cry from this man’s dying heart and his fight to survive.

When I did dig through his book, his life, I met a new perspective on what we call life and death.  Some of us cherish life, and some of us take it for granted.  But for him to live was to die, and for someone to die was for him to live.  He needed death to grant him a new heart, and his life was a series of waiting and doctor visits, a sad tale that nobody should endure.  And I still wonder today if this man received his new heart.

And as I wonder this, I am now facing my own heart surgery, a surgery that promises to repair the faults and give me another chance on life.  I’m no stranger to death, and he knows me too well especially with Ocean City, Maryland.  Last year, I was reminded that it was ten years since then, and thank God, I was still alive.  So, should I be worried now?  Is this another obstacle in my path, or is my ticket being punched in?  It’s only heart surgery, but it is heart surgery.

The odds are not in my fair, if I wait.  I could feel the burden now with each chest pain or race of my heart.  If I wait, I’ll get worse, so this has to happen.  And once again, I’ll have to go under the knife, but what happens after?

Not too many people know the story of Ocean City, Maryland, and there were so many signs not to go.  I went for a boy.  I went for love, and he broke my heart in two.  I went for him when the signs were against it, and I almost lost my life.  It’s now almost eleven years later.  Have I made a difference?  Have I finally gone from just being alive to actually being alive, and yet, my life still seems contained in its shoe box existence.  Maybe, I’ll never break on through to the other side, but then I remember that book.  That man never gave up.  He kept hoping and fighting, and even with what I’ve read, I hear its echo now, a hello into my subconscious mind.  So, I will not think of going quietly into that good night.  I’m not done here, and I still need to break on through to where my dreams lie, write my heart out, and let you know that I was and still am alive.