She Started Carrying in Her Purse
Last month, Dr. Evans had set down her chart with the expression of a man who has practiced delivering difficult news and still finds it difficult.
“Say it straight,” Sylvie told him. She had always preferred the plain version.
He sat down across from her. “The heart valve situation has progressed, Sylvie.”
“How much?”
“We need to schedule surgery.”
She gripped her purse in her lap. “Can we push it?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“I’m asking because I have things that need to be put in order, Dr. Evans. I know my age and I know the risk, and I am asking you as a practical question, not an emotional one.”
He looked at her with something between professional respect and personal concern. “We’re talking weeks. Not months.”
She nodded once.
In the parking lot, she sat in her car without starting it. A
