“Are you ready for our walk?” Nana asked the usual question every Friday evening.

“Of course, I am!” I excitedly exclaimed, ready for our talks about the end of the week and ready to fill my grandma in about my week.

Growing up, I always knew my grandma had heart problems. My sisters and I always knew our grandma couldn’t do everything and anything, but we did know our grandma would do anything to have more time with us. Whether it was strolls around the block or walks to the library, my grandma was there by my side. 

When I was going into sixth grade, we found out Nana, our grandma’s nickname, only had 2% heart function. Her heart pumps weren’t benefiting her anymore, but she found out that there was another way to live longer: an lvad. An lvad is a heart pump that replaces the heart, basically, a battery instead of a heart and it’s connected to a battery pack by a tube that comes out of the side. She would become a robot with no heart and The Toledo Hospital, the only hospital near us that does this surgery, offered the surgery to my grandma. My grandma, obviously, decided to do the surgery.

The gloomy morning of the surgery was rough for our family, as we woke up bright and early to drive that hour drive to the hospital. That car ride left me with my thoughts: Will my grandma be okay? Will we ever take another walk around the block?

When we arrived at the hospital, we knew exactly where to go. We’d been there many times before. We did the usual stroll through those cardiovascular doors and up the spiral staircase. My mom and I walked up to the nurses’ desk and asked for my grandma.

“Oh, Mary?” she excitedly asked. “She’s one of the nicest patients we’ve had.”

She directed us right to where we needed to go. Only two of us were permitted to go in at a time to say goodbye to Nana before she went in for surgery. The last two people were my grandpa and me. We gravely stumbled down the grey marbled floor, blinded by the bright white lights. After being buzzed in the room, I saw my grandma sitting upright with her blankets sprawled around her legs and her usual smile across her face. She didn’t have time to say anything before I gave my nana the biggest hug, and she pulled me in for an even bigger one. 

Nana pulled me in real close, against her scratching hospital gown, and she told me, “I know there’s a chance of not making it through this, but you know I love you; and I will forever.” 

My grandpa sat hunched over in the chair, hands over his face. As he stood up to say his goodbyes, I had to turn away. I watched my grandma be wheeled away, and I ran into the bathroom. Refusing to cry in front of anybody, I wanted to show my grandma how strong I was for her. My bottom lip quivered and my body shook. The tears trailed down my face, and all the sobs I held back poured out. 

After ten minutes, I realized I needed to go back into the waiting room. Although everyone knew from my splotchy face that I just cried, no one said anything. We just sat and waited, sat and waited.

 Lunch time came along, and my stomach was full of dread; yet I still tried to eat lunch. I attempted to enjoy a ham and cheese sandwich, and cheddar Pringles, along with a chocolate milk. Although I had everything I wanted, I sat in a daze. I watch everyone else around me ate and engaged in small talk as they tried to make to distract themselves. I felt trapped in a bubble, while everyone around me seemed fine. They made everything seem like it was all okay, and I couldn’t think like that. I kept focusing on the negative. I couldn’t imagine life without my grandma. I’ll miss the flannel pajamas she makes every Christmas that would keep my legs warm on cold, snowy nights. I’ll miss the sugar cookies she makes every holiday with the glaze that melts in my mouth. I’ll miss the last minute alterations she always does. Although I waited until the last minute to tell her about the alterations, she was never mad. Now back to sitting and waiting, sitting and waiting.

Around 7 o’clock came, and we kept being told, “She’ll be out any minute.” 

We waited there for so long. It felt like a sentencing waiting for the verdict. We wanted to order dinner but not if she would be released soon. We waited and waited.  I swear I haven’t lived a day longer than that one. I sat in those blue chairs with the green design, playing with the wrinkles on my jeans. We did anything to pass the time, and every five minutes we all checked the clock. The face of the clock mocked us as the heavy black arms ticked slower than usual. Finally, around 8:30, Nana’s sister-in-law, Deb, told us to order a pizza. We did. That 45 minute wait, felt like light years. After we ate our greasy pepperoni pizza, we went back to sitting and waiting, sitting and waiting.

Finally, after the longest day of my life, the doctor entered the waiting room.

He smiled and told us, “Mary is out of surgery, and you’re all allowed to go visit, as long as you're quiet.”

 Relief swept over my body, and all throughout the stride down the hallway, my only thought was how my nana will be okay. Once I walked in the room, there my grandma lay, lifeless. Dead-like. That wasn’t Nana. That couldn’t have been her. I couldn’t even stand to look at her as she looked to be so peaceful yet filled with so much pain. I had to look away. Who needs that many tubes? We all cried, even my sister Amber. My mom looked so shocked but so happy. Realization hit me: I had my nana back. She’s taking the first steps to becoming better. I knew after that day it would be all about her working towards going on another walk around the block.