When I was little and afraid of the dark, monsters, and bad dreams, Mom would let me have “special nights” where I could sleep in her bed. We’d watch movies, eat popcorn, and drink soda until I fell asleep. Every one of those nights, the nightmares still happened. There wasn’t a cure for those. But the difference in them was there was always this prince that came to save me. He had dark hair, the same length and cut as Sebastian’s. He was tall like him too. Same build. The walk was the same. Everything about him was the same. The only thing about those nightmares when I was little was I never could see his face. It was always blurred out. But from the time we were four, Sebastian played the part of prince charming in every performance we had. Then, he started writing our own fairytale. Except, it’s turned into a tragedy. One of epic Romeo and Juliet proportions.
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Claire Ross has never been good enough. Not for the girls in the elite group of dancers in her class and certainly not for the approval of her ballet teacher, Mr. Robins. She definitely doesn’t like what she sees in the mirror. Simply put, she doesn’t love herself, so how could she possibly love someone else?
After twelve years of friendship, Sebastian Reyes’ adoring gaze holds more. They soon find themselves unable to control their feelings for one another. When tragedy strikes, Claire finds herself in a very unlikely and unfavorable position. Regardless of the weight of the emotion, she must make difficult decisions that impact the rest of her life. Will Claire see that her true love has been right in front of her? Happily ever after isn’t just for fairy tales. To get hers, all she has to do is trust, open her heart and fall. “Claire.” He releases my legs, pushes himself off the ground, and runs his hands through his hair as he walks to the ocean. Once he’s in the water, he turns to face me and lets his body fall straight back. It’s like it’s in slow motion. His eyes never leave mine until they do. Until his body is gone.
Sebastian turns on the stereo. It’s an instrumental piece, but I know it, and it’s not classical. “This is The Civil Wars.”
“The Violet Hour.” “Why did you pick this? It’s one thing for Robins to ruin classical music by playing it on repeat because I don’t really like classical music, but I freakin’ love The Civil Wars. You’re going to ruin them for me.” He pulls a bandanna from a drawer and wraps it around my eyes. “What are you doing?” “Three things, Claire. Trust, balance, and timing. Listen to the music. Feel the beat. Do you feel it?” I nod, swallowing. I swear my heart starts to beat to the rhythm. It reminds me of some kind of sea song, of something that would be played at a harbor, of ship horns as they’re passing by in the night. It’s ominous and dark. The opposite of the brightness that had been shining through the windows prior to him covering my eyes. Something about it moves me, and I want to dance, but I don’t know the area, how much room I have. “Count it out loud, Claire.” “One, two, three. Four, five, six.” My voice sounds much too breathy. “One, two, three. Four, five, six.” He reaches down and takes my hand. “You trust me, right?” I nod. “We established that,” I mutter. “I survived the Ferris wheel.” He chuckles. “Trust is key, but so is balance. In lifts and turns, if either of us is off, one or both of us could fall. We could get hurt.” He squeezes my fingers. “They go hand-in-hand in order to keep us safe. Got it?" “What if you help me learn to teach?” I can see the wheels spinning in his beautiful head. His green eyes light up with hope, promise, and an intensity I’ve never witnessed in him before. I think he’s about to offer me a commitment I can’t refuse, which requires a level of trust I’ve never afforded another human being, certainly not a boy. “And what if I help you become the best dancer you can be so you can go to any school you want and it not cost you a penny?” The thing is, Sebastian Reyes has more talent in his pinkie finger than most dancers have in their whole bodies. The reason his parents expect him to dance professionally is because it’s a given. He’s that good. He could dance for whoever he wants. There’s a lot I could learn from him despite him being my peer. And the object of my obsession and current affection. He gives my hand another squeeze. “What do you say?”
#Heartfall #ComingSoon #TuesdayTeaser It's not a typo on the cover. I co-wrote a children's book with my son, Noah, under a different pen name, J.P. McGee. Be sure to visit our new website, www.sportsimpossible.com to order signed copies. Noah loves practicing his self-taught (don't get me started) cursive handwriting by signing books for people. We're thinking about writing a sequel at some point. Composing Sports Impossible led to me finding the non-profit organization, Team IMPACT. Since becoming a part of their family, Noah's become inspired to expand Matthew's story. But this book took us almost a year to get everything put together, and I need some time to recover before we dive back into another one. And I am consumed with Heartfall at the moment. About Sports Impossible: Every day Matthew watches his friend, John, play football and baseball outside with his dad. Every day, Matthew wishes he could do the same, but he realizes he’s only able to play sports in his dreams because he has mitochondrial disease. Matthew’s parents make it their mission to try to make the best out of a bad situation by showering him with gifts and special experiences. Will they be able to give him hope? Will they find something he is able to do? Or are SPORTS IMPOSSIBLE? #Heartfall (Unedited and subject to change) He pulls me in. “You said you trusted me.” “As my partner.” They latch the cross bar. There’s no escaping. My breaths increase in speed and frequency. “I’m going to have a panic attack.” The wheel moves a bit, then we stop. “Trusting me as your partner also means trusting me as your partner in crime. It means trusting me in everything. Breathe.” He turns my chin. “Slower.” My eyes focus on his and nothing else. The sea breeze blows our hair, the carriage rocks in the air, and with every move, my breathing hitches. “I’m.” Even though I’m speaking, I can barely even hear my own voice. “Going. To. Kill. You. When. We. Get. Down. If. We. Don’t. Die.” He chuckles. “Really?” “Uh. Huh.” Claire Ross has never been good enough. Not for the girls in the elite group of dancers in her class and certainly not for the approval of her ballet teacher, Mr. Robins. She definitely doesn’t like what she sees in the mirror. Simply put, she doesn’t love herself, so how could she possibly love someone else?
After twelve years of friendship, Sebastian Reyes’ adoring gaze holds more. They soon find themselves unable to control their feelings for one another. When tragedy strikes, Claire finds herself in a very unlikely and unfavorable position. Regardless of the weight of the emotion, she must make difficult decisions that impact the rest of her life. Will Claire see that her true love has been right in front of her? Happily ever after isn’t just for fairy tales. To get hers, all she has to do is trust, open her heart and fall. Spoiler Alert Dear Chicago Med, Since you started airing, I’ve become a huge fan of your sexy doctors, your unusual dramas, and the accuracy with which you typically portray them. When I saw the preview for last night’s episode last week, I knew then I may have to skip it because it hit too close to home. You see, people have judged us and how we handle our disease, questioned the validity of our diagnosis, much like the doctors did with the father in your preview. This happens a lot to people with mitochondrial disease, and I hoped the episode wouldn’t put the two together because they are already over-associated, but a few days later, I saw an article that the producers consulted with one of the top-ranked mitochondrial specialists, whom I’ve met and had the honor of hearing speak, and it offered me hope you would do justice to our disease. The child came in unable to breathe. By the end of the show it was concluded she was faking her symptoms for sympathy from her father, who was grieving the loss of his wife who died from cancer. They had created some kind of co-dependency on each other. Somehow, his seeking care for her created a medical child abuse situation. This would have been fine, well, and good if your doctors had not prepped to intubate her. A child isn’t able to stop breathing to the extreme that she needs to be intubated by faking it. Furthermore, children aren’t able to fake not eating and drinking to the point of needing gastrostomy tubes and central venous catheters placed. And parents don’t have access to the supplies to place them, the skills or facilities, or the knowledge to do so from Google. Why were her other physician’s not consulted? Your doctor suggested she “knew” mito. We hear this all the time. It’s a loaded, dangerous statement. In fact, when I hear it, it scares me because of scenarios just like what played out on your episode because hearing that someone thinks they know mito and seeing they know how to treat it are two different things. There aren’t many things more dangerous than someone with a lot of ignorance and a little power, as your show proved. To the general public, they would think your pretend doctors truly knew mito too. Or that your producers did their research because they spoke to a top notch researcher, whom I love, for a few minutes. But what your viewers don’t know is that a muscle biopsy is no longer the gold standard for diagnosis as was suggested. What I want them to know is the dad was right. For a lot of us, anesthesia risks outweigh the benefits. There are other diagnosis methods, most of which are now superior in accuracy to the muscle biopsy. Genetics have come a long way, as has awareness. But Chicago Med, it only took you an hour to throw us back years. You took the Justina Pelletier case, twisted it, sensationalized it, inaccurately portrayed it, and made an entire population of medically fragile people with a life-threatening disease look crazy. And as if that wasn’t enough, then you had the audacity to call our diagnosis a waste basket, bucket diagnosis. To say I was appalled is an understatement. Mitochondrial Disease is not rare. It claims the lives of more children than all childhood cancers combined(1). It is also more common than Munchausen’s and Munchausen’s by Proxy(2). One in two hundred people carry a disease causing mutation(3). One in twenty five hundred people are affected by mitochondrial disease(4). Every thirty minutes a child is born who will develop mitochondrial disease by the age of ten.(5) And many children do not survive beyond their teenage years.(6) That’s the disease you had the opportunity to portray. Those are the families you had the chance to show, to give a voice. It’s not too late to make it right. We in the mito community urge you to revisit mitochondrial disease. Bring this child and this story back. Mito symptoms come and go. Have her symptoms relapse. Educate the doctors and show they were wrong. We urge you to rescind the damage you’ve done by portraying this disease as a fictitious one. (1)The Lily Foundation (2)Cleveland Clinic - An overview of Factitious Disorders (3)PRN News Wire (4)Foundation of Mitochondrial Medicine (5)UMDF (6)UMDF ©2016 J.B. McGee. All Rights Reserved. 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