Part 3.
The nurse hung up the bag of “A-” blood on the I.V. pole. I held out my arm, like I had so many times before for my antibiotics, and allowed her to hook up the tube to the I.V. protruding from it. I rubbed my lips, looked around, and tried not to pass out at the sight of another human’s blood passing into my body. When the nurse was finished and had closed the door behind her, I sighed. I gazed out at the brick wall through the window. Nice view… My eyes shifted to the bag of blood. Drip Drip Drip. The door handle turned. Jack appeared. I think my face blended in with the red bricks through the window.
I pulled my blanket up over my arm, even though the bag of blood was still in plain view. Jack walked in beside my bed and presented me with a bouquet of red roses. I motioned for him to put them on the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I focused my attention on Ellen Degeneres playing on the TV. Even though Ellen was someone who could always cheer me up in the hospital, my mind was on that bag of blood. Jack giggled at her jokes, but I watched the dripping drops of blood. At the commercial, Jack held my cheek and leaned in for a kiss, but my lips remained still. He asked me what was wrong, but I turned over, coughed, and faced the window, red bricks in harmony with the blood. Jack rubbed his hand across my back, but I tensed up and he pulled away. My lips quivered, my hair fell over my face, my heart pounded in my head, and I closed my eyes. “I’m going to sleep for a while. Do you mind?” He didn’t mind. He reached his hand out to hold mine while I tried to doze off.
But I didn’t sleep and when I opened my eyes a half hour later to see Jack biting his lip staring at the bag of blood, a tear snuck out and I buried my face in my pillow. Jack stood up and walked around to face me. His finger traced the outline of my face, my lips, and my closed eyes. He told me to look at him, to talk to him, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut and sighed. Jack watched the bag of blood dripping in time with the seconds on the clock ticking past eight. He reached for my hand, and squeezed my fingers, swollen due to lack of oxygen. For a fleeting instant I interlaced my fingers with his, only to pull them away and hide them under the covers. The door opened and a doctor peeked his head in to tell Jack that visiting hours were over and he had to speak with me. After the door was closed, Jack brushed back a strand of hair from my eyes, kissed me on the cheek, my favorite Old Spice scent hovering above me, and whispered three words into my ear. I breathed in hard and remained still. Once Jack was gone, I reached for the bouquet of red roses that would have matched my prom dress, smelled them and hurled them across the room, scarlet petals floating to the ground. The doctor came in a short time later and obnoxiously asked why my flowers were on the floor. “These Boston earthquakes,” I said, “They can be pretty violent.”
So began my loathing of this particular doctor. Once he was gone around 9 o’clock, I took out my journal.
Does he have no sympathy! How could he say the prom can wait?! Prom happens once in a lifetime. I hate him. I hate all doctors. I hate this disease, and I hate this room, beeping monitors, cold food, babies crying down the hall, disinfecting chemical smell, important doctors clicking important heels down the cold white tiled hallways. All I am to them is their lab rat, the girl with cystic fibrosis. They obviously think I have no feelings. He says my health is more important but how can I live my life that way? He wants Cystic Fibrosis to be my master. It infects my lungs, kills my happiness, and ruins absolutely everything, but my mom named me Hope for a reason. But for the first time in my life CF has taken control of me, and I feel like I gotta let it. But I’ve NEVER let it get in the way. Never, and here I am, about to miss my Junior Prom. The doctor doesn’t care, Mom doesn’t care, no one cares… My friends will be off having the time of their lives, dancing, smiling, partying, and no one will notice I’m not there. I’ll be in this hospital, coughing alone in the darkness. Here I am CF! Are you happy?
