Subject: The Final Word
Hi.… I’m writing this from a hospital computer. My fingers are shaking and I’m crying. Dr. Powell gave us the results of my tests today. She told us what’s wrong with me. I have leukemia, Jesse. I have cancer.
Melinda
TO: My Ballerina Girl, Melinda
Subject: Sad
Ever since Bailey sent me the e-mail telling me you were in the hospital, my worried imagination has been going crazy. I thought about all the things that could have made you sick—really bad flu, or some weird disease. I never thought it could be cancer. You’re too young to get cancer! I know cancer isn’t contagious: it can’t be “caught” like a cold. But why you, Melinda? It shouldn’t happen to someone as wonderful as you!
Mom says you have a good doctor and that you’ll get the best care in the world. PLEASE write me often—every day if you feel like it—and let me know how you’re doing. I think of you every minute of every day.
Jesse
P.S. I’m sending you something to cheer you up as soon as I get the money together!
TO: Jesse
Subject: Just to Talk
I don’t know why I got cancer, and don’t think I haven’t asked! The doctors don’t know, Mom and Dad don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad luck. But whatever it is, I sure do hate it. This doesn’t seem real. I keep thinking this is a bad dream and I’ll wake up any minute. But I don’t wake up. And I have to take chemo treatments, which scare me to death. Gee, did I really mean to write “death”? Oh, Jesse, I wish I could see you.… I wish this wasn’t happening to me.… I just want to go home and have everything the way it used to be.
Melinda
TO: All Concerned
Subject: Doctor’s Report
Now that we know the worst, we’re hoping for the best.
First of all, thank you for all the cards, notes and gifts you’ve sent Melinda since we learned the news. Her hospital room looks like an annex for a boutique! Really, your generosity is much appreciated and has cheered Melinda greatly.
Melinda has been transferred to All-Children’s Hospital, where she’ll be supervised by a team of physicians in a state-of-the-art complex associated with St. Jude, the famous children’s cancer research hospital in Memphis. She has a hematologist, an oncologist, a psychiatrist (for adjustment to the diagnosis), a nutritionist, a social worker—in short, a whole team of people to help her cope with her cancer (the latest concept in treating the patient as a whole, not piecemeal). A good idea, I guess, but there are a lot of new people in our lives, the kind that parents hope they never have to meet under circumstances we never think we’ll face.
Melinda had a blood transfusion to elevate her red cell count and she looks and feels much better. She’s also on antibiotics to deal with the bone marrow infection and is fever-free for the first time in days. Tomorrow she’ll begin her first round of chemo, which her oncologist, Dr. Neely, hopes will put her into remission. Once they adjust her levels of chemo, which is pretty potent stuff, she’ll get to return home. Then she’ll go onto outpatient status. She’ll have to come in for more treatments (the doctors call them protocols), be hooked up to an infusion pump for a few hours at a time and have more chemo dumped into her via IV, but at least we’ll be able to take her home after each treatment.
The goal is to get her into remission and keep her there. Some patients never have a relapse. Others can have one after being cancer-free for a few years. A patient is considered “cured” if there are no relapses after five years. Frankly, there’s so much to learn and adjust to that we’re all overwhelmed. I asked Dr. Neely how we’ll get through this and he said, “The same way everyone else gets through it—one day at a time.”
More later,
Lenny
MELINDA’S DIARY
July 15
The chemo started today. IVs in my arm, wads of pills in my mouth, a whole schedule of stuff that is poisonous. Dr. Neely says it has to be strong enough to kill the cancer cells. I hope it doesn’t kill me along with it.
I asked him if I was going to lose my hair. He said, “Maybe not.” I sure hope he’s right. I imagine a bald ballerina and I start to cry. The doctors told me that I can return to dancing as soon as I’m in remission and feel up to it. They want me to be physically active. But no one understands how hard dance is and how far behind I’ll have fallen. Where will I ever get the energy to compete again? I’m sick to my stomach and have to stop writing. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME????
TO: Jesse
Subject: Melinda, of course
I wish I could answer the questions you ask me, but I can’t. Yes, she’s really sick. Yes, she’s really unhappy. I don’t know about the dying part, but I won’t even THINK that! I did get to go up and visit her and she looks pretty good. Skinnier and paler, but still like Melinda. Just to prove it, I’ll bring a camera next time I go and take some pics of her and her hospital room and I’ll send them to you. I’ll be your eyes and ears, Jesse. I promise!
Bailey
Elana’s Journal
Midnight
I bought this journal today because I have to start writing things down … private things that I can’t share in coast-to-coast e-mails, not with Lenny, certainly not with Melinda. I see my daughter, my dear child, writing in her little diary that she puts away and locks if anyone comes into the room while she’s writing in it (as if I’d ever read her personal and private diary!). I know it’s a release for her. The psychiatrist, Dr. Sanchez, was pleased when she learned that Melinda has the habit of keeping a diary. She told me that “journaling” is therapeutic. God knows I need such therapy myself, so I’ll give it a try.
I can’t believe this is happening to our child. Cancer. The word alone sends shivers of pure terror through me. But Melinda is such a brave little soldier. She goes through every treatment without complaint. I believe it’s due to years of discipline from ballet. Ah … her ballet. She gets upset with me if I even mention it. Competing and losing a part to another is one thing; having your dream snatched away so cruelly is quite another. She doesn’t deserve this.
I must stop thinking negatively. Melinda WILL dance again. She WILL beat leukemia. She absolutely, positively WILL. I can’t afford to think otherwise. Lenny has his job to keep his mind occupied. But my job, my joy, has always been Melinda. How ironic that in my “volunteer” mode, I chaired events that raised thousands for this hospital. Now our Melinda is a recipient of all that effort and money. And me? I feel “out of work.” How can I let Melinda know that I want her to need me as much as I need her?
MELINDA’S DIARY
July ??? (Lost track of time, but it seems like forever.)
I felt pretty good today. No nausea, and the food even tasted all right. (Some of the meds I take give food a funny—like peculiar, not ha-ha—taste). I can’t believe all the presents and flowers and cards I’ve gotten! My friends from school, dance class, relatives … Mom had to take stuff home. Dad sent me a HUGE bouquet. Bailey gave me a white teddy bear with a red heart sewn into its fur. But my best present is a whole dozen pink roses from Jesse. They are so beautiful. His card said, “Roses go to the prettiest flower of all. From a Rose (admirer).” Isn’t that sweet? I’d like to see him face to face … (before my hair falls out—if it does).
Bailey says she and Jesse e-mail each other regularly to “discuss” me. I’m not sure I like that too much. But it sounds petty to say anything about it, because both are my friends and I know they just want to help. Bailey brought me pictures of Zorita and I got a big lump in my throat because I want to go home and be normal again.
Will I ever be normal again?
Felt rotten today. Threw up all my supper. Refused ice cream for bedtime snack. Sleep is all I want.
Mom practically lives here at the hospital with me. Sometimes I wish she’d just go away. Other times, I want to crawl in her lap like a baby with a boo-boo. I haven’t written Jesse in days, because I just don’t feel like it. He probably hates
me.
A new horror started today—sores inside my mouth from the chemo. They hurt so bad, I can’t eat anything. I HATE my life!
Some therapist visited today. She taught me about imaging. I’m supposed to imagine my white blood cells “eating” the cancer cells. Tonight I played a video game with some super-graphic, kickbutt woman wiping out a nest of robotic aliens. I pretended she was ripping through my bloodstream destroying cancer cells. I got the second-highest score according to the chart of those who’ve played the game in the past month. Hail, Melinda!
Woke up this morning and found a huge clump of my hair on the pillow. I cried. I guess I won’t be one of the “lucky ones” who keep their hair. Mom said that because my hair is so thick it’s hardly noticeable, but I notice it! I told her I want it all cut off.
Mom brought her hairdresser, David, to the hospital today and he sat me in a chair and cut my hair into a super-short pixie cut. I look so different. But at least now if it all falls out, I’ll be used to seeing it short. Plus, now there won’t be as much to fall when it leaves my head.
Bailey came up and went on and on about how “cute” I looked. She said the new cut makes my eyes look huge. I told her thanks. I think it makes me look like a refugee from a concentration camp. Maybe that’s because I’ve lost twelve pounds in two weeks. But I just can’t eat anything!
July 30
Dear Melinda,
I’ve given up sending you e-mails because you never answer them. The only news I get is from Bailey. Even your dad’s stopped sending e-mail updates. I can’t stand being cut off. Please don’t abandon me.
Jesse
MELINDA’S DIARY
July 31
I’m ashamed of myself. I’ve been thinking about myself and what was happening to me so much that I forgot to really look around and see everybody else stuck in this hospital. Mom rolled me out into the halls in a wheelchair (THAT sure felt weird, rolling instead of walking), and I saw so many others with cancer like me—some a whole lot younger and a whole lot worse off!
The little kids are the saddest to see. Most of them are bald and they look so thin—I call it “the chemo look.” One boy who’s maybe four or five was sitting in the children’s rec room coloring. There he was, an IV hooked to his arm, another to his chest, his little bald head bent over a coloring book. The crayons were spread all over the table, his tiny hand was holding a brown crayon, and he was coloring as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I just sat there and watched him and felt tears sliding down my face. It made me so sad. He’s like any other little kid, except he isn’t. He has cancer. Like me.
I went back to my room and cried for an hour.
TO: Jesse
Subject: Apology
I got your card and note and I’m sorry I’ve not been a very good friend. So much has been happening to me that I lost sight of some of the things in my life that really count. You’re at the top of that list. I had Mom bring your framed picture from my dresser to the hospital and now I can see you every day and remind myself that what’s happening to me is also happening, in a way, to my family and friends.
Dad uses words like “brave” and “courageous” when he e-mails people about me, but that’s not really true. I’m neither of those things. I’m scared and angry and very unhappy. I don’t know why anyone wants to be around me, because I’m so mean to people—especially the people who matter the most to me, like you and Mom and Dad. Even Bailey has been “busy” lately. Oh, she calls and has come to visit a couple of times, but the truth is we don’t have much to talk about these days. My world is so small now. Hers is normal.
Dancing, the thing I once did that made my life mine, lies in ruins, like a crumbled wreck. I’d better stop writing because I’m getting melodramatic. I won’t stop writing you ever again. That’s a promise.
Melinda
TO: Jesse
Subject: Friendship
OK … to answer your latest e-mail accusation: I AM NOT ABANDONING MELINDA. (I’m shouting this answer to you.) For starters, I have to baby-sit my twin sisters (HALF sisters!) this summer while Mom and Bill work, so I don’t have much time to go to the hospital and back. The hospital is miles from here and when traffic’s bad (which is almost all the time in Atlanta), it takes almost an hour just to get there. That leaves me only weekends to visit her. Most of the time, Mom and Bill have other things to do on weekends, so they can’t take me and it’s a rare day they let me get into a car with teen drivers (like Pete, my boyfriend, whom they don’t like me dating, but that’s another story!).
So you see, crabbing me out for not visiting Melinda more often isn’t very fair. Yes, I know, now that I’ve explained everything, you’re sorry.
Apology accepted.
Friends(?),
Bailey
MELINDA’S DIARY
August 1
Mrs. Houston brought Tanya and Kathi for a visit today. They looked SO good! So healthy. I wanted to crawl under the covers and hide because I do not look good or healthy. They kept talking about how much everyone missed me and how poorly they do in class without me there to “push them to perfection.” I know they’re just giving me a line to make me feel better, but it was good to hear anyway.
Mrs. Houston says that just as soon as I’m able to resume classes, she’ll work extra with me so that I can get back into shape more quickly. She said that she’s saving a part in this year’s Nutcracker and that dancers from the Denver Dance Company will be a part of our production. And that includes Natalie Blackbird, one of the best ballerinas in the country! I promised all of them that I’ll be back real soon. I mean it too! I will!
Elana’s Journal
August 1
It’s 2:30 a.m. and I’m sitting in the hospital chapel because I can’t sleep. I’ve stayed in the room with Melinda most nights (there’s a large chair that makes up into a bed, a lumpy bed), but once she falls asleep, I lie there wide awake. I come here because it’s open around the clock and I find it quiet and peaceful. The room feels like a refuge to me. Behind the altar area is a beautiful stained-glass window of healing hands touching through a rainbow. The window’s lit artificially from behind so that it looks as if it’s never dark outside. It helps offset the darkness inside my heart.
Melinda’s been here two weeks already and still no remission. I thought it would happen more quickly. She’s getting the newest drugs, the most powerful weapons science has against leukemia, but remission remains elusive. Her cancer still lurks, like a crouching lion, in her blood tests. How do I fight an enemy I can’t see? How do I balance being Melinda’s mother and her guardian? I know I hold on too tight. I can’t help it.
I come here to pray. For strength. For healing. For wisdom. Sometimes the night seems endless and the days too rushed. Oh, what I’d give to go back to my mundane life of schlepping my daughter to dance rehearsals, of grocery shopping, summer cookouts, and busywork. I miss Lenny when he flies out for days at a time. I miss my life. I want Melinda well and whole. And home.
Yes, I want her home!
MELINDA’S DIARY
August 4
I promise to be nicer to Mom. It’s not her fault I’m stuck here (unless leukemia turns out to be genetic, then it IS all her fault! A little humor). I don’t know why I take it out on her. I can see how it hurts her, but I’m nasty anyway. Bad ME! But I will do better. I swear!
AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION BY DR. LEIGH NEELY, ONCOLOGIST, FOR INSERTION INTO MEDICAL FILE OF MELINDA SKYE:
Melinda Skye’s case continues to prove stubborn. I’m adjusting her protocols and will introduce SGX-243. It’s experimental, but she fits the parameters of suggested use and I believe her case calls for it. Will monitor her closely for the adverse side effects mentioned in the drug studies. Her family continues to be supportive and open to treatment options. Melinda is a strong-willed girl with above-average intelligence that will serve her well during the difficult months ahead. Submitted: 8:10 P.M., August 4
MELINDA’S
DIARY
August (whatever!)
I absolutely, positively, categorically WILL NOT spend my birthday in this hospital. I told Dr. Neely this morning to either fix me or cut me loose, because I want OUT. He said he’s trying something new. I hope so, because I’m so sick of this place I could scream.
Elana’s Journal
August 5
Dr. Neely told us that he wants to try a new drug on Melinda because he’s not getting the “required results” from other drugs. The new medication is part of a clinical trial and, according to him, results have been promising. It’s a hard choice to make. Lenny’s more daring than I and he wants to give the go-ahead. I’m more hesitant.
The side effects sound grim—weight gain, bleeding gums, sudden nosebleeds, brittle bones. The brittle bones part scares me the most. Doesn’t anyone realize that she can’t ever dance if her bones begin to break? Lenny reminds me that these are potential side effects, and that Melinda may not experience any of them. Dr. Neely says she’ll be closely monitored and that once remission is achieved, the dosage will be decreased and eventually he will wean her off of it and onto a more standardized regimen.
My foot-dragging has caused friction between Lenny and me. I don’t like that, because we really need to lean on each other. I don’t know what to do. Lenny wants it. Dr. Neely wants it. Melinda wants it. I’m the only holdout. I want Melinda well, but at what cost?
MELINDA’S DIARY
August 10
That Bailey is such a nut! Today she brought a stack of teen magazines and her entire brand-new school wardrobe to model for me. She had drawn up a chart listing the clothes and three columns: Consider It, Burn It, Buy It. As she modeled each piece, I checked off my opinion. Then she said she’d go shopping for me and get the things I liked best. That way, I’ll have new clothes for school without ever setting foot inside a store. And of course, they’ll be “of the moment” because Bailey’s so hip about fashion.