Mom and I only had a small tabletop Christmas tree. Since it was just the two of us, we didn’t need one of those that you go and cut down. The small size worked just fine for us. We didn’t have many ornaments, so I always made my own by doing kindergarten-style craft projects. This year I decided to make our tree a fashionista. On Christmas Eve, I wrapped white lights around her and then dressed her in one of my old feather boas. I bedazzled her with little designer purses, pairs of tiny sparkly shoes, and several fancy miniature evening gowns. Rather than placing a star on top, I gave her a pink bow. I even created a little skirt to put under her.
“I love her pink bow,” Mom said. “That’s the perfect touch. I guess we’ll be having a pink Christmas through and through.”
I smiled because I thought she was talking only about the bow.
After enjoying our coffee and muffins, Mom went to her bedroom and came back with a basket of gifts for me. In it there was an assortment of lotions, nail polishes, and bubble baths with a pumice stone. There were special face-cleansing scrubs to keep away any future Mount Everests, and a mani-pedi set complete with emery boards and nail clippers. I adored all that girlie stuff, but my favorite item was the fashion-designing manual. It was full of ideas and patterns for dresses, handbags and purses, and even shoes. I had taught myself how to use Mom’s old sewing machine, and I was beginning to make some of my own things, nothing I dared wear to school yet, but maybe down the road. Fashion was my future.
I gave Mom a hug and told her how much I loved all of it, and then scooted to my bedroom to get what I had tucked away for her. I’d spent most of my money on school shopping, but I also hung on to some so I could get Mom a present. Early on I had ideas for jewelry or different accessories, but Teach had given me a photo of Mom and me at his wedding, and I decided that was what I wanted to give her. I found a charming mother-daughter picture frame to hold that special moment forever. Mom had to wipe her eyes after I gave it to her.
Shortly after exchanging our gifts, I heard the crunching of gravel out in our driveway. Who could that be? I wondered. I went over to our window and pushed aside the curtains. “It’s Vincent,” I said, surprised.
“I told him to come over,” Mom said.
“You did? On Christmas?”
“He’s not with his girlfriend anymore. I didn’t want him to spend the day alone.”
I left the window and went to open our door. There, I was greeted by one of the biggest surprises I’d had in a long, long time. Vincent held the cutest little poufy-haired puppy I’d ever seen!
“Merry Christmas,” he said, handing her over.
“Is she for me?”
“Well, who else would want a froufrou dog like this? Of course she’s for you!”
“Oh, Vincent! Thank you! Thank you!” I squealed. My new puppy started giving me kisses. “Look at her hair!” I cried. “She’s beautiful!”
“You oughta have fun styling her up,” Vincent said.
He was right. I couldn’t wait to make this little girl some outfits.
“Mom, look!” I rushed into the living room.
“Vincent, you shouldn’t have done this,” Mom said.
“There’s no better way to keep a person smiling during tough times than with a puppy.”
I stopped and looked at him. What was he talking about, ‘tough times’? I looked over at Mom.
“Vincent!” Mom looked mad. She and Vincent exchanged glances.
“I’m sorry, I thought you told her—”
“What’s going on?” I said.
Mom sighed. “Have a seat, Alexia. There are some things I need to talk to you about. I wanted to wait, but…”
I cradled my puppy and sat down on our couch. I was scared. This wasn’t like Mom. And Vincent knew what was coming.
This year, I’d lost my best friends. In that next moment, I learned that I had to worry about losing even more. My entire world was about to fall apart.
Looking back, it’s hard to believe I made such a big deal over a pimple. A lump on my nose that one of those boys had said looked like a tumor. Isn’t that ironic? Had I known then about the lump coming my way, I wouldn’t have even cared. I would have happily dealt with that pimple every day if it meant I wouldn’t have had to worry about the other ugly mass that showed up.
I entered December angry because of all that had happened with everyone, Anna especially. And then I suffered a heartbreaking defeat against Scott Winshall. The pain in my chest was heavy. But as time wore on, that weight began to lift—in one of those places, anyway.
Scott Winshall had not won the war, and I had Coach Brobur and Coach Terupt on my side. I had my little brother, who was always there for me, who loved ripping open his presents on Christmas morning, who squealed when he tore the wrapping off a silly Christmas board book and then patted the angel on the cover and said, “My-my.”
Whatever that meant.
Dear Journal,
Lexie and I had done little talking since our disastrous party and her surprise announcement at the student government speeches, but it wasn’t like we were mad at each other. It was more like we didn’t know what to say. But I decided to call her anyway—after all, it was the holidays—and to my surprise she asked me to come over. She was getting ready to go to the restaurant, but had something she wanted to show me first. I worried she’d received the invitation that I had not.
I heard the yipping before she even opened the door. Not only was I greeted by Lexie, but by her new companion as well.
“Who’s this?” I said.
“This is Margo,” Lexie said. “Margo, quiet. Yipping is not very ladylike.”
Lexie had her little dog’s poufy hair fashioned with pink and purple bows. “I didn’t know you wanted a puppy,” I said.
“Vincent got her for me. She was a surprise.”
“Looks like you’re having fun dressing her up already.”
“Yeah. He gave her to me because he said puppies have a way of making people happy no matter what.”
“That’s why he got her for you?”
“Yeah. Come in. We need to talk.”
I followed Lexie into her small living room. I sat in the chair adjacent to the end table that held a fashion tree, not a Christmas tree. It was perfect for Lexie, just like little Margo. I looked around to see what else I was missing, and that was when I spotted the envelope sitting on their coffee table. Lexie hadn’t even tried to hide it. It was sitting out in plain view, like she wanted me to see it. I thought Margo was what she had to show me, but guess again. I knew we had pinky-sworn to tell each other if we got an invitation, but I didn’t think she’d rub it in my face like this.
“Did you get one?” Lexie asked when she saw my eyes locked on it.
“No.” I wondered if my voice sounded like I felt.
“I’m sorry,” Lexie said. “I can’t believe it.”
I turned away and stared out the window. I didn’t want her to see me. My eyes were already watering.
“Jess, I’m not going to go.”
I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care, when we both knew the truth—I cared so much.
“Jessica, Vincent got Margo for me because my mom has breast cancer.”
I turned to face Lexie, my hands covering my mouth. All this talk about words with Mrs. Reeder, and I couldn’t find one thing to say.
“Mom was having more headaches than I bothered to realize,” Lexie said. “I was too wrapped up in myself to even care. Vincent’s the one who noticed and made her find a doctor. Mom hadn’t been to one in a long time ’cause they cost money, but Vincent told her not to worry about that and convinced her to schedule a physical. Her headaches have nothing to do with her cancer, so we’re lucky they found the lump when they did the physical. If it weren’t for Vincent, Mom never would’ve gone, and then…”
I still didn’t know what to say. My eyes spilled silent tears, tears for Lexie mixed with tears that had previously welled up in self-pity. I felt horrible t
hat I even had those. Who was I to be feeling bad for myself?
“Mom says they caught it early, so her chances are good,” Lexie said.
A car horn honked out in the driveway, and Margo sprang to life, yipping out the window.
“That’s Vincent,” Lexie said, standing up. “He’s here to pick me up for work. Mom’s already there. He can give you a ride home.”
Slowly, I rose from my chair.
“So I won’t be needing this,” Lexie said, handing me the envelope from the table. “I don’t know if you want it, but it’s yours to take.”
I stepped forward and threw my arms around her. We pulled each other tight and squeezed. And I knew what mattered most was what I held in my arms and not in my hand.
Margo jumped up, placing one paw on Lex and one on me. We knelt down and rubbed her little head, and she started licking our hands, which made us smile, just as Vincent had promised Lexie.
—
So here I am, dear friend, sitting in my bedroom, staring at an envelope that I have yet to open, thinking not of it but of my friend Lexie—and her mom. Yes, I’m still upset about the invitation. I had wanted to go so badly, but it’s just no longer the most important thing in my world, and I’m upset to even think I once thought it was. The person reading a book in our living room—my mother—is the most important, and I’m on my way to join her.
Sad but grateful,
Jessica
P.S. I hope everyone else in the old gang is enjoying a happy holiday, and not one like Lexie.
P.P.S. I voted for Luke, and not because of the stories going around.
“After a breast cancer diagnosis, there are decisions to be made, Lexie—decisions about how best to treat it,” Mom said. We were sitting on my bed. Mom was behind me, brushing my hair while Margo snuggled in my lap. “I gave my options a lot of thought. One was what’s called a mastectomy,” she said, then paused. We looked at each other in my mirror. “That’s a procedure where they remove your breast in surgery.”
“You mean cut it off?” I asked.
“Yes.”
All this time I’d been wishing my chest would grow. I’d stuffed my bra—more than once—and purchased a special push-up bra so it looked like I had something. And here Mom was talking about having them take hers away. A-cups or D-cups, flat or voluptuous, none of that mattered anymore.
“Another option was a lumpectomy,” Mom continued. “That’s where they go in and surgically remove the lump, and you keep your breast.”
I swallowed. “Which one did you decide to do?”
“My doctor is confident she can get the tumor because we caught it early, so I’ll be having a lumpectomy next week. Hopefully then I won’t need a mastectomy.”
“That soon?!”
“Yes, honey. We can’t wait, otherwise we risk letting the cancer grow.”
I stood up from my bed, handed Margo to Mom, and took the brush from her. It was my turn to play with her long strands. I needed to hold part of her while she went on telling me these scary things.
“Shortly after my surgery I’ll begin chemotherapy,” Mom said. “That might make me sick, but hopefully not for too long.” She looked back at me. “And I’ll probably lose my hair.”
I took a scarf from my closet and tied it on Mom’s head. “You’ll still be beautiful,” I said.
She spun around and pulled me into a hug. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Margo immediately weaseled her way in between us, and we giggled together. My little puppy was doing her job.
—
Later that night, Margo cuddled next to me in bed. As I lay awake, I thought back to Mr. Brobur’s science class and our lessons on genetics. He had told us how important this stuff was when it came to our health and family history, especially with things like heart disease and cancer. I’m not one for praying, but I took a page out of Danielle’s book and asked God to heal my mother, and I told him I didn’t care what size boobs he gave me, I was only asking that he’d keep me from getting cancer. I prayed for Danielle and the rest of my friends who I missed, and for Margo, who licked the silent tears from my cheeks before they could even fall to my pillow. And then I prayed for Mrs. Terupt, and asked that she never end up sick and need to tell her child news like this.
The funny thing is, no matter how much praying you do, bad things can still happen.
This diabetes thing was a total shock to me and my family, but somehow, it was even more shocking for my school. Can you believe the junior high had never had a diabetic student before? So naturally, when they got the news about me, it put everyone in a tizzy. Principal Lee had an emergency meeting with Nurse Sharon and every teacher on my schedule. He wanted everyone to know what was going on. For a girl who’s used to handling stuff on her own and keeping personal matters to herself, this took some getting used to.
It didn’t stop there, either. There was quite a bit I had to get used to at school. Like all the stares I kept getting in the hallways. You would think I had showed up with a new tattoo that everyone needed to see. My “tattoo” was the kit I had to carry with me everywhere. It wasn’t stylish, that was for sure. It looked more like a lunch box than anything else, but it fit all my diabetes supplies that I needed with me at all times. Dr. Barnes gave it to me before I left the hospital.
I also had to adjust to my new routine, which had me visiting Nurse Sharon to do a finger stick for a blood sugar check after third period, before lunch, and again at the end of the day. The school didn’t want me making that trip alone in case my sugars were low and I passed out on my way there—they mentioned something about liability—so my new routine also became Anna’s new routine since we had the same schedule—and since we had made up. Anna was happy to be my sidekick, though I knew what she really wanted was to be my official half sister.
Mr. Brobur was the only person at school who wasn’t all in a fuss about my new condition. He took a completely different approach.
“Danielle, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to do a demonstration in class tomorrow that will help your classmates better understand diabetes. And maybe after that you can answer some of their questions. I think it will help reduce the number of stares you’re getting and whispers you’re hearing.”
Again, this was something I had to get used to—the notion of me being on center stage and being the focus of a class discussion—but I gave Mr. Brobur my permission. He was right about the stares and whispers—there were a lot of those, so anything that might help them go away I was willing to try.
The next day in science class, Mr. Brobur showed up with a little guppy feeder fish. “This is Sally,” he said. “As some of you probably know, or maybe you don’t know, over Christmas break Danielle learned that she has type one diabetes. It is something she will have for the rest of her life—unless, of course, someone like one of you goes on to discover a cure for it.
“Rather than bore you with loads of information about diabetes, Sally and I are going to show you why maintaining the correct blood sugar is important.” Mr. Brobur held up a syringe. “In here I have insulin. Insulin is a hormone produced by your pancreas—except when you have diabetes. You need insulin because it helps the cells in your body take the sugars from your bloodstream to make energy. Without it, sugars will continue to pile up in your blood, making you very sick and then killing you. Adding extra insulin to Sally’s water will cause her blood sugar to drop below normal. I wonder what will happen to Sally as a result?”
The class watched in complete silence as Mr. Brobur injected Sally’s water with the insulin. The little fishy continued to bop around her bowl for the next couple of minutes. Just when people started to get restless and impatient, she flopped over on her side.
“Look!” Peter pointed.
Moments later, Sally recovered and started swimming again, and everyone clapped. But then she flopped on her side a second time and floated to the top.
“Oh my God!” Lexie cried.
Again, Sally recovered, but when she tipped over for the third time, she floated to the top and went belly up. There were no signs of recovery.
“You’ve killed her!” Lexie shrieked in horror.
“Not yet,” Mr. Brobur said, “but if we don’t get her immediate help, she will die. What do we need to do to save her?”
“She needs sugar!” several voices shouted out.
“Very good,” Mr. Brobur replied. He pumped Sally’s water with a sugar solution, and within a minute she was swimming around the bowl again. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, especially Lexie. I didn’t expect the near death of a feeder fish to upset her—not like this. Why was she so sensitive?
After Mr. Brobur’s demonstration, I fielded lots of questions, but none from the old gang. They were quiet. Quiet can mean lack of interest or it can mean full of concern. My other classmates did the asking and stopped the whispering and staring after that. Mr. Brobur’s idea helped—a lot. He had pulled off the sort of thing that I used to think only Mr. Terupt was capable of.
I don’t know if that little fish could feel when she was getting low, but whenever my sugars dropped, I could tell. It was easy for me to recognize my lows. I always felt shaky. It would be hard for me to steady my hands and even my teeth would begin to chatter. I wasn’t as good at recognizing my highs, though. People around me often knew before I did. When my sugars went higher than 400, I felt like Grandma’s wet dishrag, with zero energy, but when my sugars hovered between 200 and 400, I had a short fuse and was ready to quarrel with anyone over anything.
“Nice lunch box,” Zack said, referring to my kit. Anna and I were on our way to Nurse Sharon’s when we met him in the hall. “A girl your size must need to eat a lot.”
“A girl my size isn’t afraid to put her fist in your mouth,” I said, stepping toward him.
Zack hurried away without another word.
“Sometimes I like it when your sugars are high,” Anna said, her face lit up with excitement.
Saving Mr. Terupt Page 11