Elana’s Journal
June 14
I can’t believe the way Melinda looked when Jesse walked into her room. She fairly glowed! Ann looks wonderful too. She and I went down to the cafeteria to talk, but mostly to let the kids be alone together. Over coffee, Ann said, “They’re in love, you know.”
I said, “Yes, I know. Who’d have thought it would last so long. Ever since first grade!”
“He’s never cared for another girl,” Ann told me. “I urged him to date others, but he wouldn’t. He told me that Melinda was the only one for him and that someday they would be together.”
I said, “I used to think that nothing would ever stand in the way of her dancing, but I forgot about love.”
Ann said, “I’ve warned him about affecting her life plans for professional dancing. He said he’d stand beside her all the way.”
“Cancer’s in her way right now,” I told Ann.
Ann reached over and patted my hand. “The transplant will change that,” she said. “You’ll have given your daughter life twice. Not many parents get that honor.”
I’d never thought of it that way before, but it comforted me.
“I’ve missed you, Jesse.”
“Same here. Can I hug you?”
“I’m not in isolation yet … hold me. Oh, Jesse, I’m scared.”
“Me too. But I’ve read up on BMTs and there are plenty of success stories. Yours will be one too. When do you start?”
“I go into the Chamber, as I call it, on Sunday. Radiation starts Monday.”
“Then we only have the rest of today and tomorrow to be together.”
“That’s right.”
“We’ll stay up all night. Can you do that?”
“Sure. The doctors and nurses are pretty understanding of my situation. Of course, they’ll pop in to check on me occasionally, so we have to be on guard.”
“How about your parents?”
“They know how hard this is going to be, so they won’t hang around. Besides, I’ll have plenty of time to sleep once I go into the Chamber. And Mom gave up her habit of sleeping here every night. But she gets here pretty early every morning.”
“I just want to spend every minute I can with
you.” “Me too.”
“The party’s a good idea. But is there any place we can go to be by ourselves?”
“I think so. I’ll let Bailey help me work it out. She’s clever and devious.”
“I’ll just bet. Know what I think?”
“I think you should kiss me before our mothers come back.”
“You mean like this?”
Bailey’s Diary
June 15
I know there are more blank pages in this book than there should be, but I forget about writing in it most nights. But not tonight. I need to “talk” to someone/something. Seeing Jesse again and remembering the way I once felt about him was odd. Actually, I thought stirring up the old feelings would hurt more than it did. I never want Melinda to know how I’ve felt about Jesse. She’s still the best friend I’ve ever had and I wouldn’t hurt her for anything. The way I’ve felt about Jesse is my secret and I’ll take it to my grave.
That said, I redeemed myself (in my own eyes) when I helped Melinda and Jesse be totally alone after the party.
I arrived in the afternoon, just before five, and the hospital offices were closing. I snooped the upper floors and found a lounge area with a couple of chairs and a sofa where I guess staff can relax. While staff people were leaving for the day and not paying attention to me, I pretended I belonged up there and unlocked the lounge door from the inside.
I showed up at the party (a good one too). Just a few people came. Melinda’s dad showed a couple of videos: one of their European vacation (boring) and one of Melinda’s dance career (much better). The clip of her and Jesse from the first grade really got to me. They were both so small and adorable. Even then, Jesse had the bluest, prettiest eyes. And Melinda was precious. I know more than ever that Jesse and I never could have worked out. He and Melinda belong together.
After the party, when everyone had gone home, Jesse and I helped Melinda sneak up the stairwell. She was wearing jeans, so she didn’t look like an escapee, and we were lucky not to run into anybody climbing the stairs. The climb wasn’t easy for Melinda, but we rested when she needed to, and with Jesse helping her, we got there without a problem. The floor was quiet; no one was around. I took them to the lounge. At the door, Melinda hugged me and said, “Thank you.”
“How long have you got before you’re missed?” I asked.
“An hour or so,” she said. “I told a nurse on the floor that Jesse and I wanted to be alone for a little while and she said she’d save my room for last on eleven o’clock rounds.”
“Thanks for helping,” Jesse said.
My heart felt really tight in my chest, but I shoved the two of them inside, shut the door and dashed to the elevator. In the lobby, I met up with Patti, one of the girls from school who’d come to the party and who was driving me home.
She was miffed because I was so late. “Where’ve you been? You said you were just going to say goodbye and come right down.”
I got teary-eyed. “Give me a break. It’s not easy saying goodbye to your best friend. She’s going to be locked up for weeks and weeks with the transplant and all. Maybe months.”
Patti backed off.
Here I am alone in my room and all I can think of is Jesse and Melinda and how lucky they are to have each other. I have to stop writing now. I’m crying and the page is so blurry, I can hardly see it.
MELINDA’S DIARY
June 17, Morning
I’m in the Chamber, looking out my window at my world—a corridor in a hospital isolation care unit. They irradiated me from top to bottom (painless) to begin the immune shutdown sequence. Another dose tomorrow and the next day, then the chemo—the worst part.
I’ll write about my evening with Jesse some other time, because I never want to forget a minute of it. We barely made it back in time for rounds, and we didn’t sleep a wink, but our time together was perfect.
He tells me he’ll be outside the window as much as he’s allowed, and I told him to beat on the glass if I’m asleep, because I want to see his face as much as possible. We belong to each other. I understand now that I will never love anyone again the way I love Jesse. We are soul mates.
June 23
Killing a person’s immune system without killing the person is tricky stuff. The radiation left me sick, but it was nothing compared to what the chemo is doing. I didn’t know I could be so ill and still be alive. Dr. Neely says it’s normal—hope I’m spared abnormal. Everything else I’ve gone through seems like it happened in another lifetime. Except for Jesse. Seeing him at my window every day gives me the strength to endure. He presses his palm against the glass. I raise my hand and press my palm against his. The glass between us is hard and cold. But if I wait long enough, the glass warms slightly from the heat of his body. My body has no heat. I am cold all the time. I hold my hand against the glass for as long as I can stand up. And I imagine he is touching me. Really touching me.
June 25
The days are endless, the nights even longer. I asked Mom to hang a pair of my pointe shoes outside my window so I can see them. They dangle, all new and shiny pink satin and strong ribbon to wrap around the ankles. I want the shoes to remind me of the world I left behind, of the life I long to have. Ballet and Jesse, no cancer … this is what I want more than anything else.
Elana’s Journal
June 27
Today Melinda asked me to forgive her for “being so crabby.” I didn’t know what she was talking about, because she’s always been the world’s best daughter. She said, “You and Dad are the best and I’m so glad I got to be your child.”
She scared me in a way because it was almost as if she was saying goodbye.
TO: Our Closest Family Members
Subject: Update
&n
bsp; I never imagined she would be so sick. I feel helpless. And useless. I am a father without a family. Elana hardly goes home, remaining at the hospital day and night. We eat silently in the cafeteria. I asked Elana to go out to dinner just to get away for even a few hours. She refused. I’ve been abandoned by wife and daughter. Orphaned by this disease that consumes our lives. I’m not complaining, because this is just the way things must be right now. Yet I’m on the outside looking in, unable to help either of the two people I love most.
Lenny
Elana’s Journal
June 27
Melinda reminded me that her friend Bailey’s birthday is next week and asked if we would please see to it that Bailey gets a card. How can she think of others with what she’s going through? Remarkable. Ann returned to California yesterday. Lenny and I agreed that we could not let Jesse leave with her. He’ll stay until this is over or until late August, whichever comes first. He sleeps at the house in his old room, hangs at the hospital all day with me. He and Melinda touch by placing their palms against the glass window. It breaks my heart to see them stare into each other’s eyes. Sometimes I wish the glass would dissolve, but then I remember, if it does, germs will invade and Melinda has no way to fight.
TO: Jesse
Subject: Nightmares
I’m glad we can “talk” via Melinda’s computer. I want to hear every detail about her, but I can’t bear to go down and look at her every day like you do. She’s so thin and fragile-looking. Like she might break and shatter. I keep last year’s school photo of her on my bedside table and I talk to her. I tell her she’s beautiful and smart and going to get well. You are the glue that holds her together now. I’m so glad she has you to love her.
Tell her that I’ve decided to transfer to tech high school and get a diploma in design. I want to go into the fashion business. I’ve been a crummy student for years, but Melinda’s commitment to ballet has inspired me. Plus, she often looked at my dress doodles and said, “Bailey, you should design clothing. You’re so good at it.” I’ll never have another friend like her. Please tell her that for me, Jesse!
Elana’s Journal
July 7
Melinda’s feverish. Despite all precautions, she has become sick! We can’t believe it. Dr. Neely is throwing massive doses of antibiotics into her, hoping to subdue any illness before it gets a toehold.
July 9
No change. Lenny and I sit by her beside. Jesse waits at the window.
July 11
Viral meningitis! How could this have happened? We were all so careful. Dr. Neely says her weakened immune system has left her vulnerable. We watch our child waste away. We go nowhere, do nothing except stay by her side. She asked us to give Zorita to Bailey. I said, “No, Zorita’s ours. She’ll be waiting for you when you come home.”
July 12
Melinda lies on the bed without moving, tubes running in and out of her. Antibiotics pour into her. Monitors and constant checks reveal no progress.
July 13
Lenny and I hold on to each other’s hands and talk to her. The nurse said hearing is one of the senses that still works despite comas. Did I just write that? She’s slipping away from us right before our eyes. Oh, God … how can this be happening?
July 14
Dr. Neely let Jesse dress in a sterile gown and come into the room. Jesse took her hand, kissed her palm and stroked her face. He spoke not a word, but I saw tears sliding down his cheeks. I put my arms around him and together we cried over Melinda and told her how much we love her.
July 14
I’m writing this because you can’t. You’re really sick, and all of us are scared. Your eyes fluttered open once yesterday and my heart jumped for joy. For a minute, I thought you were looking inside me. You looked as if you were saying “I’m sorry.” As if you were apologizing because you haven’t the strength left to fight. I begged you not to give up. But your eyes closed and you drifted away.
Where are you, Melinda? Are you safe and warm? Do you know we’re here, on the other side of your consciousness? Come back to us … to me. Please don’t leave.
Jesse
AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION BY DR. LEIGH NEELY, ONCOLOGIST, FOR INSERTION INTO MEDICAL FILE OF MELINDA SKYE:
Received emergency call at 11:10 A.M. from ICU nurse who witnessed a seizure in this 15 y/o leukemic patient with recently diagnosed meningitis. Upon my arrival, patient was unresponsive and hypotensive. Blood pressure continued to drop despite rapid infusion of IV dopamine. Respiratory arrest ensued at 11:21 A.M. shortly followed by asystole on cardiac monitor. CPR was begun and patient was intubated. She received multiple doses of epinephrine and atropine. She briefly regained a pulse after 10 minutes of resuscitation, but went into ventricular tachycardia. Sinus rhythm could not be restored with IV lidocaine, and multiple shocks were administered via defibrillator. She remained in cardiac arrest. CPR was continued for more than 30 minutes to no avail. The patient never regained a heartbeat and was pronounced dead at 11:58 A.M. I met with family members standing by in the ICU waiting room and notified them of unsuccessful resuscitation efforts. Body will be taken to hospital morgue pending funeral arrangements by the parents. Submitted: 12:15 P.M., July 16
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m writing this the night before I go into the Chamber. I gave it to Bailey to put with my special box in my closet, because I know that you’ll find it someday. Maybe next week, or even years from now when I’ve moved away and you’ve decided to clean out my room, but whenever you find it, I want you to know how much you both mean to me.
I know the procedure is a gamble. If it works, I’ll be the happiest person in the world. If it doesn’t … well, at least I didn’t go down without a fight. Remember that. I wanted this chance. Mom, thank you for your bone marrow. Thank you for staying by me day and night (even when I was thirteen and not so very nice to you. I didn’t mean to be hateful). I was so angry about having leukemia! Why me? Why did I have to get sick? I had so many plans. I was going to be a prima ballerina. I was going to dance all over the world. Instead, I was sick, on chemo, bald and hideous-looking. Dad, thank you for taking us to Europe. Thank you for letting me pursue my ballerina dreams.
This time around, I know that it’s not all about ME. It’s about making the best of whatever time I’m given. And about family and friends and leaving them good memories.
Thank you for being the two best parents in the world. I’ve always felt sorry for Bailey and Jesse because they never had the kind of family I have. Not their fault either. It’s simply the way life worked out for them.
Cancer isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. And neither is dying young. Taking life for granted, living badly—these things seem far worse to me. In many ways—ways that count—I’m the luckiest girl in the world. Here’s something I wrote when I was thirteen.
The Things I’ve Learned from Having Cancer by Melinda Skye
1. Be GLAD for every new day.
2. It’s okay to cry.
3. It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself (but not too sorry).
4. Good friends are good medicine.
5. Love is the best medicine of all.
I love you both with all my heart. And I always will.
Melinda, your loving daughter
Elana’s Journal
July 17, midnight
I went into Melinda’s room and found her memory box on her closet shelf. On top was a letter addressed to me and Lenny. I held it for a long time before I found the courage to open it. The letter comforted me greatly when I read it. After Lenny reads it, I will make a copy and put the original into our safe-deposit box. It will be the thing I treasure most now that she’s gone. Passages are already branded into my heart.
Her box held so many keepsakes important to her. I found a sealed letter with Jesse’s name on it. I wanted to tear it open and read it, but I knew I couldn’t betray her that way. I’ll give it to him in the morning … the day of her funeral.
&nb
sp; I found her first pair of ballet shoes from when she was five. Were my daughter’s feet ever that small? I held them to my nose and could still smell the baby powder she used before she put them on. I cried so hard, I stained the satin.
Dearest Jesse,
If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it through the whole bone marrow transplant thing. You see, I wrote this letter before I went into isolation, and I gave it to Bailey to put in my memory box where Mom would find it and give it to you … just in case. I want you to know how sorry I am life didn’t work out for us. We’ve grown up together, but we won’t grow old together. Too bad. I’d have liked to see you become a doctor.
I found a piece of paper in my memory box with the class rules from the first day of school. I can’t even remember why I kept it, but I did. The last rule was the best: Be kind to each other. Jesse, you have always been kind to me. I’m not sure why. I’m very ordinary … just a regular girl with a few dreams and some bad luck (leukemia … go figure). Here’s something you should know: Having you in my life made me very happy. And that matters a lot when I had to cram a whole lifetime into just fifteen years.
Please don’t miss me too much. Please don’t be too sad. Find someone else to love, because you have much love to give and it’s a gift that shouldn’t be wasted. You, Jesse, were the rose that made my life sweet.
I will wait for you in heaven.
Melinda Skye
TO: Bailey
Subject: A Favor
I want to leave one final message with Melinda. I want to slide it under her hand in her casket, and I don’t want anyone to find it and take it away. I want it to be with her for all time. If you can distract anyone who’s standing by her casket when I come up for a final goodbye, I’d be grateful. Will you help?