“The cardiac enzymes tell us that you had a small heart attack again and that it’s not completely over yet, “I tell the old lady.

I read the cards (cardiology) consultation which basically said, “Call us back if she changes her mind.”

“I read that you still don’t want any invasive treatments – no heart cath,” I question.

“No, I’ve had so many caths and stents.  I’m just not sure if it’s worth it.  Going back and forth to home and the hospital,” the old lady says.

I could plead with her.  I have with others.  Pull out the Ace of Diamonds – what would your children want?  Or the Queen of Hearts – don’t you want to play with your grandchildren or great-grandchildren?  It’s  judgemental in a way.  Judging how someone decides to live and die.  Who am I to say you are choosing unwisely.  I haven’t lived in your shoes.  Your heart has not lived in my chest.  She would call my bluff anyways.  I keep my game face up.

“We’ll keep the blood thinners and nitro going until the pain stops,” it’s easier to focus on the can-do’s.

“I’ve made all my arrangements,” she goes on, “Paid for my funeral.  My will.  I’m just a burden to my children.  You probably think I sound –”

“No,” I interrupt, “I think you know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“It’s just that we all have to face it,” the kindly grandma says,  “Our death.  We all do, sometime.  Then you ask, am I helping my children or holding them back?  I can’t even walk.”

I stare at her.  At the mindset of deciding that this is your last turn in the game.  I think about it a lot.  But the gulf between thinking about it and being there is vast.  I wouldn’t want to be a burden to my kids either.  I won’t even accept my son’s unsolicited offers of play money during Monopoly.

“That’s not in the rules, Sun Su.  You’re supposed to keep that money so you can win,” I told him.

“But I just want to give it to you, appah,” he replied.

“Give me a hug instead.”

(He’s not so generous when playing with his sister, or when he’s reaming me in Halo 3 either.)

The next morning, the old lady’s chest feels like it’s in a vice for a half hour.

“I wasn’t even doing anything.  Just resting and it was the worst pain yet,” she says in the identical position and chair as yesterday.

I showed her my cards – either live like this for the remainder of your short life, or give the cardiologists a chance to fix it.  Pick one.  She opted for the latter to my relief.

That’s how the game should be played.   Everybody wins.