My folks treat me like I was made of glass. They stick to me like white on rice. Sometimes I just have to go into my room and shut the door for privacy. The only one who treats me normally is my little brother, Paul. He still fights and argues with me.
It’s kind of scary, too, being so far from the hospital and all the nurses and doctors. Sometimes I worry about what I’ll do if I have a relapse. Or I wonder what will happen if I get real sick like you did from some other germs.
Some of my friends came over to welcome me home. After about fifteen minutes, we didn’t have anything left to talk about. It seemed so strange being around them. We don’t have anything in common anymore. Maybe things will change when school starts. I hope so.
Mom took me shopping, too. I’ve lost so much weight that nothing fits my skinny body. We went up to the big shopping mall and guess who I saw? Yep! Jason. We kind of stood looking at each other for a few minutes. He didn’t know what to say and neither did I. Of course, all his big, dumb friends were standing around too, razzing him and making it even worse.
He looked like all he wanted to do was run away. I wonder if he remembers that time he kissed me? Honest, Dawn, I do wonder if things will ever be the same again. Ever!
Write soon!
Love,
Sandy
Dawn read and reread Sandy’s letter. She understood her friend’s feelings of loneliness and isolation. Was it going to be the same for her? Would her friends accept her once again? Would she still get to do all the things she did before?
Dawn kept herself as busy as possible in the hospital. She wrote letters to Sandy, Rob, and her grandparents. She learned how to knit and made a pull-on ski cap for one of the little girls on the floor. She grew more ambitious and started knitting an afghan as a Christmas gift for her mom. She figured it would take her until Christmas to complete it.
She worked in the activity room with the smaller kids, playing games and helping with arts and crafts. “We’re certainly going to miss you around here,” Joan, the play therapist, told her.
“I’ll miss the people,” Dawn confessed. “But I hate this place. I’ll never miss it.”
“You know,” Joan said as Dawn cut out paper shapes one afternoon. “You should plan to come to Cancer camp this summer.”
“Cancer camp?” Dawn asked, lowering the scissors and surveying the pert therapist.
“We reach out to kids with cancer, all types of cancer,” Joan said. “It’s held every August at a beautiful camp facility in the country. There’s no roughing it either. There are air-conditioned cabins, a swimming pool, horse stables . . . only the best.
“It’s a lot of fun with an opportunity to meet many kids like yourself. Your age group, twelve to eighteen year olds, spend two weeks there. And they really have a good time! They just play, play, play.” She beamed Dawn a big smile. “Why don’t I give you some literature? Then talk it over with your parents and think about coming. I know you’ll have a terrific time!” Joan added.
Dawn nodded, but inside she knew that Cancer camp was the last place in the world she wanted to go! Once she got well, she was going back to the world of normal people. She was never going to be around sick people again. Never!
“That would be nice,” she told Joan, then promptly dismissed the idea completely.
One week later, her test results came back with positive results. “Remission,” Dr. Sinclair told Dawn and her parents. “I think it’s safe to plan to send you home and make room for some sick kids.” He smiled and Dawn’s heart did a flip-flop. It had happened for her, too. Like Sandy, she’d attained remission. Her imaginary teddy bear army, the chemotherapy, the doctors and nurses had all achieved their goal. They’d beaten down the leukemia and stopped its spread in her body.
“I’m going home,” she told Nurse Fredia later that day. “I’m really going home!” To herself, she added, “Ready or not, World, here I come!”
CHAPTER
8
As Dawn drove home with her parents, she understood how Rip Van Winkle must have felt when he’d awakened from his years of long sleep. When Dawn had gone into the hospital, it had been April. The air was crisp, fresh and mild. The trees were newly decorated with the bright green color of late spring. The flower beds were alive with crocuses, geraniums and lilies.
Now, it was mid-July. The air was hot and heavy with the humidity of summer. The trees’ leaves were full, dark green and mature. Summer roses and Queen Anne’s Lace adorned hedges and yards. Dawn Rochelle had lost three months of her life. It was as if she’d gone into hibernation and come out into another time, a slightly different world.
The quiet neighborhood surrounded her home, the paint slightly peeling. Her dad halted the car in the driveway. The grass needed cutting and the front porch seemed smaller than she remembered it. Inside, her eyes swept over the familiar things from her childhood . . . her mother’s matched Tiffany lamps . . . the portrait of her great-grandmother on the dining room wall.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, slowly, catching her breath every few steps. Her muscles were weak from disuse. She’d have to work on regaining strength in her flaccid muscles. She ran her hand along the smooth, dark wood banister. Her eyes took in the colors of her home, so different from the hospital’s green and soft yellow to which she had grown accustomed.
Her bedroom was just as she’d left it, except for the giant bouquet of flowers perched on her dressing table. The card read: Welcome home! Mom and Dad.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “They’re beautiful.”
Tears glistened in her mom’s eyes and her dad cleared his throat. “You hungry?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I-I’d just like to be alone for a while.”
“Of course,” they said and left her to settle into her old patterns.
The unpacking went slowly as she stopped to rest every few minutes. Dawn decided she’d begin a regular exercise program before school started. She wanted to be strong enough to resume all her school activities once the new term started.
She put away her memorabilia from the hospital. She hung the poster Sandy had drawn directly across from her bed, so that she could see it first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. She caressed her numerous teddy bears and took Mr. Ruggers from his perch on the shelf and hugged him tight to her.
“Did you miss me?” she asked the time-worn bear. She thought of Sandy, of Nurse Fredia, and of Dr. Sinclair. They seemed so far away.
Neighbors came to visit, to welcome her home. Her grandparents called. Rob sent her a box of candy by special messenger. He was staying in East Lansing for the summer, working and attending a few summer classes. She missed him.
It took a few days, but Dawn settled into her former life as if no time had passed, as if nothing was different, except that now she took medicine every day. Now she rested every afternoon. And now she ate several small meals a day instead of three large ones.
Her girl friends came by. . . Kim, Rhonda, and Jill. “Kathy’s parents dragged her off on vacation,” Rhonda said. “She was desperate to stay here, too. Just when school got out Nate Hutchinson began to notice her. And then she has to go off for the summer!”
A chorus of sympathetic sighs went up. Dawn tried to get into the flow of the conversation, but she felt out of step, out of sync with her old crowd. Hey . . . I almost died! she thought. It was hard to get excited about Kathy missing a summer romance with Nate. Sandy’s words returned to Dawn. “We don’t have anything in common any more . . .”
It was hard to get back into the swing of her old life. So much had changed. She felt older, more seasoned. Things that were once very important, were no longer important. She felt at loose ends.
Another letter from Sandy arrived:
Dear Dawn,
I was glad to get your letter telling me you’d gone home. It takes a few days to readjust, but once things get back to normal, it seems like you never left in the first place.
Ti
me keeps dragging by for me. My folks still won’t let me do too much. They act as if I’ll break or something! We’re driving over to Washington, D.C. for a family vacation. I’ve never been to the Capital before so I’m looking forward to it. (Actually I’m looking forward to ANYTHING that gets me out of this house!)
I’ll write you some postcards. You keep writing me here at my house. Miss you.
Love,
Sandy
Dawn exercised regularly. Her summer days were broken by visits to the hospital as an outpatient. They tested her blood, her bone marrow and evaluated her medicines and test results. Gratefully, her remission remained in force. She visited the Oncology floor once. But it was depressing, so she decided not to visit again. She was getting well. The kids there were sick. She didn’t like being reminded of her weeks of therapy.
“Want to go to the Mall tomorrow?” Rhonda called to ask one night. “We thought we’d do some shopping, eat lunch and go to a movie. It’ll be like old times,” she added.
“Sure,” Dawn said. “Old times” . . . but not exactly.
The girls arrived at 10 A.M. as the stores were opening. The air-conditioned comfort of the Mall felt good. Already, the August heat had begun to wilt the air.
They browsed from store to store, trying on jeans, mini-dresses and ribbed sweaters for the fall. New colors, in confectionary shades, beckoned to Dawn. She chose a pullover in frosted blue and an oxford shirt in frothy green. Her wig covered her own thickening cap of re-grown hair. By September, she knew she could go without it and the new colors would look super with her natural hair color.
They ordered hamburgers and chocolate shakes at a small café-style restaurant. The chocolate tasted good to Dawn again. They bought yogurt cones at an ice cream parlor. Dawn followed Kim, Rhonda, and Jill obediently. She listened to their giggles and gossip. She was part of them, yet separate. She was like them, yet different. It was an odd sensation.
The movie at the Mall was crowded. Kids milled around the lobby waiting for the early show to let out. Dawn bought popcorn and waited for her change. A boy next to her asked, “Dawn? Is that you, Dawn?”
She turned, surprised, and looked up into the dark brown eyes of Jake Macka. Her heart thudded.
“Hi, Jake,” she said. The noise and the people around her receded into the buttery-smelling air.
He shuffled. “I—uh—I heard you were home.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, conscious of his nearness, feeling both shy and excited. “I sure liked the card you sent me. It was nice of you,” Dawn said, smiling.
He dropped his eyes and scanned the bystanders quickly. I shouldn’t have reminded him, she thought. I’ve embarrassed him.
He shrugged. “Are you coming back to school this fall?”
“Sure.” Her palms were sweating and her wig felt hot and smothering. The cashier returned with Dawn’s change. She took it, grateful for something to do with her hands. “How’d your baseball team do?” she asked. He was a star on a city league team. She recalled how handsome he looked in his uniform.
“We won the league, but lost in the county finals,” he said.
“Too bad,” she said, then added quickly, “I mean, I’m glad you won, but sorry you lost.” Dumb! she thought.
“Well . . . ” Jake said. “I guess I’d better go.”
She stepped back to allow him to pass and landed on a little boy’s toe. He jumped. She jumped. Jake laughed and she joined him, self-consciously.
“I’ll see you around,” he told her, then disappeared into a throng of people.
“Yeah, see you,” she echoed.
“Were you talking to Jake?” Jill asked, coming up next to her.
Dawn nodded. “He just wanted to say hello,” she said. “It was nothing.” But Jill eyed her skeptically. Dawn took a handful of popcorn and ignored her friend’s curious stare.
“He’s cute,” Jill said. Dawn nodded and followed her to join the other girls. They walked, single file into the darkened theater. Dawn wished she were sitting with Jake. She wished he’d hold her hand. She wished . . . she wished . . .
* * * * *
Two things arrived for Dawn in the mail in the middle of August. One was a letter from Sandy. The second was a brochure on Cancer camp and a brief note from Joan Clarke.
Here’s that brochure I promised you in the hospital! Talk it over with your parents and plan to attend. You’ll have a good time. I promise!
Joan.
P.S. I’ll be your counselor.
The letter from Sandy described her trip to Washington. It read in part . . .
The Smithsonian was awesome! All those diamonds, emeralds and rubies! You can’t imagine how much they’re worth. The dinosaur room was super, too. It contained bones of animals as big as a room!
But now that I’m home I’m bored, bored, bored! I was right about Jason. He avoids me like I have the plague. I can’t wait for school to start. It’ll be something to do. Sure wish we lived closer to each other. I really miss you, Dawn . . .
The idea began to form in Dawn’s head even before she finished reading Sandy’s letter. . . camp. If Sandy could go, it might not be such a bad idea. If Sandy could go, it would be a fun thing to do, a fun place to go. But ONLY if Sandy could go.
She took the information and her idea to her parents that night at supper. “Do you really want to do this?” her dad asked.
Dawn nodded. “I think it might be fun, if Sandy’s there.”
Her mom hedged. “I don’t know. . . You just got home . . . And what about your medications and tests?”
“I’ve been home for ages,” Dawn defended. “At camp, I’ll be around all the doctors and nurses. It’s for kids with cancer. Of course, they’ll take good care of us!” Suddenly, she wanted to go very much. She wanted to be around other kids like herself. But most of all, she wanted to see Sandy, her best friend.
“All right,” her dad told her with a firm shake of his head. “If you want to go, I’ll make the arrangements!”
CHAPTER
9
The camp matched the pictures in the brochure perfectly. The place was neat, clean and modern. There was a main complex of buildings with tree-lined trails and footpaths to cabins, stables, an Olympic-sized swimming pool and a magnificent blue lake.
The woods were beautiful, bright and green, cool and heavy with the scents of summer. Dawn fell in love with the peacefulness and the tranquility of the camp at once. She nervously checked in at the main building. She was eager to have her parents leave so that she could go exploring on her own. She was eager to try and track down Sandy.
“You’re in Coyote cabin,” a counselor sitting at a long table told her. “Here’s a map. Just go outside and take the trail to the right, follow it past Fox and Eagle cabins and you’ll be there.” The counselor circled an area on Dawn’s map and handed it to her.
Her dad picked up her bags and followed her out into the bright afternoon sun, down the winding leaf-strewn trail. They found Coyote cabin with ease. Dawn bounded up the concrete steps and entered the air-conditioned cabin. Eight neat bunks lined the walls. Each was headed by a dresser.
Her dad gave a low whistle. “Not bad. I’d say this place is as good as Holiday Inn,” he said.
Dawn agreed, noticing that two of the beds had already been claimed. She staked out two, one for her and one for Sandy. “She’s not here yet,” Dawn said, her disappointment showing.
“She will be,” her mom told her. “It’s a long drive from West Virginia.”
“She wouldn’t be coming at all if Dr. Sinclair hadn’t insisted,” Dawn said. The camp was supposed to be for Ohio residents only. But Dr. Sinclair had requested that Sandy be allowed to attend.
“Yes,” her dad mused. “Who’s going to say ‘No’ to him?”
“There’re at least fifty other kids coming,” her mother informed Dawn. “Sandy’s not the only friend you’ll have.”
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“She’s the only one I want right now,” Dawn said. Unpacking her things, she took half a dresser, leaving the other half for her friend, and then she left the cabin to explore the grounds.
Together, with her family, Dawn wandered the trails. The paths were quiet, sun splashed with leaf patterns and shadows. Butterflies fluttered lazily in the air and tall trees towered overhead, reaching up, up into the clear sky. The sapphire blue lake was at the heart of the camp, stretching across to the horizon, mirror-calm and decorated with garlands of firs and pines.
By the time they arrived back at the central building, it was late afternoon and the spacious interior teemed with campers, their families and friends. Dawn searched the crowds for Sandy. Suddenly, a squeal from across the room caused her to spin.
Sandy hurtled across the floor shouting Dawn’s name, and flung herself into Dawn’s arms. Both girls jumped up and down, shouting, laughing and talking all at once. “I can’t believe I’m here!” Sandy cried in her soft West Virginia accent.
“Me either!” Dawn shouted. “We’re going to have so much fun! I’ve already saved us beds in our cabin!” Dawn told her.
They hopped around for a few more minutes, babbling with excitement. Finally, Dawn led Sandy outside toward Coyote cabin. Sandy’s father struggled red-faced, with her luggage, trying to keep up.
“I just love it!” Sandy cried, after surveying the cabin.
Her father looked around, hesitant to leave her. “Now, Daddy, I’ll be just fine,” Sandy told him.
“You sure?” he asked. “It’s just so far from home, Honey. . .”
Sandy rolled her eyes and led him back to the main building. Dawn’s parents were still waiting amid the confusion of campers trying to check in. “Honestly, Pa! I want to be here. I’m gonna have a real good time. Now you get along, ya hear?” Sandy told him.
Reluctantly, the big man hugged his tiny daughter to him. Dawn hugged her parents good-bye, kissing them self-consciously, and watching as they left. Finally alone, she turned to Sandy and cried, “We’re free!”