Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“How’s Reid? Did you talk to her about this?”
Grayson nodded. “I did. She’s so supportive and understanding. I don’t deserve her.”
“She feels otherwise,” Dr. Littleton said. “We’ve spoken at length about her role in your life, your rehab, and your relationship. I know you’ve both done the work to communicate how each of you are feeling. I’m not surprised she’s supportive, but you definitely deserve her, Grayson.”
He shrugged. “The other day while flipping through the channels, I came across this documentary on transplants. I spent hours watching it and wasted an entire day scouring the web for other stories. And then I searched the news for the time from when I was in the coma.”
“Oh?”
Grayson shrugged again. “I know you advised against it, but missing those weeks . . . I thought maybe something would spur a recollection, and my heart would start singing or some shit. I don’t know.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“The news itself is depressing.”
“Sports is more your thing, right?”
Grayson nodded. “I spent a lot of time scrolling through ESPN as a mind cleanser.”
“Did you find anything interesting?”
Another shrug. “Not really. I don’t know. Nothing held my interest.”
“Not UConn winning the college basketball championship?”
Grayson rolled his eyes. “Not a fan,” he said with a sigh. “Someday, my Zags will be there.” When the Gonzaga Bulldogs had made their first run in the tournament, back in 1999, Grayson became a die-hard fan. He appreciated their tenacity and determination and loved that they were a small school making it big.
For a moment, Grayson’s mood improved, and then flashes of what he’d found came back to him. “For the few happy moments, there’s been so much death,” he said to Dr. Littleton. “And then I remember someone lost their loved one so I could live . . .” He trailed off and looked out the window. “I’m grappling with this knowledge now more than ever.”
“What you went through is an experience like no other.”
“Except to the family who lost someone,” he said. “What’s their experience like?”
“It’s hard to say. Everyone copes differently. Have you thought about reaching out to UNOS?”
Grayson nodded. “I have, but at the same time, I don’t know how I’d feel if they’re not interested in hearing from me. The paperwork I have says I can write the family of my donor a letter, and while I think that’s nice, what if they don’t read it, and then my questions go unanswered?”
“Which are?” Littleton asked.
“What type of person was my donor? What did they like? Is my new love of Italian food something they enjoyed, or did my palate change from surgery?” Grayson shrugged.
“They may or may not have the answers, unless you try.”
Grayson nodded. His life had this odd imbalance. If he leaned too far to the left, he’d fall. Same with the right. The problem was, neither side had the answers he sought to understand his feelings.
On his way home from his appointment, he stopped at the bookstore and bought another journal. His current one only had a few pages left, which he figured he would fill tonight before he went to bed. Reid had started journaling as well. Documenting what was important to them—how they felt, their goals, achievements, and failures—gave them an effective outlet. At times, Grayson had struggled with bouts of depression, often brought on by his daily intake of meds, knowing that if he missed a day, he’d be one day closer to death. His own mortality weighed heavily on his mind. It was scary and at times even crippling.
Before he left the section, he chose another journal for Reid and then wandered over to the self-help section, not knowing what it was he looked for, but he hoped someone had written a book about their journey from transplant recipient to living with someone else’s heart. No one had. At least not a book for sale in the store.
It had started to rain while he was in the bookstore. He opted to take the subway home instead of walking. If he walked in the rain, his mom and Reid would kill him for being irresponsible. Saving them from jail time was definitely a bonus.
Halfway home, his earbuds died, and he could hear the conversation taking place in front of him. Two young women sat there, with their heads bent together, talking about how they’d looked up one of their dates online to see what they could find out. Grayson thought the idea was brilliant, and if he had a sister, he’d tell her to do the same thing. Everything was online these days.
A thought occurred, and despite the voice in his mind telling him this was a bad idea, Grayson proceeded anyway. He took his phone from his pocket, opened a web browser, and typed: people who died on or around April 9th in the United States.