A Fixed Heart, Broken

A few months ago, I was on the phone with my cardiologist, Dr Singh, arranging the details of my next pacemaker surgery.  As we ended our conversation, he added, "I want to let you know that I'm retiring in October."  "You are," I confirmed in a choked voice, and the both of us hurried off the phone, leaving me to hang my head and cry as I sat parked in my car. 

I knew this day was coming.  I am 32, and if you do the math, that makes Dr Singh, well, older.  Each year I uttered to whoever would listen, nurses, my husband, my parents, my friends: "he'll never retire, he's not allowed." I couldn't go there; this man has been one of the single most influential individuals on this earth not only to myself, but to my entire family.  There has been two feeble little weeks in my life where Dr Singh was not in the picture, and the subsequent years have been spent under his spectacular, watchful care.  I have grown up hearing the story of when I went into cardiac arrest as a baby, and Dr Singh performed CPR on a moving guerney as I was rushed to Children's.  I grew up with Dr Singh always shaking my hand and never treating me as a little kid, even when I was.  I grew up with Dr Singh holding me as a baby, and after seeing my through my first pregnancy, he then held my own in his arms.

Today was my last appointment with him. Michael and my dad were there, partly because these appointments are an odd sort of tradition for us, but mostly to say goodbye. Most of it was quite normal, the EKG and echocardiogram beforehand (everything is looking good), and Dr Singh listening to my heart one last time with his stethescope, which has always had this clown clipped to it...you can turn its head so it shows a sad face or a happy one.  I resisted the temptation to turn it to the correct position for today.  And then there was talk of his plans for retirement, followed by words of gratitude and admiration from us to him, him to us, and hugs and pictures.  He walked out and we cried, paralyzed for a bit in that exam room. 

It occurred to me that as sad as this day was for us all, what a full circle has been drawn here.  "I'm so glad you're here," Michael told me.  And I knew what he meant.  If it wasn't for Dr Singh, I wouldn't have survived.  There would be no us, and no Oliver.  God used the man who just walked out the door to shape our family in dramatic ways.  I thought of how many times my family must have cried in exam rooms, in waiting rooms, in hospital lobbys, so worried. And here we were, also with tears in an exam room, but in a very different place indeed.

Tonight my heart breaks over the one who fixed mine. Thank you, Dr Singh, for all you have done for this family.