True Love (41 page)

I can’t believe this is happening to our child. Cancer. The word alone sends shivers of pure terror
through me. But Melinda is such a brave little soldier. She goes through every treatment without complaint. I believe it’s due to years of discipline from ballet. Ah … her ballet. She gets upset with me if I even mention it. Competing and losing a part to another is one thing; having your dream snatched away so cruelly is quite another. She doesn’t deserve this
.

I must stop thinking negatively. Melinda WILL dance again. She WILL beat leukemia. She absolutely, positively WILL. I can’t afford to think otherwise. Lenny has his job to keep his mind occupied. But my job, my joy, has always been Melinda. How ironic that in my “volunteer” mode, I chaired events that raised thousands for this hospital. Now our Melinda is a recipient of all that effort and money. And me? I feel “out of work.” How can I let Melinda know that I want her to need me as much as I need her?

M
ELINDA’S
D
IARY

July ??? (Lost track of time, but it seems like forever.)

I felt pretty good today. No nausea, and the food even tasted all right. (Some of the meds I take give food a funny—like peculiar, not ha-ha—taste). I can’t believe all the presents and flowers and cards I’ve gotten! My friends from school, dance class, relatives … Mom had to take stuff home. Dad sent me a HUGE bouquet. Bailey gave me a white teddy bear with a red heart sewn into its fur. But my best present is a whole dozen pink roses from Jesse. They are so beautiful. His card said, “Roses go to the prettiest flower of all. From a Rose (admirer).” Isn’t that sweet? I’d like to see him face to face … (before my hair falls out—if it does)
.

Bailey says she and Jesse e-mail each other regularly to “discuss” me. I’m not sure I like that too much. But it sounds petty to say anything about it, because both are my friends and I know they just want to help. Bailey brought me pictures of Zorita and I got a big lump in my throat because I want to go home and be normal again
.

Will I ever be normal again?

Felt rotten today. Threw up all my supper. Refused ice cream for bedtime snack. Sleep is all I want
.

Mom practically lives here at the hospital with me. Sometimes I wish she’d just go away. Other times, I want to crawl in her lap like a baby with a boo-boo. I haven’t written Jesse in days, because I just don’t feel like it. He probably hates me
.

A new horror started today—sores inside my mouth from the chemo. They hurt so bad, I can’t eat anything. I HATE my life!

Some therapist visited today. She taught me about imaging. I’m supposed to imagine my white blood cells “eating” the cancer cells. Tonight I played a video game with some super-graphic, kickbutt woman wiping out a nest of robotic aliens. I pretended she was ripping through my bloodstream destroying cancer cells. I got the second-highest score according to the chart of those who’ve played the game in the past month. Hail, Melinda!

Woke up this morning and found a huge clump of my hair on the pillow. I cried. I guess I won’t be one of the “lucky ones” who keep their hair. Mom said that because my hair is so thick it’s hardly noticeable, but I notice it! I told her I want it all cut off
.

Mom brought her hairdresser, David, to the hospital today and he sat me in a chair and cut my hair into a super-short pixie cut. I look so different. But at least now if it all falls out, I’ll be used to seeing it short. Plus, now there won’t be as much to fall when it leaves my head
.

Bailey came up and went on and on about how “cute” I looked. She said the new cut makes my eyes look huge. I told her thanks. I think it makes me look like a refugee from a concentration camp. Maybe that’s because I’ve lost twelve pounds in two weeks. But I just can’t eat anything!

July 30

Dear Melinda
,

I’ve given up sending you e-mails because you never answer them. The only news I get is from Bailey. Even your dad’s stopped sending e-mail updates. I can’t stand being cut off. Please don’t abandon me
.

Jesse

M
ELINDA’S
D
IARY

July 31

I’m ashamed of myself. I’ve been thinking about myself and what was happening to me so much that I forgot to really look around and see everybody else stuck in this hospital. Mom rolled me out into the halls in a wheelchair (THAT sure felt weird, rolling instead of walking), and I saw so many others with cancer like me—some a whole lot younger and a whole lot worse off!

The little kids are the saddest to see. Most of them are bald and they look so thin—I call it “the chemo look.” One boy who’s maybe four or five was sitting in the children’s rec room coloring. There he was, an IV hooked to his arm, another to his chest, his little bald head bent over a coloring book. The crayons were spread all over the table, his tiny hand was holding a brown crayon, and he was coloring as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I just sat there and watched him and felt tears sliding down my face. It made me so sad. He’s like any other little kid, except he isn’t. He has cancer. Like me
.

I went back to my room and cried for an hour
.

TO:
Jesse

Subject:
Apology

I got your card and note and I’m sorry I’ve not been a very good friend. So much has been happening to me that I lost sight of some of the things in my life that really count. You’re at the top of that list. I had Mom bring your framed picture from my dresser to the hospital and now I can see you every day and remind myself that what’s happening to me is also happening, in a way, to my family and friends.

Dad uses words like “brave” and “courageous” when he e-mails people about me, but that’s not really true. I’m neither of those things. I’m scared and angry and very unhappy. I don’t know why anyone wants to be around me, because I’m so mean to people—especially the people who matter the most to me, like you and Mom and Dad. Even Bailey has been “busy” lately. Oh, she calls and has come to visit a couple of times, but the truth is we don’t have much to talk about these days. My world is so small now. Hers is normal.

Dancing, the thing I once did that made my life
mine, lies in ruins, like a crumbled wreck. I’d better stop writing because I’m getting melodramatic. I won’t stop writing you ever again. That’s a promise.

Melinda

TO:
Jesse

Subject:
Friendship

OK … to answer your latest e-mail accusation: I AM NOT ABANDONING MELINDA. (I’m shouting this answer to you.) For starters, I have to baby-sit my twin sisters (HALF sisters!) this summer while Mom and Bill work, so I don’t have much time to go to the hospital and back. The hospital is miles from here and when traffic’s bad (which is almost all the time in Atlanta), it takes almost an hour just to get there. That leaves me only weekends to visit her. Most of the time, Mom and Bill have other things to do on weekends, so they can’t take me and it’s a rare day they let me get into a car with teen drivers (like Pete, my boyfriend, whom they don’t like me dating, but that’s another story!).

So you see, crabbing me out for not visiting
Melinda more often isn’t very fair. Yes, I know, now that I’ve explained everything, you’re sorry.

Apology accepted.

Friends(?),
Bailey

M
ELINDA’S
D
IARY

August 1

Mrs. Houston brought Tanya and Kathi for a visit today. They looked SO good! So healthy. I wanted to crawl under the covers and hide because I do not look good or healthy. They kept talking about how much everyone missed me and how poorly they do in class without me there to “push them to perfection.” I know they’re just giving me a line to make me feel better, but it was good to hear anyway
.

Mrs. Houston says that just as soon as I’m able to resume classes, she’ll work extra with me so that I can get back into shape more quickly. She said that she’s saving a part in this year’s
Nutcracker
and that dancers from the Denver Dance Company will be a part of our production. And that includes Natalie Blackbird, one of the best ballerinas in the
country! I promised all of them that I’ll be back real soon. I mean it too! I will!

Elana’s Journal

August 1

It’s 2:30 a.m. and I’m sitting in the hospital chapel because I can’t sleep. I’ve stayed in the room with Melinda most nights (there’s a large chair that makes up into a bed, a lumpy bed), but once she falls asleep, I lie there wide awake. I come here because it’s open around the clock and I find it quiet and peaceful. The room feels like a refuge to me. Behind the altar area is a beautiful stained-glass window of healing hands touching through a rainbow. The window’s lit artificially from behind so that it looks as if it’s never dark outside. It helps offset the darkness inside my heart
.