by Chad Morris
“Brain surgeries? Over a thousand times. Most of which were transsphenoidal,” Dr. Montoya said.
Seriously? This lady had messed with people’s heads over a thousand times? I hoped all of them ended really well.
“And are you the best doctor to do it?” my dad asked. Wow. Bold. He was in total business mode. I’d seen him get this way about his books. It was a “Don’t mess with me, and let’s get this done right” sort of mode.
“She is one of the best in the world,” the doctor’s assistant said. “If it were my son or daughter, I would have Dr. Montoya do the surgery.”
The doctor stood there awkwardly, accepting the compliment. “But if you would like,” the doctor said, “you could look into UCLA or the Mayo Clinic. They both have some very strong neurosurgeons dealing with this kind of tumor.”
My dad nodded. You could bet your hash browns he would look into them.
“Will her arm and leg go back to normal after the surgery?” Mom asked.
“We don’t know,” Dr. Montoya said. “We would expect them to regain at least some of their movement, but it depends on how much the tumor is pressing against the brain and how much it has started to intertwine with it.”
I loved the idea of getting my arm and my leg back. Then maybe I could do the monkey bars with Lexi. Maybe I could run as fast as Cassie and the other girls. And maybe I could act out parts of Romeo and Juliet without my weird arm gestures.
My parents asked more questions, and the doctor answered. But one question really got my attention. “Is it cancerous?” Mom asked. I wasn’t 100% sure what cancer was, but I knew it was always serious.
“We don’t know yet,” Dr. Montoya said. “Usually, these kind of tumors aren’t. We’ll have to biopsy it and send it to the lab after the surgery. But it’s the tumor itself that is the concern right now because it’s pressing against the brain.”
The doctor paused, looking at both my parents for a few more seconds, then she squatted down and looked me in the eye. “Do you have any questions, Maddie?”
For some reason, having a neurosurgeon staring at me made me uncomfortable. But I nodded. “What . . .” I didn’t quite know how to ask what I wanted to ask. “What could go wrong?”
Mom and Dad shared a look. Maybe they had wanted to ask that question when I wasn’t around.
“Good question,” the doctor said. “Most of my surgeries go very well, but there is a chance that we won’t get all the tumor,” she explained. “And then we’ll have to watch it to make sure it doesn’t grow back or spread to anywhere else.”
So this whole thing might not be over very quickly.
“And there is a chance the surgery or the tumor might do damage to your optical nerves, and you might lose some sight.”
I didn’t like that either. I really liked being able to see.
“And in some cases, those who have had the surgery have some side effects with their brain. For example, it could damage the part of the brain that tells you when your stomach is full when you eat. If that part gets damaged, then you’ll probably gain a lot of weight. There are some possible behavioral changes, too. Some patients have had parts of their personalities change.” She said it all in a normal tone like she was talking about the weather or what she was going to have for dinner.
I think my mom nearly burst into tears on that one. Maybe she didn’t want me to change. I didn’t want me to change either.
My dad reached out his hand, like he was going to stop the doctor, but then lowered it. Dr. Montoya didn’t hold back. And maybe my dad decided that was okay for me to hear.
“If it is cancerous and has spread to other parts of your body,” Dr. Montoya continued, “we may also have to do some radiation. And because the radiation is so close to your mind, it may affect it. It may be harder to learn.”
I didn’t like this list. In fact, I super-ultra-mega hated it. My brain could get messed up, my personality could change, it might be harder for me to learn—and there was more?
“And because it’s on the pituitary gland, that gland may stop functioning. So you may have to take medication to supply the hormones your body needs.”
“How long would she need to take the medications?” my dad asked.
“The rest of her life,” Dr. Montoya said.
The rest of my life? Wow. Bad wow.
Dr. Montoya opened her mouth again. There was more? She looked down at me. “And there is a very slight chance we might lose you. It’s possible with every surgery, no matter who the surgeon is. That shouldn’t happen. It is only if something in the surgery goes terribly wrong, but we are dealing with a very important part of your body.”
I might die.
For some reason, hearing the doctor say it felt so much heavier than anything before. It made the monster feel even more real. More dangerous.
I forced a smile. It was probably a painted smile like I’d seen Cassie do. One I didn’t really feel.
“Tell her again what could go right,” Mom said, trying to help out.
“Well,” Dr. Montoya said, “we could get all the tumor, and if it didn’t spread and isn’t cancerous, you never have to worry about this again. We never know until we get in there.”
“And they will do their best,” Dad said.
“And when do we do this?” I asked.
“Two weeks,” Dr. Montoya said.
“Wait,” I said. “And would I be better two weeks after that? I’m in a play.” We were going to perform in four weeks.
The doctor looked back at me. “It’s possible,” she said. “You will probably be out of the hospital after a week, but it will take several weeks before you’re really up and moving.”
“Can we change the surgery?” I asked, looking at the doctor and then at my mom and dad. “Do it after the play?” My mom and dad looked to the doctor.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Dr. Montoya said. “I’m really busy, and this spot just opened up. If we postpone the surgery, it might be another five weeks or so, and I don’t want you to wait that long. The tumor probably isn’t growing fast, but it is growing, putting pressure on your brain, and you’re losing your motor skills. I think we’d better stick with the date.”
So maybe I only had two weeks to live.
And if I did live, I probably wouldn’t get to be Juliet.
I shoved a huge spoonful of cookie dough shake into my mouth. It helped. A lot. And because it was a Shane’s Shake Shack shake—say that ten times fast—it was big. There was no way I was going to finish it, but I could put it in the freezer when we got home and eat the rest another day.
Before we went to see the neurosurgeon, Mom had promised me a shake afterwards. Something to look forward to.
“Do you have any more questions about what we heard?” Dad asked, scooping another spoonful of his eggnog shake.
I know. Eggnog. Weird. Maybe brain problems run in my family.
“No,” I said quietly. I had lots of questions, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answers.
“Maddie, listen to me for a second,” Mom said. She had a mint chocolate chip shake. She had much better taste. “Because this is a crazy time, you might find yourself thinking a lot about what is scary about it, what could go wrong, and what you’re missing. But to be fair, you need to also think about everything that could go right. You have to at least give the good as much thought as the bad.”
That made sense.
“Yeah,” Dad said. “It’s not that we need to ignore the bad, but we don’t have to worry too much about what could happen until we know what will happen. That way we don’t waste any energy on stuff we may never have to worry about.”
I nodded.
“It’s like being in the dark,” Mom said. “Have you ever been scared in the dark because you imagined that something was going to get you? Nothing bad was really
there, and you freaked yourself out for nothing.”
I had done that so many times. I used to imagine a monster with twenty-seven arms, googly eyes, and a laugh like my twin brothers’. Trust me. It was creepy.
Mom patted my hand. “You can’t waste your energy being worried about something that might not be real.”
She was right. I shouldn’t worry too much about the really bad stuff because it might not happen. But the tumor did seem like a monster ready to pounce, something with terrible gaping jaws and jagged scales all over its body. I shook my head. Here I was worrying while my mom was trying to teach me not to worry.
“When I was a kid and scared of the dark,” Dad said, “I used to imagine I knew a supernatural martial art that could take down monsters. I could kung fu vampires, ghosts, zombies . . . you name it.” Now you know where I got my imagination from. “I imagined myself winning any battle I needed to fight. I even practiced my moves right before bed sometimes, just to make everything clear to any monsters watching.”
I envisioned my dad practicing made-up karate moves, and I couldn’t keep my laugh in. Mom couldn’t either.
“I was little,” he justified, “but it helped me not be scared.”
“I want to see some of these moves,” Mom teased.
Dad raised his arms in a kung fu pose, then playfully fake-punched my mom’s shoulder. “It’s silly. I know. But it worked.”
I smiled. I could definitely do that.
“But,” my dad said, “there were times when I was so scared I couldn’t control my imagination. That’s when I tried Secret Number Two.”
“What was that?” Mom and I both asked at the same time.
“I prayed,” he said. And that was it. He didn’t preach some sermon or tell any story. He just said he prayed.
We talked some more; it was mostly my parents trying to make sure I kept my spirits up. And it worked. I knew they loved me. I knew it before tonight, but a Shane’s Shake Shack shake and the talk sealed it again.
“There is something we have to decide,” my mom said. “When do we tell people?” Oh, yeah. I was kind of hoping to avoid that. “I think it should be soon. People will want to help and support you.”
I still didn’t like the idea, but I guess it had to happen. “Alright,” I said. “You can tell people.”
“Including your teacher?”
I nearly choked on my shake. If she told Mrs. Baer then Mrs. Baer would probably want to tell the class. And then the whole school would know. And then she might take Juliet away from me. Maybe Cassie would get the part, and I would end up as Juliet’s nurse. Or maybe I wouldn’t have a part at all.
But I couldn’t see any way around it. I swallowed then took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“I talked to your mom,” Mrs. Baer said. She had called me to her desk as soon as I came in. She rested her hand on my hands. I had been wringing them in front of me. “I’m really sorry to hear your news. Do you want to talk about it?”
I didn’t feel like I had anything to say, but I liked that she asked me.
Mrs. Baer gave me a sympathetic smile. “Just know that you can always talk to me, okay?” She was really nice. I think she had a super teacher heart. “How do you feel about telling the rest of the class?”
I sighed and looked behind me. Mrs. Baer always said you should face problems and not just ignore them, so this didn’t surprise me. Most of the kids were working on their vocabulary worksheet, but Cassie was watching us. She didn’t smile when I caught her eye. In fact, her neatly trimmed eyebrows scrunched together in the middle of her forehead.
I shrugged back at Mrs. Baer.
“I think we should tell them,” Mrs. Baer said. “So they can help you. We all want to support you. You have lots of friends here, Maddie.”
That last sentence surprised me. Why would she think I had lots of friends? I had spent my share of recesses sitting against the wall with nobody to hang out with. Of course, I did walk home with Yasmin, and now I was hanging out with Lexi more, so maybe that’s what Mrs. Baer was talking about.
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t,” she said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can tell them.”
Mrs. Baer nodded. “Actually, what do you think about telling them yourself?”
Me, telling the whole class about some crazy tumor in my head? I shook my head. I think I would rather jump out of a plane strapped to bowling balls and land in a lake of boiling acid.
Mrs. Baer said she could do the talking. “But would you stand up in front of the class with me?”
I shook my head again. I didn’t want to. Plus, I thought it would be better to be ready to make a fast dash to the hall if the class freaked out.
She waited until it was almost time for recess then stood up in front of the class and called for attention. Everyone quieted down and looked up from their worksheets. “If you didn’t finish your vocabulary then it will be homework,” she said. Even though she was super nice, Mrs. Baer still gave homework. “But before recess, we have one more thing to talk about. By raise of hands, who has faced something scary before?”
A “monster lurking in the darkness” scary.
Several hands went up.
“Can you give me some examples?” Mrs. Baer asked before calling on a few people to share. Yasmin talked about being in a car accident. Just hearing about it made me nervous. Tori talked about going on the Haunted Mill ride. That thing is creepy, especially the skeleton that pops out of nowhere at the end. Seriously, I almost jumped onto my brother’s head the first time I rode that ride. And Jackson said that he had a neighbor who smelled like cats and was always trying to give him hugs. Not as creepy, but the whole class laughed. I wanted to, but I was a bit jumbly inside.
“Well,” Mrs. Baer said, “someone in our class is facing something that is pretty scary.” She pointed at me, and everyone turned.
I wouldn’t have minded the attention if I had just received the high score on a math test or been recognized as the funniest girl in the world for my creative use of mustaches, but this was different. Very different.
“Maddie went to the doctor,” Mrs. Baer continued, “and they found a tumor in her head. They are going to have to do a surgery to try to get it out so it doesn’t hurt her brain or her eyes.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in.
I held my breath, but nobody screamed in horror. Not one kid. A few gave tiny gasps and had sad looks. Others didn’t seem to understand.
“It’s important to know,” Mrs. Baer said, “that there are great doctors who are going to help her, but also that this may be a really difficult time for . . .” She didn’t finish. Her voice got all choked up, like she was trying not to cry. Almost immediately little drops of tears started to gather in the corner of my eyes. No fair. I didn’t know it would be crying time. Part of me hated that this was happening, and the other part loved that Mrs. Baer cared enough to cry. I didn’t know teachers did that.
The room got all serious. That happens when someone cries.
Mrs. Baer wiped her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just hard to see a sweet little girl go through something so hard.” No one was wiggling. No one was teasing or laughing. “And I thought you should know. We need to be very supportive of Maddie.”
Some kids had glossy eyes like they might cry, too, and others were nodding. Lexi brushed away a tear. After a moment, Robin’s hand rose up in the air. “My dad had a surgery on his knee. He said that the doctors used tubes to go in and fix stuff. Is that what they are going to do with Maddie, but in her head?”
Everyone looked at Mrs. Baer and then to me. “I believe so,” Mrs. Baer said, still sniffling.
Two more hands went up.
“Will she get to eat as much ice cream as she wants after the surgery?”
Mrs. Baer looked at me, and I nodded.
&nbs
p; “That’s good,” Devin said.
“Will she have to wear those hospital clothes that don’t have a back and people might see your underwear?” Cesar asked.
Everyone laughed. I kind of did, too. “I hope not,” I said.
They laughed again. Maybe because it was funny, or maybe because they wanted a break from the serious stuff.
“Will you have any brain damage?” Coby asked.
I didn’t have any jokes for that one. I didn’t know what to say. It was on my worry list. Dr. Montoya told me we wouldn’t know until after the surgery.
“She’ll be fine,” Mrs. Baer said, saving me from the question.
I hoped she was right. I liked my brain, and I really liked it undamaged.
Lexi reached across our desks and squeezed my arm. I put my hand on top of hers for a second, to say thanks without having to say anything. I wished I had stood up for her one of those days Cassie wouldn’t let her hang out.
I looked at the clock. One minute until recess. Almost done.
Cassie raised her hand. “When is her surgery?”
“Two weeks,” I said.
“And how long until you’re back and feeling okay?” she asked. I could almost see her mind working, the hope in her eyes. And her hope was against me.
“I’m not sure,” I said. I didn’t want to mention that it could be a few more weeks. I didn’t want her to know.
“If she’s not back, do you think I could be Juliet?” Cassie asked Mrs. Baer.
Really? We had just announced that I had a tumor and it was scary and serious, and she was trying to get my part?
Mrs. Baer didn’t smile. “We aren’t going to worry about that right now.”
And then the bell rang.
But I was worried about it right now. I was worried about it all.
As I shuffled toward the door to go to recess, I must have been really nervous; my weird hand fisted really tight, causing my nails to dig into my palm. I pried the fingers loose with my other hand.