The door opened, and Kyle immediately let go of my hand and stepped back from me. I wanted to throw something at whoever had opened the door and ruined my moment. Kyle broke eye contact with me and turned to smile at my mom. Okay, maybe I didn’t want to throw something at my mom, but could she have had any worse timing?
“Bye, Taylor,” Kyle said without meeting my eyes.
“You don’t have to leave on my account,” Mom told him.
“I was about to leave anyways,” he responded. Mom just nodded at him, and he slipped out the door.
“Dad went to get some food. Are you hungry?” she asked. I shook my head no, and I saw worry build in her expression again.
“Will you help me to the bathroom?” I asked.
Mom hesitated, and I could tell she didn’t want me to get out of bed.
“I’ll be okay. You will be with me,” I coaxed, really wanting to try to get out of bed for a minute. I wanted to see what I looked like.
“All right,” she agreed with an unsure voice.
She came and helped me sit up, which took more strength itself than I’d expected. I held on to her, and she assisted me to slide off the bed and stand up for the first time in I wasn’t sure how long. My legs were wobbly, and I put most of my weight on my mom. She pulled the IV stand with us and slowly walked me to the bathroom. Luckily, it was close. She took me to my good friend the toilet, and I sat down.
“I’ll call to you when I’m ready,” I informed her so she would leave me. I was way past the age of going to the bathroom in front of my mom. Awkward.
She hesitated again, but then left me without saying anything else, shutting the door behind her.
Once I was done, I managed to get up and hold on to the nearby sink. I washed my hands and then looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I shouldn’t have looked.
Oh my god, I looked like a freaking plucked chicken. A lot more of my hair had apparently fallen out since I’d last seen it. Not only had a lot of the hair on my head fallen out, but I had lost most of my eyebrows and some eyelashes as well. This time, the tears didn’t just threaten my eyes; they broke through and started pouring steadily down my face. My hair was not pretty anymore—another thing I had taken for granted, always hating and wanting to change it. Now I just wanted it back, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen until I stopped getting treatment. It was time to do something I’d never expected to do before this happened—chop it off.
“Mom!” I cried. I swear it wasn’t even a second after I called for her that she rushed through the door.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, panicked, her eyes wide and searching for something.
I just pointed at my hair. Sorrow filled her eyes. Everyone had done a good job with not letting on that I now looked like this.
“Can you get scissors?” I asked, pleading with my eyes.
She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault,” I sobbed, and she held me tighter. “Could you… Could you get me a wig?” My voice cracked.
“Of course, sweetie. I’ll try to get one by tomorrow. Do you want to wait to cut your hair until then?” she asked.
“No, do it now. Please,” I begged. I didn't want to look like this anymore. I would just have to hide under a blanket until I got the wig. Although I thought being bald would look better than what was going on with my hair now.
“Okay, stay here and I will go ask a nurse for some scissors.” When she let me go, her eyes were watery and she gave my hand a small squeeze before she left to find the scissors. I leaned against the sink and waited for her.
Before long, she came back and stood behind me with scissors at the ready.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I swallowed hard and shook my head up and down.
“Okay…” she breathed out.
She picked up some of my hair bringing the scissors as close as she could to the top of my head, and took the first snip. I watched through the mirror as she cut it and let it float to the floor, strands of blonde and pink. I didn’t fight the tears. I let them silently fall down my face until she finished and there were only little stubbles of hair. I felt lighter without it. I’d never thought about the weight of my hair until now. It had always been there. I already missed it, especially my pink highlights. I hadn’t gotten to have them long enough.
My appearance was so different without my hair. With the weight I have lost, my sickly look, and now not having hair, I looked like a completely different person. If I didn’t know, it was my reflection staring back at me, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Mom helped me back to my bed, the IV stand being pulled behind me. She tucked me in like she used to when I was little and kissed me on the cheek. I wished I were little again and that this weren’t happening to me.
Since the tears had started flowing, they hadn’t really stopped. They just kept coming, sometimes in small little drops or a subtle stream or just an all-out downpour. It continued until I fell into the darkness sleep brought me. Sometimes within the darkness I found dreams where I wasn’t sick, I had my hair, and Kyle didn’t just want to be my friend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I awoke to find a box next to me with a note in Mom’s handwriting taped to the top.
Taylor,
This doesn’t compare to your beautiful hair, but until you can grow it back, we hope this helps. If you don’t like it or want a different color, we will take it back and get you another one. We will see you after work. We love you, sweetie!
Love,
Mom and Dad
Images from last night flooded my mind as I remembered the events of finding out how much hair I had lost and watching as the rest of it fell to the floor. I touched my head and felt the minuscule pieces that remained.
Opening the white box, I pulled out a blond wig and smiled. It wasn’t quite the same color, and it wasn’t as shiny or as fine as my hair was, but it would work. I was glad she’d chosen to stick with blond. I appreciated my hair color more now and didn’t think I wanted another color anymore, but I did wish it had pink highlights. Those pink highlights had been awesome, and they’d always made me smile and think about Kyle when I looked at them. Now they were no more, which made me even sadder about losing my hair.
I tugged the wig onto my head, which made my head feel warmer. I pressed the button to call a nurse, deciding that I was going to be a pain and bug the nurse for a mirror because I didn’t want to get up. Benefits of being a cancer patient—I got to be waited on.
Nurse Michele came in smiling.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked.
“Okay, I guess, considering,” I responded.
She nodded. “I’m happy to see you pulled through. I was worried about you.”
“Thanks,” was all I could think of to say, so I smiled back at her too.
“You called me, so what can I do for you?”
“Could you bring me a mirror, please? I want to see what this wig looks like on,” I explained, losing some of the smile.
“Of course,” she bubbled. “I’ll be right back, and I also have something for you,” she chimed as she bounced out of the room.
I looked around the room at the slew of flowers, ‘Get Well’ balloons, and unopened cards that I hadn’t even looked at yet and wondered what she had for me. I didn’t want any more of this stuff. It just seemed to depress me more, even though I knew people were only trying to show me their support and love.
She popped back into the room holding a mirror, a comb, and a small gift bag.
“Do you mind if I help style your wig before you look in the mirror?” she asked, hopeful.
“Sure,” I approved, and she put the bag and mirror down on a table and went to work. She combed it out and parted it to the side a little.
“This is a nice wig. It is made with real hair. Your parents did good picking it out,” she told me as she played
with my hair.
When she seemed satisfied, she handed me the mirror. I was surprised with the result; I actually didn’t look half bad. The hair fell a little past my shoulders, and with how she parted my hair, it framed my face nicely. It wasn’t the same, but it made me feel a lot better. With this, I wouldn’t want to hide under the covers every time someone came into my room. I smiled at my reflection and then at Nurse Michele. I liked it when she was working; she always made things a little better.
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” she said, brushing it off.
I shook my head. “No, you aren’t. You could have just handed me the mirror and left, and that would have fulfilled your job, and I would have been happy with that. Instead, you always take extra time and effort to help me and make me feel better. You are a great nurse, really. Thank you,” I emphasized, feeling like she needed to know this.
Her eyes got misty, and she looked away, picked up the gift bag, and handed it to me. I took the bag, pulled out the tissue paper, and saw a silver picture frame. When I lifted it up and looked at it, my breath caught. It was the picture she had taken of Kyle and me with our Lego house. I had forgotten all about it. It was seriously perfect. I loved it, and we were both beaming at the camera, happy, his arm wrapped around me. It was a good picture, and the missing hair wasn’t noticeable. My heart felt like it was expanding and fluttering at the same time from looking at it. A grin broke across my face, and I hugged the picture to my chest. Yup, hugged it. Wanted to kiss it too, but I restrained myself.
“I love it!” I squealed, not able to hold back my excitement over the perfect gift.
She laughed at my reaction. “I’m glad.” She was officially the best nurse ever.
“Thank you!” I exclaimed.
“You are welcome. Tell me if you need anything else. I’ll be back to check on you again before long,” she said before exiting the room.
I was content with staring at my picture—possibly mostly at Kyle, but no one had to know that. When food arrived, I placed it on the table next to my bed, angling toward me so I could easily see it.
Lunch was chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. I even ate some; it was pretty good for hospital food. It was the first real meal I’d had in over a week. Hopefully I wouldn’t immediately lose it.
When I was done, I decided to open some of the cards and read them. A lot of them were from family members. There was one from Liz that read:
Taylor,
You better get better soon! I miss you, and you are scaring me right now. You aren’t allowed to leave me, so get better so you can read this and laugh because I suck at these things and never know what to write. I hope to see you soon.
Your Best Friend,
Liz
The writing was a bit smudged by what looked to have been tear drops. Oh Liz. I hated making her sad; she was such a happy, bubbly person. I found my phone on the table and sent her a message.
Me: I LOVE YOU. I’M ALIVE.
Liz: About time! Can I visit?
Me: YES!
Liz: P.S. I love you too.
I wanted to try to enjoy today because tomorrow I would be starting the treatment back up. Then it wouldn’t be a matter of if I would throw up, it would be how soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Days and weeks went by with the same routine until something miraculous happened that broke the cycle. Dr. Arenstam came into my room with a huge smile on her face. My parents were there with me. Kyle had just left, motorcycle and all. He had finally gotten the motorcycle he wanted.
“I have news!” she exclaimed, and I could tell it was good news.
I bolted up in my bed and was ready for something good. My parents perked up also, hope flooding into their eyes.
“Your most recent blood and bone marrow results came back, and they show that you are in remission, Taylor.” She said the words I thought I would never hear. Was this real? Maybe it was another dream.
“Remission?” I repeated, my voice unsure.
“Remission,” she confirmed. “It is not over though. You will have to have regular checkups to make sure the cancer stays away. You do not need any more treatments, and hopefully you never will again. Monitoring your health and watching for any symptoms is going to be very important, but while you do that, you should be able to go live your life and be a teenager.”
I stared at her, speechless. This was actually happening. I’d made it, and I was going to get to go home. I looked to my parents. Mom was smiling and crying at the same time. Dad appeared like he didn’t believe what he’d heard either.
“When can we take her home?” My dad’s voice came out rough.
“You should be able to take her home tomorrow. It will take her a while to regain her strength, but she should start feeling better before long.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked numbly. I’d expected to be getting another round of chemotherapy tomorrow, not going home to my own room and bed.
I had to be dreaming, so I did what any normal person would do—I pinched myself. Hard. I felt the pinch through my skin, and my nerves responded with instant pain. Ow. Okay, maybe this wasn’t a dream. That was going to leave a bruise. Oh well. It would match all of the other ones.
“Wow. I can’t believe I get to go home tomorrow,” I finally said.
“You really do,” Dr. Arenstam confirmed once again. “I hope you never have to stay here again.” Normally that would sound mean, but in this case, it was a hospital and I knew she wanted me to stay healthy.
“Thanks,” I told her.
“I will leave and let you all talk, and I will try to get you released in the morning so you aren’t stuck here for another full day.” She winked, and I managed to get some life back into my face and smiled back at her. “See you in the morning!” she said before she left.
I could tell she’d loved giving us this news. She had always been kind and smiled, but today, her smile had been ten times brighter than normal. This was why she did what she did. She could witness the moments when she helped someone, got to give them good news, and saw the difference she was able to make.
My parents left before long, telling me that they had to do some major grocery shopping since they hadn’t spent much time at home. They also wanted to get the house ready for me. The happiness and relief that replaced their constant worry and sadness was an amazing transformation to see. It lessened the guilt I always felt because of how hard this whole thing had been on them. I’d survived, and we could go back to being a happy family again—or so I hoped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I gave up on sleeping around five a.m. and decided to get up and take a shower. Showering was a lot of effort and a very tiring task. I hoped to regain my strength before too long because I usually enjoyed taking showers and didn’t want them to be a chore forever.
Once I was clean, I got dressed in the first pair of jeans I had worn since I’d gotten here. They were big on me, so I had to track down a belt. I was excited to stuff my face and gain back some of the weight I had lost. I also found a purple fitted t-shirt to put on, and that was a bit loose also. I hadn’t been this well dressed in forever. Not that this was well dressed, but compared to what I had been wearing, it was.
I put my wig back on, fixing it until I was content. I didn’t usually go without my wig for long, although sometimes I needed a break because it would get hot and itchy. I finished and sat on my bed, ready to be freed. I knew I probably had a couple of hours before I would get to leave. In the hope that I really would get to escape this morning, I pulled out my iPod and played the playlist Kyle had made me.
***
Mom showed up with Dr. Arenstam around eight.
“It looks like you are ready to go,” Dr. Arenstam said, smiling. “Everything looks good, so I don’t see why you cannot leave in a few minutes.”
“Your dad is parked out front waiting for us,” Mom added, and a huge smile broke out across my face. I was really going home.
“I’m so glad you got better. I hope I never see you here again.” Her voice came out thick with emotion.
“Thank you—for everything,” I told her. I would miss her. Maybe when I came back for checkups I could say hi.
She released me and wiped her eyes. “Okay, you go be healthy,” she instructed me.
“I will,” I promised, ready to do just that. I couldn’t wait to feel healthy again and be able to grow my hair back.
I walked over to Dr. Arenstam and hugged her, wanting to thank her. Words could never be enough for keeping me alive and hopefully giving me my life back. I knew I would never be the same as I was before, but now I had a chance to grow and have a life of possibilities. I could hope and dream again.
“I can never thank you enough, but I’ll say thank you anyways,” I said.
“You are welcome. Seeing you healthy will be thanks enough.”
“I’m ready,” I said, releasing her, and wiped away a stray tear—this time, a happy tear.
“I will go get you a wheelchair,” Nurse Michele informed me.
“I can walk,” I responded, ready to stretch my legs.
“It is hospital policy, but once you are checked out and at the door, you don’t have to be in it.”
“All right,” I relented, disappointed.
“I will go get you checked out and meet you at the door,” Mom said, giving me a hug. She was trying to get me out of here as fast as possible, which made me happy. She probably had the same thought I did—get out of here before they change their mind and want me to stay longer.
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