He looks at me and mouths, yeah, slacker.
“Wait! What’s your new address? I want to send you a housewarming present.”
I smile and give her Gabe’s, I mean our, address.
I still don’t know if I’m going to stay once my condo is move-in ready. Maybe I could convince Gabe to move there with me. But I’m growing more and more fond of this place, especially the beautiful tree-covered property it sits on.
Gabe squats down and takes Roxy’s floppy ears in his hands.
And I’m especially fond of its tenants.
“I’ll call you later, Trish, okay?”
“Okay. Tell Gabe I said hi, and that I’m really sorry about Travis.”
“Not your fault, but I will.”
“Okay, love you.”
“Love you. Bye”
I hang up and look at Gabe. “Trisha says hi.”
“Did you thank her for sending your ex-boyfriend down here to fight me?”
“Ha. Ha. She feels really bad about it, not that she should. But she told me to tell you she was sorry.”
He leans against the boxes on the table. “She’s forgiven.”
“Well, that’s very big of you,” I say, making my way over to him. I kiss him softly. “Thank you for bringing the last of the boxes up.”
“You’re welcome, slacker.”
I purse my lips at him. “What did your parents say about me moving in?”
“The same thing yours did. They want me to make an honest woman out of you.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again. “I guess you better not let them down then.”
He shakes his head and kisses me. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Are you ready for your appointment? We need to get going.”
“Yep.”
* * *
I hold Gabe’s hand and attempt to stay calm while we sit in the waiting room at the neurologist’s office. I’m a bundle of nerves, but Gabe seems cool as a cucumber. I guess this must be normal to him by now. He’s been seeing Dr. Franklin for the last eight years. I haven’t been here since I was twenty-one when I came to some of his early appointments.
Dr. Franklin performed Gabe’s surgery after the accident and Gabe still sees him regularly to monitor his seizures. But today’s appointment is to discuss the surgery that could possibly eliminate the seizures altogether.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“Gabriel,” a nurse calls across the waiting room.
He stands up and pulls on my hand. “Come on.”
“Are you sure I’m allowed to go back with you?”
“Yes, come on.”
I follow him back to the small examination room.
“Dr. Franklin will be right in,” the nurse says, before closing the door.
I stare at the posters on the wall that depict the human brain. One shows it in three-dimensional slices. Gabe points to it. “That’s where my scar is. The temporal lobe. That’s where they’ll have to go in.”
“Gabe, just know that whatever you decide, I support you, okay? You don’t have to go through with the surgery if you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Hello, Gabe,” the doctor says as he enters the room.
Gabe reaches out and shakes his hand. “Hi, Dr. Franklin.”
“Good to see you, son. And who is this?” he asks, turning to me.
Gabe smiles and says, “Dr. Franklin, this is Liv.”
I see realization flash across his face. “Liv. Yes.” He shakes my hand with both of his. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. It’s good to see you too.”
He turns to Gabe, clipboard in hand, and takes a seat on the rolling exam stool.
Gabe and I sit down in the chairs across from him.
“So, Gabe, I understand you want to talk about the surgery I’ve been pushing you to have for the last six months. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Gabe looks at me and then back at Dr. Franklin. “It just feels like the right time.”
“I see.” He glances at me and smiles. “Well, I’ve given you all the risks, told you what’s involved. It’s really up to you to make the decision. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a perfect candidate for the surgery. I think we have a very good chance that the seizures could cease completely.”
Gabe pulls his eyebrows together and the little line appears over the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I understand. But would you mind going over it all again?” He glances at me. He wants me to hear it firsthand.
“Absolutely,” Dr. Franklin says, picking up his cue. “As you know, there’s a scar on the temporal lobe of your brain that’s causing your seizures. It looks like a little spider web about the size of a golf ball. It’s residual scarring from the blunt force to that part of your brain during the accident. We removed most of the damaged tissue, but there was a lot of swelling, and well, we were just trying to keep you alive.” He smiles briefly, but the thought knots my stomach. “Aside from the scar, your brain has completely recovered. So, if we go back in now, I can make a clean cut and remove the scarred tissue.”
“But won’t that just leave a new scar?” I ask.
“It will. But a clean scar almost never causes seizures.”
“Oh.”
“The surgery has a seventy percent success rate.”
Seventy percent? That’s it? I assumed it was higher. “What about the other thirty percent?”
“Those patients still have great improvement, much fewer seizures that are more easily controlled with medication.”
“But you’re already taking medication, right?” I ask Gabe. I’m suddenly filled with questions I can’t contain.
He nods and Dr. Franklin answers for him. “We’ve tried several different medications on Gabe, but they’ve become less and less effective. Even if he does still have the occasional seizure, the medication would be able to do its job and greatly minimize the frequency.”
“Okay.”
“There’s no way to predict which percentile Gabe will fall into, but a temporal lobectomy is the only way to ensure decreased seizure activity.”
“Guess it’s a no-brainer then,” Gabe says, laughing at his pun.
Dr. Franklin smiles. “So, let’s talk risks. Because this is brain surgery and I would be remiss not to paint the full picture.”
I chew the inside of my lip. This is what it all boils down to.
“Complications can arise. Usually one out of every fifty patients incurs some kind of adverse side effect from the surgery. That might be depression, change in personality, partial loss of vision, speech problems, memory loss...”
My face screws up as I listen.
“Death.”
“Death?” He could die from this?
“I’m not going to die, Liv.”
“You can die from a tonsillectomy,” Dr. Franklin says to me. “Surgery is surgery. But Gabe is right. And I’d put money on him pulling through with flying colors. I wouldn’t suggest the surgery if I didn’t already believe that. Gabe is a good candidate. This surgery will change his life. It will give him back a normal life. Yes, there are risks involved, and I want you to be aware of them,” he says, looking at Gabe. “But in this case, the risks don’t outweigh the benefits.”