Family History

Grandfather.
Middle child.
Cancer.
Father stayed home every Sunday while his mother took her children to worship.
Since the cancer, he only wears sandals to church — otherwise he gets too hot.

Grandmother.
Only child.
Hypochondriac.
Cleans compulsively, so the kitchen is always spotless.
When her parents immigrated, they changed their name to something more American.
Found her religion at 17.

Mother.
Oldest child.
Inferiority complex.
Compares herself to her sisters, who put more time into their appearances than she does.
Keeps it together for her kids.
Works twice a week to help pay off her husband’s student loans.

Grandfather.
Used to be a child.
Potentially abusive.
Plants a garden every year.
Sends visitors home with more fresh produce than they can eat before it goes bad.
Rarely shows affection, even to his own children.

Grandmother.
Youngest child.
Hip replacement.
Slipped on the way home from her son’s house five Christmases ago and her hip shattered.
Can no longer walk on her own.
Wasn’t there when her daughter died.
Older sister is the only sibling still living.

Father.
Youngest child.
Mostly deaf.
Probably depressed.
Called himself his mother’s favorite child.
Cried when his sister died.
May have been bullied as a child.
Losing control.

Daughter.
Oldest child.
Used to think divorce was the worst thing that could happen to a family.
Self-diagnosed with anxiety, some obsessive tendencies.
Doesn’t want children.
Chose to leave a religion that will damn her for her decisions.
Her brother learned to yell and her sister learned to conform.
Never stopped to think about why.

Arrhythmic

The doctor said something is wrong with my heart.
It beats out of time, pulses irregular,
slower when I exhale, but I can’t control that.
I’ve never been good at controlling my heart.
The doctor said I might have an arrhythmia.

Arrhythmia: any disturbance in the rhythm of the heartbeat—
but an erratic heartbeat is better than a silent one.

The doctor said her brain died.
I didn’t believe him.
When the clot stopped her breathing, her heart stopped too.
By the time the paramedics arrived twelve minutes later,
her brain had swollen too much for her to wake up.
She died a brain death, but it was her heart that killed her.
And then they took her bones, her eyes, her organs
so that someone else could live.
They didn’t take her heart.

The doctor said he needed to know my family’s medical history.
I didn’t trust him enough to talk about her.
I didn’t trust myself not to cry.
I didn’t trust him at all.
Condescending, corrupt, conservative.
He didn’t care about the state of my heart,
just the state of my mother’s bank account.

The doctor said I needed a 24-hour cardiac monitor,
more tests in a month or so.
His needles left a bruise on my hand.
No monitor will every properly diagnose me.
No treatment will ever give me control.

The doctor said something is wrong with my heart.
I’m afraid he might be right,
but whatever it is, he can’t fix it
because maybe I don’t want my bruises to fade.

The doctor said something is wrong with my heart,
and he was right. Whatever else might be wrong,
he can't fix what's broken inside.