(The end of part three may have gotten cut off on some browsers so I included that ending as well)
Part Four.
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?
The next morning, I opened my eyes, squinted, and felt for my glasses on the cluttered bedside table, knocking my journal onto the floor. It fell open to the page I had woken up at midnight to write: “I can’t lose hope. I will get better.” With no luck on the glasses hunt, I noticed a post-it on the side rail of my bed, which I had to squint to read.
Hope, I came back after you had fallen asleep. I hope you enjoyed your alone time with Jack. The nurse said you were stable so I ran home to grab some things. See you in the morning!
The room remained blurry, but I knew the donkey on the wallpaper border was staring at me again with his crazy beady eyes and his orange body flailing around the room. I breathed in hard, braced myself, and coughed, abdominal muscles tightening, a forceful sound escaping into the room, echoing off of the tall thick walls. I hobbled up from my laying down position, spit into the basin next to my bed, and saw dried up blood, an improvement. I heard Ellen Degeneres’s faint voice and reached for the remote to turn up the T.V. The tube of my I.V. tugged on my reaching arm. I noticed it was attached to the pole again preventing me from reaching the remote. I followed the tube from my arm up to the dripping bag of medicine. Ellen would be on again later today anyway. Fingering the rubber purple bracelet on my wrist, I sighed. I traced the letters around and around “Breathe Easy. Cure Cystic Fibrosis.” The monitor beeped steadily with my heart, my oxygen read 95%, and my blood pressure was flashing in green, meaning it was normal.
The door squeaked open and I groggily looked up to see the figure of my mother stumbling into the room, pink sweater, lips smiling, tired eyes among wrinkled laugh lines, duffel bag in one hand, red dress in the other. I managed to smile through my dry, cracked lips. I saw Mom’s fingers pick up my glasses, and the room became clear once they were maneuvered onto my ears. Mom presented the dress next to me, and I reached my free hand out to touch it, red sparkles coming off onto my hand. Mom stood on her tiptoes and hung the dress on the top of the door across from the bed. I watched the waves of fabric cascade down to the door handle while Mom turned to respond to the knocking on the other side. The arm of a white lab coat of another doctor gestured for my mother to come out to the hall. While listening to the murmurs behind the door, I turned to look out the large windows at the brick wall outside and sighed.
Mom returned, smiling, giving the thumbs up, holding paperwork to be allowed out of the hospital for the night. She emptied the duffel bag on to the table, curling iron rolling out, high heels click against the wood, pink make-up bag, red gloves, a diamond bracelet sparkling in the light. I looked into my mother’s tired eyes, wrapped her arms around her neck scented with Victoria Secret Heavenly perfume, and said the three words my mother deserved, I love you.
The sun was setting behind the brick wall and a small ray of sunlight snuck in the window to shine upon my glowing face. Mom was down the hall making arrangements for the night. I stood in front of the mirror, smiling, pale skin, red, satin dress flowing down to my bare feet, a small cough escaping my recovering lungs, Heavenly perfume spritzed on my neck, red rose pinned amongst my curling brown locks. I was truly beautiful. The donkey on the wallpaper was staring at me again, but this time, he was smiling too.
In the reflection, I saw a tall boy in the doorway, brown hair falling into his eyes, tuxedo outlining his slender body, green eyes gazing at his princess. I spun around, my dress following behind me.
“How about one dance before the prom starts?” I said.
“But we have no music!”
“We don’t need music.”
He placed his hands around my waist. I wrapped mine around his neck and stood on his shiny leather shoes in tippy-toe bare feet. We swayed back and forth to the beat of beeping monitors down the hall. Jack leaned down and whispered those three words into my ear and this time I said them back. I sat on my bed so he could put on my silver heels. He buckled the strap and stood up to kiss my cheek and offer his arm. He walked with me quietly down the bustling hallway, eyes of sick children admiring from all directions, my mother watching from afar, smiling, a tear in her eye.
Note: “Her Seventh Chromosome” Copyright Lauren Bombardier 2008
