I couldn’t believe it. I was utterly numb and shell-shocked. It was 2016 and I was barely holding onto my phone while staring at an email. I needed my fifth open-heart surgery at 33 years old. Then came the flood of memories of the four other surgeries, the umpteen catheters, the hospital stays and the recovery. I collapsed into a sobbing mess.
Logically, I knew I needed the surgery to stay alive and have any kind of life. But I couldn’t bear the thought of what I’d have to
