"When you get a new heart, will I still be in there?" She says, barely a whisper. "Will I still be in that heart?"
"You're not just in my heart," Jeongguk replies truthfully. "You're in the blood flowing through my veins, you're in my mind, you're u...
While clothes do not, as the saying would sometimes have it, make the man, and fine feathers do not make fine birds, sometimes they can add a certain spice to a recipe.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The doctor tells Jeongguk that he needs a new heart--because his current one is failing him, even after several surgeries. It's a big risk, but it's a risk he must take.
"Just so we can monitor your conditions, I suggest you stay here in the meantime," the doctor says and Jeongguk feels like he's been punched in the gut. All hopes of getting out of the hospital soon vanishes like thin air.
In all the years he's spent coming in and out of the hospital, Jeongguk has never gotten used to it. He hates the smell of chemicals and drugs and disinfectants. It makes him feel like he's going to die faster than he's supposed to.
It smells like death. And even though Jeongguk isn't afraid of death, he doesn't need to be reminded of it.
He nearly nods his head in agreement to all the doctor's suggestions. His mother is seated beside him next to the bed. From the way her forehead creases and the concentrated look in her eyes, Jeongguk knows that she's worried sick.
Although he has never seen her break down in front of him, he knows that right after the doctor leaves, she would go into the bathroom, lock herself in and cry. He knows this because he's seen her the day before one of his previous surgeries. His mother would never show him how worried she was, but Jeongguk knows. He knows and he feels like bad.
Being born with an unstable heart isn't his fault. It's not hers either. It's just the odds of whether or not he's lucky to turn out as a healthy child.
He sighs internally. Maybe he's the unlucky one.
As soon as the doctor leaves, Jeongguk leans back against the bed frame and shuts his eyes. His fingers are clenching around the book in his hand and there's an internal struggle as he fights the urge to throw the book into the wall and shout in frustration.
His body relaxes when he feels his mother's touch. He opens his eyes to see her clutching his hand in hers. Just that small gesture is enough to reassure him. Because somehow, his mother has a talent of making him feel like there's always hope in the world.
"It's going to be fine," His mother says with a smile on her face. Jeongguk wants to say no, it's not going to be fine, but he doesn't want to watch that smile fade away and know he's the cause of it. So instead, he stays silent and smiles back.
One thing's for sure: he isn't getting any better.
All those nights of staying up, praying, listening to his mother pray, listening to her cry. None of it is paying off. Maybe wishing on stars is no use to him. Maybe all those stories people tell of stars granting your wishes are just a child's tale. Maybe hope is just an illusion to make everything seem better when in reality, nothing is going well.
