Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  He marches past the reception's desk and down a long hallway that connects to another hallway, and another, and another, until I'd finally lost count how many we'd ventured down. What's even more concerning is Calix isn't using Teddy either; only draping his fingers against the wall for navigation twice. This is the first time I've seen him without it when he isn't on the Center's grounds.

  Calix's pace slows as we approach a large red and white sign mounted on the wall, which reads:

  Pediatric. Intensive. Care. Unit.

  A brooding aura hangs in the air. There's something different about this wing of the hospital in comparison to the rest of the building; it's like an undeniable heaviness, a sadness I can't shake.

  Calix stands beneath the sign facing another long hallway where nurses and doctors are milling about their duties, moving from room to room. Glass sliding doors are evenly spaced maybe fifteen feet from one another, allowing just enough space for a bed, a small work counter, and some medical equipment inside each room.

  "Why did you bring me here?" hoping this time I will receive an answer.

  He turns his head towards the sound of my voice. "We take each day for granted. We expect tomorrow to come as soon as we shut our eyes. For us, a moment is just a moment; they'll always be another one just like it. But for these little ones, each day is a precious gift, and any second could be their last."

  I take a look through one of the windowed rooms; a bald little girl, can't be any older than August, is lying in bed, strands of IV tubes attached in multiple places on her body. She looks helpless and miserable.

  Calix continues. "There's a tragic story in every one of these rooms: the little girl who found out she had stage three cancer at the youthful age of five, or the boy who was born with a fatal heart disease that takes it's victim before they're able to reach middle school, or maybe the someone who's in a dire need of an organ transplant, but was callously told they were just a mere number amongst thousands on the waiting list."

  I take a moment to consider his words, shuddering at the thought. "But I still don't understand why you brought me here."

  He sighs, rubbing each temple with his thumb and forefinger. "You allow your pity of not having legs rule you. Ask any one of these children, if given the opportunity, they'd trade places with you in a heartbeat. That chair of yours is a vast improvement to their current predicament."

  I'm taking aback by his bold statement. Is he saying that I've felt . . . felt sorry for myself? I guess I can't entirely deny it. Fine. I can't deny it all. Yes, I have felt sorry for myself. Why wouldn't I? I'm paralyzed! Living each day gazing with jealous eyes at your every day citizen who can walk, run, play, dance and not even give it a second thought – it burns just thinking about how fortunate they are. But then I give thought to what Calix just said; these kids might not have a tomorrow, this place may very well be their deathbed, the place where the spend their last moments, expel their final breath. It's hard for me to even remotely feel sorry for myself when I think of it with that perspective.

  Calix takes a breath. "I'm not going to lie to you. I once took pity on myself, for many years, actually. When I was little, I'd always hoped that one day I would get a new pair of eyes. I wanted to do so many things: play sports, ride a bicycle, drive a sports car, see the world! But as the years passed, I slowly accepted the reality of my blindness and gave up on such fantasies of ever seeing. I came here to the hospital for the first time when Mav underwent surgery; I stumbled across this wing. It was on that day I made a promise to myself that no matter how much I might want to, no matter how hard life might be not being able to see, I wouldn't feel sorry for myself ever again because there's always, always someone less fortunate than I." He chokes up as he finishes, and I wonder for a moment if he might break down altogether. This is a totally different side of Calix, a side I've never seen.

  But he's right. Every word.

  "I'll leave you alone."

  I remain fixed in my chair, stunned. By the time I look over my shoulder, he's already gone.

  I slowly wheel my chair down the hallway, glancing into the window of each room as I pass by. The little faces staring back at me grow more heartbreaking with each one. This whole scene feels like a nightmare; I can't believe it's real. People actually live like this, go through this, suffer from this. These ugly legs of mine don't feel as abhorrent as they once did, and for the first time since becoming a plegic, I'm appreciative my disability stops there.

  I'm given perplexed looks from doctors and nurses. I assume not just anyone is allowed to be in the ICU, but considering I look like I belong here being in this wheelchair, they don't question it, fortunately. They probably think I'm visiting someone.

  I reach the end of the hallway. There's one final room at the end. Unlike any of the others, this room is dark, except for a few flickering lights of medical equipment. The door is slightly ajar. I don't know what's propelling me to do so, but I enter the room, making sure the doctors and nurses don't notice.

  The door slides open, the sliver of light on the floor growing wider. It's too dark to see, but I can hear someone breathing from the bed, along with a mixture of hums from medical equipment. An ECG monitor glows from the corner of the room, beeping to an alarmingly inconsistent heartbeat.

  I back my wheelchair up, preparing to turn around and leave.

  "Don't go," a voice from the darkness calls. A flick of the light switch follows, illuminating the room in an artificial yellow haze. I turn my head in the direction of the voice, squinting from the sudden burst of light. A copper-blonde headed girl sits upright in the bed. She looks at me quizzically, her big eyes analyzing me and my chair. "Who are you?"

  For a second, I find myself struggling to answer, like I've suddenly forgotten my own name. There's something about this girl, something familiar. An Aurora kind of familiar.

  "Um. M-McKenzie. My name's McKenzie."

  Her pouty lips spread. "Well, it's a delight to meet you, McKenzie. I'm Kalyope."

  "Kalyope. That's pretty."

  "Thanks. It was my grandmother's." She fiddles with a heart shaped locket around her neck. "So what are you doing here anyway?" Her eyes continue to analyze my wheelchair. "Are you a patient, too?"

  "Um. No. No, I'm not a patient."

  "Visiting a friend?"

  "No. I . . ." suddenly unsure what to tell her. "I had surgery here about a month ago." I rub my hands over my knees. "I was told I'd never walk again."

  "Aw, that's no good. I'm sorry." Her bottom lip sticks out in a frown, top lip curling inside of it.

  "No. It's okay." And for the first time, I meant it. It truly is okay. "It could've been worse." I replay the trip down the hallway in my mind and envision the despaired little faces that stared back. I cringe at the thought of having to travel back through that same hallway when I leave, having to pass by each of those faces again, leaving them behind to lonesomely fend off their calamitous fate. "So tell me about yourself, Kalyope." I roll my wheelchair closer to her bedside.

  "Well, as I said, my name's Kalyope, I'm sixteen years old, I absolutely love Dip 'n Dots ice cream, I'm deathly afraid of clowns, and I'm pretty sure my doppelganger is a millionaire living in Paris, France," she giggles at her own joke.

  I study her, while trying not to stare for too long. There's no obvious indication as to why she's in such a serious place like the ICU. She still has a full head of beautiful hair, so cancer probably isn't a factor. There's no wheelchair in the room, so plegic is unlikely. The only visual impairment are the dark circles beneath her deep-set eyes, but I don't know what that means. Other than severe fatigue, she looks fine.

  "Heart transplant," she says, almost like she just read my thoughts.

  "Oh. Sorry. I didn't me to stare."

  She shrugs, turning her head away. "It's okay. I've seen that look plenty of times from people. It's always the same look: pity mixed with empathy." Now that's something I can relate to.

  "How'd it happen, if you don
't mind me asking? You look completely healthy."

  She shrugs again, this time slower. "It happened like any other sickness. Simply said, my heart is tired of beating all of the time." She grimaces in pain. The inconsistent beeping of the ECG worsens. Kalyope follows my eye line to the monitor. "Oh, look, there's the lousy thing now," she says that lightheartedly, but I can tell it's an act.

  "Is your heartbeat always that erratic?"

  She nods. "Been that way for almost ten months. I started showing signs of needing a transplant shortly after my fifteenth birthday."

  My own heart aches just thinking about this girl. My loss of limbs doesn't seem bad at all now. "How long do you have?" I regret those words as soon as they escape my lips, but there's no recanting. It's done.

  "I'm not sure. The doctors haven't really said, probably because they know I can't handle the truth. All they tell me is that every thirty seconds another life is saved because of an organ transplant, and that I may be that next thirty second. Of course, they conveniently left out the cold hard fact that there's more than one hundred and twenty thousand people a year nationwide who are in need of an organ transplant, more than eighty-five percent of them never receive it." She looks toward her smartphone laying next to her bedside. "Google is full of cruel medical facts."

  I don't know why, but I keep getting a connection from her. There's so much I see in her that reminds me of Aurora. "I wish there was something I could do–" The ECG monitor explodes into sporadic beeps, red lights and symbols flashing on the screen. Kalyope is thrown back against her bed, seizuring violently.

  A male doctor sprints into the room. "I need a crash cart, stat!" Within seconds another doctor is in the room with him, along with three nurses rolling a crash cart in front of them. One of the nurses grabs the handles on my chair and shoves me out of the room, shutting the door and drawing the thick curtain, but not before I hear the dreaded drawn-out beep of Kalyope flatlining.

  "Charge at one hundred. Clear!" I hear their muffled shouts. The thumping charge reverberates into the hallway. The flatlining continues. "Charge at two hundred. Clear!" Another charge. I'm warped back to when I was hauled from my own accident, this moment correlating in so many ways. "Charge at three hundred. Clear!" A final charge.

  The rush of footsteps inside the room abruptly stops, as do the frantic voices.

  What's happening in there!

  The flatlining ceases, and a somewhat steady heartbeat takes its place. Relief floods me. I don't think I've ever cared about a complete stranger in my life as much as I do for Kalyope. I have no idea why I care, I just do. She's so young. It's not fair. This shouldn't be happening to her.

  I stay off to the side of the hallway as the doctors and nurses filter out of the room. I catch a redheaded nurse as she exits. "Is she okay?"

  The nurse takes a moment to answer. "Yes . . ." not at all sounding confident in her words. "But she can't take much more; there's too much scar tissue around her heart from the irregular beating."

  "How long til . . ." I can't seem to finish the sentence.

  "A week. Maybe two if she's lucky. She needs a new heart, there's no other way around it. Is she someone close to you?"

  I stare through the open crack of the doorway; Kalyope is gazing at the ceiling in a dazed state. "She's my friend." The nurse gives my hand a quick squeeze before tending to other patients.

  I now see why Calix brought me here. This has certainly been a sobering experience. But I can't bring myself to leave. It feels wrong. Cruel. Like I'm abandoning an injured comrade in battle.

  Then it hits me. I need to take action. I need to bring about the change I wish to see. I'm crazy for even considering such a thing. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I have to. She's counting on me.

  I have to find Kalyope a new heart.

  And fast.

  Chapter 28

  My heart was heavy by the time we got home. I should be happy after having such a magnificent dinner with Calix, but I'm not. How can I be happy when I know Kalyope is laying in bed just waiting for death to come find her? I'm full of anxiety thinking about how valuable each second is, knowing that every moment I'm not successfully making advancements towards finding Kalyope a new heart is a wasted second.

  After we stepped inside the house, mother said she was going to make popcorn; apparently she's still hungry after eating McDonald's. I was too emotional drained for snack food, so I went on to bed. I lied under the thick covers, listlessly watching the red numbers of my digital clock tick by, unable to fall asleep. With a huff, I throw the covers off me and reach for my wheelchair, pulling it up next to the bed. It takes me a good five minutes to ease off my bed, dragging my unwilling legs behind me, and slide onto my chair. The whole process leaves me out of breath; I'm still getting the hang of it, but I'm glad I've come to the point where I don't always have to rely on someone to help me.

  I spin my wheels in the direction of the French doors and proceed to The Bluff. I don't know what I'm hoping for; Aurora wasn't there the last time. My heartbeat spikes – what if she never comes back?

  As I make it to the summit of The Bluff, my hopes crash to the earth – no sign of Aurora anywhere. The only movement is the oak tree shedding its autumn leaves. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less.

  How am I going to do this? I know nothing about heart transplants. I don't know where to get a heart. I don't even know where the waiting list is. How do I contact a donor? How can I be certain that Kalyope's body won't reject the new heart even if I do find her one. This is starting to seem more impossible with each progressing thought. Maybe I'm in over my head?

  But no! I can't give up. I don't wanna look back a year from now with regret, wishing I would've at least tried. I can't have another friend die!

  "Bestie?" My heart leaps at the sound of her voice. I jerk my head around – Aurora's standing behind me.

  "Rora!" I shove my wheels towards her, practically crashing into her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said before. Don't ever leave me again." I curl my arms around her waist, hugging tightly. "I missed you."

  She lowers her chin on top of my head. "I missed you, too, Bestie."

  We part and she takes a seat on the grass beside my chair. I fill her in on the events of the last few days. She gets all giddy as I tell her about the candlelight dinner Calix planned, then quickly saddens when I tell her about Kalyope and the grave fate that awaits her.

  "And you think you can pull this off?" she looks at me with a raise eyebrow in disbelief.

  "I don't know. I've never done something like this before. Obviously. But it just feels wrong moving on with my life forgetting I ever met her."

  She pokes her finger in between each spoke of my wheel, going around in circles. "Well, if there's anyone who can do it, it's you, Bestie." She smiles up at me, the moonlight illuminating her green eyes.

  "I hope you're right."

  I'd spent the last several weeks with no other goal on my brain than to get out of this chair. As difficult a task that's proven to be, I now faced a real challenge – saving a life. And I didn't have much time to complete it.

  I awoke the next day in sync with the sun, spent the sunrise out on The Bluff, mentally assessing what I need to do, then straightway went to the kitchen for supplies. Mother is already up drinking coffee on the bar stool by the time I stroll in.

  "Mornin', sweetie."

  "Hi, mom. Bye, mom." I roll past her and in to the walk-in pantry.

  I immediately grab what I need: an extra large pitcher, bucket of ice, lemons, sugar, and bag of disposable Dixie cups, piling them all on my lap. It takes skill to back my wheelchair out of the pantry and navigate through the front door without spilling everything.

  "McKenzie, what on earth are you doing?" The last thing I want to do is explain my crazed plan to mother, because she'll no doubt tell me that it is indeed a "crazed plan".

  "Just a little project, mom. Nothing to worry about." I feel like slapping myself af
ter saying that. Nothing screams suspicious activity more than someone saying the words nothing to worry about. Surprisingly, she doesn't press the issue, and I make it outside without further conversation.

  I get busy, mixing the ingredients to the correct ratio. I knew in the back of my mind this by itself wasn't going to be enough to help Kalyope, but what else could I do? I had to get a heart somehow. So I made the decision I would raise money and buy one. And what better way to do it than the old fashion way?

  "Lemonade for sale!" my voices carries through the quiet suburb street. I shout those same words half a dozen more times as the hours elapse, but not a single customer comes by.

  This idea is already starting to turn sour.

  What more can I do? I have a professional looking setup. Okay, I have a mediocre looking setup. I have a white tablecloth sprinkled with a sunflower patter, a sturdy table beneath it, topped with a tasty display of homemade lemonade. I even spent five minutes making a cute little sign, which reads: Lemonade for $1 :)

  So why isn't anyone coming?

  Footsteps scrapping the tops of the grass catch my attention and I think that maybe I have a customer. But to my dismay, it's just father walking up from behind me. He saunters over, both hands stuffed in his suit pants pocket, not saying a word. I glance up at him and smile, one that's lacking enthusiasm. "Hi, daddy."

  "Felt like being an entrepreneur today?"

  I shrug. "Thought I'd give it a try," and then pause, scrunching up my nose. "Bad idea."

  He sits on the sidewalk next to my chair, lowering himself gently; I can see a slightly amused smirk on his face. "And what's got us so motivated, hmmm?"

  I ponder whether or not I should clue him in on my true intentions, but I figure it might seem less insane me being out here alone trying to peddle homemade lemonade if I do. "There's this girl," I begin slowly, "she's sick."