“He is.” I studied her a moment, charmed by the level of compassion in her eyes as she worried about my friend’s situation. I felt this urge to just reach out and squeeze her hand because I understood exactly what she was feeling.
“Ready, baby?” Cora asked, making me jump to my feet and spin toward her. Wearing her usual short skirt, skimpy top and high heels, she strolled into the living room with a dazzling smile, all jazzed up and ready to go.
The smile on her face always meant she was ready to have fun, and I usually ended those nights a very lucky guy.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t going to have a completely awful time at the frat party after all. Remembering some of the things she’d done with me at other parties, I stepped toward her and took her hand, just wanting to fast-forward to those parts.
“Yep,” I answered her.
“Great.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced behind me as I started us toward the door. “Have a good night, Zo. Unless...do you want to come?”
I froze mid-step, and it took me a moment to glance around to catch Zoey’s response. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath for her answer until she shook her head. “No, thanks. But thank you for the offer.”
A hiss of oxygen rushed from my lungs. The bad part was, I wasn’t sure if I’d been hopeful for her to say yes or to say no.
“Three to six months?” Cora squawked incredulously. “But you just told us she’s a match. Her tissue type and blood group match mine perfectly. I thought you said that’s all we needed for a transplant.”
Sitting next to Cora at the doctor’s office, I reached for her hand to give it a supportive squeeze, but she jerked her fingers away and kept glaring at her doctor.
He sent her a stern look over the tops of his bifocals before letting out a sigh. “No, I said blood and tissue had to match before we could even get started. Miss Blakeland will still need to go through a series of tests to ensure her physical and mental health.”
Cora snorted as if that idea were absurd. “Like what?”
All the while I was gulping. But mental? What the heck did they mean by mental tests? Were they going to sic a psychologist on me? What if I ended up confessing about my childhood? Oh no, what if they didn’t think I was of sound enough mind to help Cora?
I started to sweat. My heart pounded as the doctor began to explain. “We’ll need her full medical history and to perform an extensive medical examination. She’ll probably have a few sessions with a psychologist.”
Oh God.
“What the hell for?” Cora cut in.
“There are many psychological impacts that affect donors. He’ll need to establish her motivation and—”
“Motivation?” Cora shook her head. “She’s my best friend. She loves me. What else do you need to know?”
The doctor nodded with her as if he agreed that it was silly, but he said, “It’s policy.” Glancing at me, he softly added, “There should only be a few of those sessions.”
I nodded, but inside I was ice-frozen scared. What if they uncovered how envious I sometimes felt of Cora? What if they decided I was a whack job and unfit to give her anything? She needed this kidney; I didn’t want to do anything wrong to keep it from her.
Fingers cramping as they wrapped around the arm of my chair, I kept listening to the doctor list all the things they’d have to test me for. “There will be a number of blood tests to make sure you’re not carrying any diseases: hepatitis, HIV, any infection that could be passed on. We’ll need to see how well your blood clots. We’ll have to monitor your blood pressure routinely. We’ll have to check how well both your kidneys are functioning as well as your liver and some other organs. There will be numerous urine tests, and scans like ultrasounds and MRIs. Then you’ll need to take an EKG, X-rays, Pap smear...”
Wow, they really were going to check me from top to bottom, inside and out. No wonder it took so long to get to the actual transplant part.
“After you pass all the tests, we can set you up with a consultation with the surgeon, who’ll go over the operation with you, get you a date for operation and have you sign the consent form.”
He smiled kindly, but Cora didn’t smile back. “And it really takes three to six months to get all that done?”
Lips pinching thin, the doctor answered, “Sometimes longer if any abnormalities in her test delay things.”
“Oh, mother,” Cora muttered, glancing acerbically at me. “We’re screwed.”
I just stared at her, unable to believe she’d just basically called me abnormal.