Change of Heart

by Jodi Picoult

Claire’s arrhythmias had worsened. Her AICD was going off six times a day. I’d been told that when it fired, it felt like an electric current running through the body. It restarted your heart, but it hurt like hell. Once a month would be devastating; once a day would be debilitating. And then there was Claire’s frequency. There were support groups for adults who had to live with AICDs; there were stories of those who preferred the risk of dying from an arrhythmia to the sure knowledge that they would be shocked by the device sooner or later. Last week, I had found Claire in her room reading the Guinness Book of World Records. ‘Roy Sullivan was struck by lightning seven times over thirty-six years,’ she’d said. ‘Finally, he killed himself.’ She lifted her shirt, staring down at the scar on her chest. ‘Mom,’ she begged, ‘please make them turn it off.’ I did not know how long I would be able to convince Claire to stay with me, if this was the way she had to do it.