She was a sweet girl in her twenties through with second opinions and here for the last resort. She’d failed all the meds. Specialists far away and nearby were advising her that it was time to take out her colon.

I knew her from months before. She was happy I was her hospital doc again.

“Do you think I should have the surgery?” she asked me in her room with her saucer brown eyes and chipmunk teeth. Even now I could see the effects the steroids were having on her face. Her fairy-like glamour fading in the months since I’d seen her last. Slightly sunken eyes, like evening makeup, only made them appear more imploring.

I knelt beside her, dropping from above her eye level to below, the weight of her trust and the iminent truth bringing me to her knee.

See enough of the present and sometimes you can glimpse the future, the most likely one at least. Three to six months down the road, more malnutrition, more side effects from the steroids, a less vibrant flower. Maybe an infection, maybe another blood clot, or worse. Maybe the surgeons will stop courting you as the petals begin to fall.  It is not a gift to see the wilting ahead.

“I do,” I began, looking up at her, as if making a proposal, “I think you should have the surgery.”

“But it’s so scary. I looked it up,” she said.

“You’re young. You’ll heal, better now than six months from now. The colostomy bag would only be for three months, they said,” I said trying to appeal to her vanity.

“I think I’ll talk to the surgeon again,” she eventually decided.

“Any other questions?”

“I had some palpitations earlier, but not right now,” she described as I felt her pulse. Her tapered fingers reminded me of the porcelain dolls in my mom’s china cabinet. Her pulse sped up as I moved from her wrist to listen to her chest. Not an uncommon reaction in younger women and their tell-tale hearts.

“We’ll get an EKG.” It didn’t expect it to tell me anything I didn’t already know, but it would tell her that someone cared. A doctor’s valentine.

“I won’t be here this week. Dr. Blonde will take over for me,” I told her with mixed feelings.

I was glad to take care of her again but I was a little relieved to be going off service too. Youth and beauty still make me nervous, especially in these grim tales. I learned early that princesses don’t always get to live happily ever after.

You have to play your heart card close to your chest. And hope no one is listening to it.