A Heart Life

Leena Coughlin is simply eye-candy to her husband Steven’s sky-rocketing career. Steven may be a brilliant cardiac surgeon, but the self-absorbed man is more focused on other people’s hearts—and his own pleasure—than on the emotional heart of his family. He’s a God-like man, after all, saving lives every day. And a man like him has needs. More than his wife, Leena, can provide.

To fend off the growing loneliness of her marriage, Leena strikes up a relationship with a stranger, Michael Casspi, through a letters-to-prisoners program. Michael was also once a cardiac surgeon. He claimed that assisting his dying wife with suicide was an act of mercy. The state called it murder. Can a man imprisoned behind bars fill Leena’s emotional void?

Focused on their own strained relationship, neither Steven nor Leena has noticed the deteriorating mental health of their college-aged daughter, Joy. 

Two men. One woman. And a fragile girl teetering on the knife-edge of depression. But when Michael is unexpectedly released from prison, the precarious balance of all their lives will be dramatically altered forever.

Praise For A Heart Life

“Enjoyed the overview of each character. With the conclusion of every chapter I was pulled into the next. I couldn’t have anticipated what was to come. After reading this wonderful book, I felt as if I had just seen a GREAT movie and kept musing on the characters and the story line. I actually want to read it again because I enjoyed it so much. Excellent job Patti !”

“Excellent book written by Patricia Yager Delagrange,
Omg… I am savoring every page…. and the personal remembrance of Our Betty….and all the landmarks take me back……loving your “A Heart Life” !!!! A true novel…. I loved reading a bit Each night to find out what happens next to Leena, Joy…Karen…Steve…Michael…….. enjoying it….❤️ Couldn’t put the book down had to finish it last night.”

“Good true to life story of modern day strife and how it affects all families at times. Many times there are no solutions to fix them the easy way. This is the first book by the author and will not be the last!”

Excerpt

MICHAEL

Present Day

Outsiders call Balmoral State Penitentiary the rich man’s version of San
Quentin. A prison for pussies, the guards say, as they shove us into our
individual cells. No sharing cells in this place. Guess they’re afraid we
might find a way to smuggle in a shank on visiting day and kill our
roomie.

Wikipedia describes Balmoral State Penitentiary, otherwise referred to
as BSP, as a state penitentiary in California nicknamed “the vacation
spot for white-collar criminals.” Labeling BSP as a vacation spot is the
most egregious offense of all.

I don’t have anything to compare it to, since this is the first time I’ve
ever been in prison, in jail, in any place they send people who commit a
crime.

Immediately after sentencing, my attorney told me Balmoral would be
an easy place for me to fit in.

My first feeling, after he said that, was indignant. I don’t want to ever
“fit in” in prison. I know what he means, though. So far, I haven’t been
beat up by any gang members. That’s a good thing. Here at BSP, they
separate the not-so-bad from the bad from the worst. I’m categorized as
not-so-bad. Interesting, that.
First of all, I don’t belong here. But isn’t that what every prisoner says?

I didn’t do it.

There’s been a mistake.

You’re confusing me with someone who looks just
like me.

Now, let me reiterate. I don’t belong here. I didn’t say I didn’t commit a
crime. In prison, there are levels of severity of crimes. No, what I should
say is, there are levels of acceptability of crimes, amongst prisoners as
well as guards, referred to as the G’s.

Not everyone has been sent here for a white-collar crime, though.
California prisons are notoriously overcrowded. Prisoners are
transferred from prison to prison. Here at BSP, we have some typical
white-collar criminals who are businessmen or government
professionals, people of high social status whose crimes include bribery,
extortion,
embezzlement, cyber crimes. They’re at the top of the heap.

Then we have the guys who we (and I use that term loosely, since I’ve
never felt a part of this place) consider the bottom-of-the-barrel
criminals. These guys have committed major crimes like murder, rape,
child molestation, kidnapping. These rapists, child molesters, pedophiles,
and most of the kidnappers are considered the lowest of the low in BSP,
the scum of the earth.

Sandwiched between the top of the heap and the bottom are the middle
guys, the murderers who, for numerous and random reasons, are not
considered despicable, depending on their victims and the reasons
behind their crimes.

Fortunately for me, I am not at the top, nor am I at the bottom.
Theoretically, I fit in the middle. However, most of the guys here don’t
consider me a murderer either.

My attorney has taken almost my last dime at this point, but he’s worth
it if I can get out of this place early, which looks as if that might happen.
According to him, since California just passed a law making assisted
suicide legal, he swears he’ll be able to have my sentence for involuntary
manslaughter reduced to time served. But he told me it’s not a slam-
dunk.

While it has now become permissible for doctors to prescribe death-
inducing medications, it’s still taboo in the medical community, of which
I am no longer a member, by the way. The court ripped away my
privileges before I stepped through the prison doors. Additionally, my
crime, if you’re so inclined to call it that, isn’t a classic case of what
California terms “assisted suicide.”

According to the new California law, a doctor must examine the patient,
verify that s/he has an illness that will likely be terminal within six
months, and determine that s/he’s mentally competent. Those findings
must be verified by a physician who isn’t affiliated with the first
physician.

The patient must then fill out and sign a form requesting the life-ending
medication, and the signing must be witnessed by at least two other
people. Once the prescription has been written, the patient can decide
whether to fill it and when. California law requires the patient to then
take the medication themselves. No one is allowed to administer it. And
there lies the rub in my case. Or several rubs, actually.

Heather didn’t fill out and sign the form requesting the medication. Also,
there were no witnesses. Additionally, my wife didn’t fill the prescription
then decide to take it on May 23, 2013. She was unable to administer the
drug to herself. She couldn’t even pick up a utensil to eat.

I administered the pentobarbital. Heather told me that’s what she
wanted. Well, she didn’t ask for the pentobarbital, per se, but she told
me at the end, when she could still talk, that she wanted to die. She
begged me to help her before she got to the point where she was
incapable of speaking or writing or puckering her lips to kiss me or move
her arms to hug me.

“If I get to that point, Michael, please promise me you’ll help end my life.
If you love me, you will.”

So I made her a promise. She couldn’t talk or write or kiss or hug. She
was dying. She was practically dead. And she was suffering, terribly.

I just made her experience shorter.