Emily

by Jack Weyland

  What do you wish for, Daddy? A daughter who appreciates what you do for her? Or is that too much to ask? Have you given up on that?

  “Daddy?” she asked through her tears. It had been a long time since she’d called him Daddy.

  “Yes, Princess.”

  “Thank you for working so hard for me.”

  “I wish I could do more.”

  “Could you give me a priesthood blessing?”

  He pursed his lips and looked away. “Isn’t there somebody else you’d like to have do that? We could get the bishop to come, or President Fletcher.”

  “No, I want you. You’re my father, and I want a father’s blessing.”

  During the blessing, Emily felt the influence of the Holy Ghost when her father rested his fingertips on her head and, through both their tears, gave her a blessing.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” he said.

  “I won’t, Daddy. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

  * * * * *

  As the time for her to leave the hospital approached, Emily began to realize how grateful she was for the care she had received in the burn unit.

  “Red, I think you’re the greatest,” she said one morning in the tank room.

  Red laughed. “Sure you do, Kid. How could you help it?”

  “What about me?” Doug asked.

  “You’re the greatest, too,” she said.

  “We can’t both be the greatest,” Red said. “I think I’m just a little bit greater than you, Doug. What do you really think, Emily?”

  “I love everybody here,” she said. “I’ll miss you guys when I leave.”

  Red laughed. “Look, sometime when you’re missing us, just go slam the car door on your hand, and then you’ll remember us, and it’ll seem just like old times.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “You ready to hurt?” Red asked.

  “I’m ready. I know you’re only trying to help me get better.”

  “I wish we could bottle that good attitude of yours. We could use more of it in this place,” Doug said.

  * * * * *

  A few days later, she had her second skin graft. Again, the procedure took two days—one day to harvest some skin, this time from her thighs, and the second day to do the actual grafting.

  A few days later, Dr. Beiser was examining the new skin graft. “Looking good,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t have much good skin left, do I? You’ve taken it all.”

  He nodded. “We’ll let you heal up for a while. But you’ll be having skin grafts off and on for the next year.”

  “I will?”

  “Oh, yes. We don’t give up easily. We’ll probably be sending you home in a few days, but then we’ll bring you back, from time to time, for more grafting as the need arises and the healing progresses.”

  As the time approached for Emily to be released from the hospital, she began to fear leaving the secure and supportive environment. One minute she couldn’t wait to leave, and the next she would be nearly in tears at the thought of leaving Red, Doug, Brooke, and all the others who had worked so hard in her behalf. She’d also made friends with some of the other patients, and she knew she’d miss them.

  There were some things, of course, to be excited about, one of them being getting some privacy back into her life. She hated having other people give her sponge baths. She was also looking forward to eating her mom’s cooking and being able to go in the backyard and see the flowers and hear the birds in the morning, and even going into the kitchen to fix herself something to eat. She looked forward to being in her own room and listening to her favorite CD.

  She was told by the staff that she would be kept busy at home, taking care of herself. Twice a day she would need to put ointment on the damaged areas. And, of course, she would be wearing the pressure garment all the time, except for the time she would be allowed to take it off to bathe herself.

  She was given two sets of compression suits to wear. She chose a white and a blue pair for her shorts but decided on peach for the turtleneck sweater part and also for the top she’d wear on her face, neck, and head. She thought the neutral tone would most nearly match the color of her skin.

  She feared going back into the world. She dreaded having people stare at her and wondered what would be said about her behind her back. Brooke seemed to understand her fears, but she encouraged Emily to go back to college in the fall, go shopping at least once a week, and to otherwise try to get back to a normal routine as soon as possible.

  “That will be hard to do.”

  “I know, but look at what you’ve already accomplished. Everything we asked you to do here was hard, but you did it! If you can get through what you’ve gone through here, you can get through anything. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

  Even though she was going to be living at home, Emily would still need to return to the burn center every day for physical therapy. She also still had several skin graft operations ahead of her.

  Finally the day came when she was to be released. She was anxious to go, but there was always more red tape to be cut through. It just never ends, she thought as she and her mother received some more last-minute instructions about what they would need to do once Emily got home.

  “When am I going to be released?” Emily complained.

  “Real soon.”

  “That’s what you said the last time I asked you.”

  “It’s even sooner than that.”

  Emily was packed and ready to go. She was wearing the compression garment. All that was left uncovered was part of her forehead, her eyes, and her nose and mouth. She thought the hood made her look like one of Santa’s helpers.

  The hair on her head was still mostly gone, but was beginning to grow back. It was more like a crew cut now. From a certain angle, looking in the mirror, she looked like a fourteen-year-old boy. That was not something Emily was especially proud of.

  Her mother had invited everyone on the staff to a going-away party. And at the appointed time, everyone gathered in her room.

  Emily hadn’t expected a celebration, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say. Finally, she said, “This is really great of you guys to see me off like this.”

  “You’ve been a good sport and kept a good attitude all the way through. You’ve made our jobs easier,” Doug said.

  “We just wish everyone who comes here could be as cooperative as you’ve been,” Brooke added.

  “I was starting to think of this as my home. I know I’m going to miss you all.”

  There was a cake and some cans of cold soda pop. While they ate, they remembered the good times, the jokes, the wisecracks, the long talks. And then it was time to go.

  Emily said good-bye to each of the staff members. Even though it was painful to do so, she hugged them all. Pain had become irrelevant. She’d learned to put herself through pain because sometimes the rewards made it worth it—like hugging these wonderful caring people whom she now thought of as her second family.

  She didn’t want to leave.

  “When you’re rich and famous like Barbara Walters, remember us, okay?” Brooke said.

  “That’s probably not going to happen now.”

  “I don’t believe that. From what I’ve seen, I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”

  A nurse stuck her head into the room from the hall. “We’ve got an admission, ETA 85 minutes. He’s being transported from Moab.”

  Chapter 9

  Now everyone had work to do. The staff quickly said good-bye and hurried out of the room.

  Brooke stepped close to Emily and kissed her on the cheek. “Come see us anytime you want, okay?”

  “Sure, I will. Thanks a lot.”

  A nurse pushed Emily in a wheelchair while her mom walked alongside, carrying an armful of supplies. Then the nurse waited with Emily while Emily’s mom went to bring the car up to the hospital entrance.

  T
his was the first time she’d been outside for thirty-one days, except for two times during her stay when Red had put her in a wheelchair and taken her outside, where they’d argued over which university, USU or the U of U, has the most beautiful campus.

  On the way home, even though it was hot outside, Emily found she needed to have her window open. After having been stationary so long and with so many drugs in her system, the motion of the car made her carsick, but with the window open it was better.

  “Do you want me to turn the air conditioner off?” her mom asked.

  “No, leave it on.”

  “With your window wide open?”

  “Yes, that’s right. It’s better for me if the window’s open.”

  “Whatever you say,” her mother said.

  Oh great, she’s mad at me already, Emily thought.

  * * * * *

  Much of what was left of the summer was taken up by daily trips from their home in Ogden to the burn unit at Salt Lake City for physical therapy. On the way home, Emily and her mom would usually go through the drive-through at a fast-food place for lunch. Once they were back in Ogden, her mother would frequently drop Emily off and then go shopping or run other errands.

  She never asks me if I want to go shopping with her, Emily thought after days of never going anywhere except to the hospital and back. Is she embarrassed to be seen with me?

  She didn’t ask her mother because she was afraid her mother’s response would confirm that suspicion.

  One big problem was that Emily had begun losing weight. Until just before she was released from the burn unit, Emily had remained hooked up to the feeding machine. She’d also been given huge amounts of food to eat at each meal.

  But with the feeding tube gone, it was up to Emily to get enough calories, and it was an up-hill race that she was losing. Within the first week, she’d lost almost ten pounds.

  “You’ve got to eat more,” her mother said.

  “How can you say that? All I do is eat.”

  “How about if I put a raw egg into your chocolate milk?”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “You won’t even be able to taste it.”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “We have to do something, or they’ll put you back in the burn center.”

  “I’m doing the best I can,” Emily protested.

  “I’ll figure something out,” her mom muttered.

  The next time her mother brought her chocolate milk, one taste was enough for Emily to know there was a raw egg in it. She waited until her mother was in the garden, then threw it down the drain and poured herself a regular glass of chocolate milk.

  When members of her home ward found out she needed to eat a lot in order to help her skin heal, they kept bringing in fresh baked bread, vegetables, desserts, casseroles, and baskets of fruit. And with each gift came love and caring. Emily was often brought to tears by their generosity. Even when she wasn’t hungry, she’d eat a little of whatever was brought just to demonstrate her appreciation.

  Emily’s suspicion grew that her mother was ashamed to be seen with her in public. She was also growing weary of her dependence on her mother for every little thing. She began to push herself and set a goal to be able to bathe, attend to the damaged skin, and dress herself with no help. Within a month, she was doing it.

  I’m not going to be the spinster daughter who’s kept in the back bedroom and never comes out, she thought. I’m scared to death of going out in public, but I’m not going to just sit around here for the rest of my life. I’ve got to get out of this house once in a while. I’ve got to have a life besides feeling sorry for myself and watching television.

  For the first four weeks she was home, Emily didn’t attend church, but the bishop assigned two members of the priest quorum to come to her house each Sunday and give her the sacrament. They didn’t stay long, and it was never the same ones twice. Most of the boys didn’t have much to say, and they would barely look at her. They just seemed to want to get the job done and get out of there.

  * * * * *

  Emily knocked on her parents’ bedroom door at 6:00 o’clock on a Sunday morning.

  “Come in,” her mother said. Her dad was still out delivering papers.

  “I want to go to church today,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Her mother sighed. “Well, we’d better see about getting you ready then.”

  “Thanks, but I can do it myself.”

  Everything took a long time, but she wouldn’t let her mother help.

  Fifteen minutes before church started, she was in the bathroom, about to put on the headpiece of her compression garment. At first she had thought she’d put on eye shadow and lipstick, but since she looked like a boy, she decided the makeup would make her look more like a clown than a girl. She decided to go without any makeup.

  It probably doesn’t matter anyway, she thought. The way I look, is anyone going to notice if I’m wearing makeup?

  Emily dawdled just enough to make sure she and her parents arrived five minutes after the meeting began. They sat near the back, in the overflow area. She was glad they were late. She didn’t want people asking questions or staring at her. Her dress fit poorly over her compression suit, and she imagined she looked like a boy who’d gone scuba diving and had come to church with the top part of his wet suit still on.

  They sang the sacrament song, then the prayer on the bread was said, and the deacons fanned out across the congregation. The deacon who served Emily’s row simply handed the tray to the person on the end of the row. He didn’t seem to even notice Emily.

  This isn’t so bad, Emily thought.

  She spent the time while everyone was partaking of the sacrament looking around, trying to determine if anyone was staring at her. Nobody seemed to be. She felt relieved. While getting ready for church, she’d imagined little children going into hysterics when they saw her, but that didn’t happen.

  The prayer was said on the water, and trays were carried throughout the congregation.

  Emily spotted two teenage girls talking to each other four rows up, but they didn’t seem to be talking about her. A baby began crying and had to be carried out.

  This isn’t too bad, she thought. Just like usual.

  She took the water without thinking and passed the tray along. As she did so, Emily suddenly experienced a wave of guilt.

  I’m supposed to be remembering Jesus Christ and his atonement. I just renewed a promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. And what am I doing instead? Thinking of myself. I could have died, but my life was spared. Now I’m back in church, but instead of being grateful, all I’ve done is worry about people laughing at me. I should be concerned about what the Savior thinks instead of worrying so much what other people think.

  The only thing that got me through my pain was relying on Him. He was there for me; now I can’t even focus for a few minutes on being grateful.

  She tried to force herself to think about the Savior, but sacrament time was almost over. Her last-minute thoughts of Jesus brought no comfort—just a feeling of frustration and guilt.

  I missed an opportunity to remember the Savior. I must never do that again.

  As the meeting progressed, a deacon, the bishop’s messenger, came off the stand and walked to the back of the chapel. When he came to where Emily and her parents were sitting, he handed Emily a note. Bishop Ingersol had written: “We’d like to have you bear your testimony and briefly share your experience after our last scheduled talk.”

  She showed the note to her dad. “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

  He put his hand on hers. “I think you should,” he said.

  The deacon didn’t care either way; he’d done his duty. He returned to his place on the stand.

  Her dad leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Just bear your testimony,” he said softly.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting to b
e introduced and dreading the long walk to the front of the chapel.

  When the concluding speaker finished, the bishop stood at the pulpit and said, “As many of you know, Emily Latrell was accidentally burned while she was going to school in Logan. She has spent about a month undergoing treatment in the burn center at the University of Utah, but she’s back with us now. Emily, we’re glad to have you home. Before we close, we’d like to hear your testimony and have you tell us a little about your experience.”

  Emily stood up and walked slowly to the front of the chapel. She kept her eyes straight ahead, but knew that everyone was looking at her. Bishop Ingersol smiled at her as she reached the stand and walked to the pulpit. She stood there for a moment, her head lowered, feeling breathless, and not knowing exactly how to begin.

  Finally, she raised her eyes and looked out across the congregation. Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Some were smiling, and a few looked as though they might be ready to cry. She had known most of these people since she was a little girl. Some had been her Primary teachers, her Young Women teachers and leaders, and Sunday School teachers. She saw their former bishop smiling at her. They were people who loved her.

  She began speaking. “I’m glad to be back here with people I love . . . in my own ward . . . I worried about coming today because I was afraid people would make fun of me . . . for the way I look. The reason I’m wearing this ‘elf suit’ is that it helps my skin grafts heal the way they’re supposed to. I know you may have questions. It’s okay to come up to me and ask, but if you make fun of me, it’ll make it very hard for me to want to come here every week.

  “I want to thank my mom and dad for being such a support and help to me. I love them both even more than I ever have before.

  “When Bishop Ingersol visited me in the hospital, he told me that many of you were praying for me and that you held a special fast in my behalf. I would like to thank you so much for that. Your prayers helped tremendously. Also, I would like to thank those of you who have brought food since I have been home or have shown your love and concern in other ways. I am so grateful for all the support you’ve given me and my family.