The Gift

Walking to the door, I pause at the doorway to get a feel of which way I should be going. It only takes a second to determine that I should go left towards the playroom.

Taking a deep breath, I turn left and start walking, pausing only to look and make sure Mom was coming. She came out of the room a step after I did and then walked beside me as we walked up the hall slowly.

Normally there was a little more going on, but today seemed to be a quiet day – well, so far. I expected my pull to lead me to one of the rooms down the short length of hall, but it didn’t and I continued on to the playroom itself.

The room was empty save for one lone person who’s back was to us, her head down. It was quiet enough to make out the soft sobs coming from the lanky body. I recognized the longish honey colored hair and know it was Marybeth Reece.

She was fifteen and had just been diagnosed with Stage III uterine cancer. It was 85% fatal. Having just started radiation treatments, she hadn’t lost her hair – yet. Shortly she’s be as bald as an egg. We all (us kids) have been there and sympathize.

I paused and looked at Mom. She looked apprehensive. When it comes to dealing with me or my problems, she’s fearless, but when it comes to other kids, especially other sick kids, she becomes timid.

I put my hand on my Mom’s arm with just a little pressure so she would get my meaning to wait here, and I made my way slowly to Marybeth.

Unlink most of the hospital, the playroom was carpeted so my claws didn’t clack as I walked, but the wheels on the IV pole made their normal grinding noise. The carpet muted it enough I guess that Marybeth didn’t hear me walk up.

I moved the chair that was next to her closer and say, putting my arm around her shoulders.

Startled, she jerked her head up and looked at me through puffy, tear dripping eyes. Recognition came across her face as I smiled at her.

“Want to talk?” I ask.

She looked at me, tears still rolling down her slightly freckled cheeks, bottom lip and chin quivering slightly.

I could see the turmoil on her face. The question of shame or humiliation by admission of whatever she was going through.

“I’m a friend, remember? There’s a good chance that I’ve been where you are,” I tell her.

Her face still showed indecision, so I tried to lighten her mood a little. “Just so there’s no mistake, I didn’t choose to join the military at thirteen, in case the haircut confused you,” I say with a grin.

Her sobs had slowed and she took a deep breath to calm herself enough to talk. “I-I’m s-so embarrassed a-and I hurt,” she says.

“Girl, we all hurt. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“N-no. It’s not that. Oh God, I’m such a loser,” Marybeth says, sobbing again.

“All of us here fall into that cosmic category I think. But you can’t give up hope,” I say.

She surprises me by letting out a bark of laughter. I see that a spark of amusement has found its way to her eyes. “If only it were that simple,” she replies. She sees the confusion in my eyes and leans back in the plastic lawn chair she sits in.

Like me, she’s wearing pajamas, only hers belong to the hospital. They are white with little pink ducks on them. Marybeth moans a little and puts an arm across her abdomen, and that’s when I notice the spreading red stain between her legs.

Panic starts to rise in me and I say, “Oh my God, Marybeth.”

She glances over her should at my mom, who is still standing there patiently watching us. “Shh,” she hisses. “It’s just really bad timing. I go for a walk, sit down to rest, and get my period. I usually get cramps first, not after I start.” She sighs and continues. “Now I’m stuck here, in white no less, with a hike back to my room. I’ve made a mess here and will probably leave a trail down the hall with my luck.

“Can this day get any worse?”

Acid churned in my stomach and my breakfast suggested it wanted to make a return visit because instinct told me that yes, her day was going to become decidedly worse. Knowing it was pointless to do anything but try to make her feel better for now, I tell her, “That’s what all this is about? What girl hasn’t had that happen?”

Okay, I admit it was a lie, but only a little white lie. I just wasn’t wearing white so no one but me knew. But I was pretty sure that it’s happened to every girl who had started menstruating, in some form or another.

She gave me a Yeah, Sure look that I ignored and I tell her, “We’ll get this fixed in a jiffy. Gimme a sec.” I pause, then add, “Actually, I’m slow and you know it, so it might take a minute or two.”

That gets her to smile. I stand, flexing parts of my body as my butt has gone numb from the uncomfortable chair. Once I’m sure everything is working, I walk over to my mom and ask her to go to the linen cart we passed on our walk here and get me a gown that would fit Marybeth, and two towels.

Mom looks like she wants to ask me why, then thinks better of it, and turns to go get what I asked for. She returns a minute later and hands them to me. “Do you need help?” she asks hesitantly.

I smile and say, “I got this,” and turn and walk back to Marybeth. I set the towels down in my vacant chair and open up the gown that had already been unfolded. I’m guessing Mom opened it to gage if it would fit Marybeth.

Marybeth didn’t have an IV or central line, so keeping the opening to the front like a robe, I say, “Arms out,” and slide it over her arms, bunching it up at her back. “Are you okay standing for a minute?” I ask.

“I think so. Won’t I make a mess?”

“Nope,” I say, opening up a towel and placing it on the floor on the other side of the chair. “Stand on the towel while I clean up the chair and then we can gage the fallout for our trek to your room. Actually mine is closer, we’ll fix you up there so you can get back to your room.”

I see the relief wash over her face. “Stand,” I say, holding the gown so it doesn’t fall into the chair. As she stands, I see the seat of her bottoms and the tops of her thighs were red with blood. I stand between her and my mom while I pull the down, so no one sees how bad it is.

“Hold the gown closed but don’t pull it tight or it won’t hide anything,” I tell her.

She does and steps into the towel I had set down.

I grab the second towel, unfold it, and lay it into the shallow pool of blood in the chair, knowing that it was more than just her period. There was too much blood and it was too bright red.

In today’s age, I probably should have been more cautious dealing with this much blood from someone else, but both of us being young, not to mention both had what was most likely terminal cancer, what did it really matter? What was the worst that could happen, I could get HIV or hepatitis? Even if I did, it was far more likely I’d succumb to my cancer first.

So I sopped up the blood the best I could, then looked down at the towel on the floor. It was still clean. That was good.

“Open the gown really quick,” I say and Marybeth does. I see blood trails in thin lines going down to her knees. Not good for her, but okay for the situation.

I motion for her to close the gown and start out. She does and I grab the towel from the floor and put it on the chair covering the other bloody towel, then grab my IV pole in one hand and the chair in the other and drag both along beside me.

I make a muted squeak and dragging sounds as I walk. I reach Marybeth and Mom and we all three walk at my pace until we get to the corridor, at which point I leave the chair against the wall, turned backwards with the towels on it.

I make sure it was obvious to anyone who looks that they probably shouldn’t mess with it without gloves on.

We stop at the linen cart and I ask Marybeth, “Size?”

“Two-X,” she replies rolling her eyes. Being two years older than me, she was slightly taller and a little bigger in the chest, but as most cancer patients go, most of us look like we haven’t had a decent meal in years.

Ever see pictures of Nazi concentration camps? Well, we’re in just slightly better condition.

“Okay, so one size anorexic, coming up,” I sat pulling out sizes to fit her. I don’t bother asking if she has any personal clothes. Right now, hospital clothes would do, and in the end, her parents wouldn’t get bloody clothes back. They would have enough pain as it was.

I grab extra towels, washcloths, and absorbent Chux pads and we head to my room. At my door I say, “Mom, would you go get me a cherry Pepsi?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy for a second before it dawns on her what I’m up to. I’m making this comfortable for everyone. She nods and asks, “Marybeth, would you like anything? My treat.”

The girl hesitates and then shakes her head no. I nudge her into the room since my hands are full, telling Mom, “Bring her a root beer or ginger ale.”

“She doesn’t ne-,” Marybeth starts.

“Shush,” I interrupt. “You want one and you know it. A dollar isn’t going to kill us. Into the bathroom.”