“The odds,” Rob said. “What are the odds of the transplant succeeding?”
The two doctors exchanged quick glances. “Without it, Dawn has a twenty percent chance of survival. With it, fifty-fifty.”
* * * * *
Dawn moved dinner around on her plate with her fork. She had no appetite, in spite of her mother’s best efforts at fried chicken and the bright, forced smiles of her family and Darcy.
“So what did you think of the invitations?” Darcy asked.
“They’re very nice,” Mrs. Rochelle said. “Don’t you think so, Dawn?”
Dawn recalled scrolled black letters on stiff ivory paper:
Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Collins
and Mr. and Mrs. Peter Rochelle
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their children
Darcy Lynn Collins
And
Robert Clark Rochelle . . .
Dawn shrugged. “Yes, the invitations are very nice.”
“If you have your operation, . . . will it be after the wedding?”
Dawn gaped at Darcy, blinked and shook her head, as if she hadn’t heard her correctly. How could Darcy ask such a thing? Was she afraid Dawn would mess up her prefect row of bridesmaids by being in the hospital during the ceremony? Dawn dropped her fork and rose from the table. “Excuse me. I’m not hungry.”
She left the kitchen hurriedly, hearing Rob’s harsh words as she bounded up the stairs to her room. “Good grief, Darcy! How could you ask such a dumb thing? Don’t you understand what Dawn’s going through?”
It was quiet and dark in her room. What was she going to do? What? She thought about going back into the hospital. She remembered the needles, the tubes, the pills. She shuddered, thinking of the antiseptic rooms and endless hallways. But this time there was an additional worry. Would she ever come out again? Once inside, would she ever walk out into the sunshine? Would she really be cured?
Dawn ambled to the window and watched filmy clouds flit across the face of the full moon. How many moons were left for her? She absently picked Mr. Ruggers off the shelf and twirled him by his frayed ears. She brought him to her chest and hugged his fat, overstuffed body. His black plastic nose was loose. He’d probably lose it soon. “Poor, Mr. Ruggers,” she said aloud. “No nose, no toes, no woes.” The bear offered a lopsided smile.
Dawn sighed. “It’s your decision,” the doctors had told her. “Tell us what you want to do, sweetheart,” her parents had said. “Will your operation be after the wedding?” Darcy had asked. Why didn’t anyone understand that the decision was too big for her? Too hard? How could she decide when one direction meant—dying?
From below her window, Dawn heard angry voices. Rob and Darcy stood by the oak tree in the middle of the backyard.
“But, Rob,” Dawn heard Darcy say. “It’s my wedding day! I only plan to be married once in my life. Stop treating me like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West because I want it to be perfect.”
“Then stop acting like postponing it is the end of the world.”
“But the invitations—”
“She’s my sister, Darcy. Don’t you understand? She needs me. Only my bone marrow will do. I can’t help it if the timing messes up our wedding plans.”
Dawn saw Darcy reach out and touch Rob’s shoulder. He jerked away.
“Don’t. Please, Rob. I love you.”
Dawn withdrew from her position by the window. It wasn’t right to eavesdrop. She stared vacantly up at the moon, all the while running her thumbs over Mr. Ruggers’s fur, feeling the bald places, rubbed smooth by years of cuddling. She lay the animal against her cheek and said, “It isn’t fair, Mr. Ruggers. It just isn’t fair.” Her cancer had ruined her life. And now it was ruining her brother’s.
Ten
DAWN asked her family not to tell anyone about the suggested bone marrow transplant. She needed time to think, to decide what to do. The next day, she asked Rhonda to meet her at the mall. They met at the mall’s entrance, Rhonda breezing in late.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t decide what to wear,” she told Dawn.
Dawn nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes deciding what to wear can really be a pain.”
Rhonda looked at her skeptically. “Well, it’s not easy deciding, you know. I have lots of new clothes from my babysitting work, and I wanted to dress just right.”
“I didn’t mean to offend. I know some decisions can be tough.” How lucky Rhonda was to have nothing more serious to decide than what outfit to wear! “Come to the ladies’ room and let me show you the new makeup I bought. I thought it would be fun to put it on before we walk around.”
Rhonda looked surprised. “I thought you said that your parents wouldn’t let you wear a lot of makeup.”
“Well, I feel like living dangerously,” Dawn said with a flip of her hand. “I spent my entire month’s allowance at the makeup counter. Aren’t you going to help me experiment?”
“Well—uh—sure. But gee, Dawn. This doesn’t seem like you. Living dangerously and all.”
“I’m bored and tired of being sweet little Dawn. Now are you coming or not?”
Rhonda tagged behind as they entered a well-lit public restroom. No one else was there. Dawn opened her large canvas purse and pulled out new boxes of makeup: eye shadows, blush, mascara, three shades of lipsticks, and two eyeliners.
Rhonda’s eyes grew round with awe. “Wow. You sure did blow your allowance.”
“What the heck? It’s only money.” Dawn stroked the pink blush over her cheek bones. She smudged on pale pink shadow and lined her eyelids in charcoal grey. She surveyed her reflection. “What do you think?”
“Not bad. Here, let me use some.” Soon, Rhonda’s face matched Dawn’s. “Boy, this is fun! I like the new Dawn.”
“Did you think the old one was too much of a goodie-goodie?”
Rhonda flushed. “Of course not. I mean, you can’t help being . . . different.”
Dawn ignored the remark. “I read that if you powder your lashes first and then put on mascara, they’ll look twice as thick.”
“I’m game.” After a dusting of face powder, both girls layered black mascara on their lashes.
“Great!” Rhonda said.
Dawn held up two shades of lipstick. “Which one for you?”
“Coral.” Rhonda put on that color, and Dawn smeared on the creamy pink one.
“Let’s do our hair, too.” Dawn chose to rake hers to one side and nestle a silvery comb to hold it in place behind her ear. “I got some new perfume, too.” She spritzed the air, and Rhonda sniffed.
“Nice stuff. I’ll bet you’re flat broke.”
“Who cares? I wanted the stuff. After all, you only live once.” Dawn squirted the heady floral aroma behind her ears, on her throat, and on her wrists. She gazed at her mirror image for a moment. She didn’t look like Dawn anymore. She looked older, more grown up. “I like it, Rhonda. Do you suppose anyone will notice how beautiful we are?”
“Maybe some movie scouts will discover us.”
“In Columbus? What would they be filming, ‘Frankenstein Goes to the Mall’?” Dawn giggled at her own joke.
“Come on,” Rhonda chided. “We look great. I bet we could even pass for sixteen.”
Dawn puckered her lips. “Sixteen and a beauty queen.”
Rhonda squirted on some perfume. Then she said, “Let’s get some pizza at Tony’s. I’m starved.”
“All right, but you’ll have to treat because I’m broke.”
They headed for the little pizzeria in the mall between two fashion boutiques. Inside, the restaurant was lit by small lamps with red checkered shades. The air smelled of cheese and pizza dough.
“Here’s a booth,” Rhonda said, sliding across a red vinyl cushion.
Dawn checked out her menu. “I really feel daring. How about anchovies?”
Rhonda wrinkled her nose. “Get serious. Mushrooms and sausage is all I can handle.”
They giggled and nibbled on breadsticks as they waited to order. Dawn peered around the room. Couples sat at several tables. She wondered what it would be like to go on a date, a real date with a guy to talk to and hold hands with. Would she think of anything to say? Or would she just sit and stare stupidly at him?
“Don’t look now, but those two guys over there are staring at us.” Rhonda’s excited whisper interrupted Dawn’s thoughts.
“Where?”
“Don’t turn around, dummy!” Rhonda commanded. “Just act casual.”
Dawn flipped her hair off her shoulders and scanned the room. Sure enough, two boys sitting at a nearby table were looking her way.
“They look older than us,” Dawn whispered at Rhonda.
“So what? We’re sixteen in our new makeup.”
Dawn felt her heartbeat increase. “But that was just for fun . . .”
“Oh, my gosh! They’re heading this way!” Rhonda squealed under her breath.
From the corner of her eye, Dawn saw two males stop at their booth. A deep voice said “Hi.”
She looked up into the faces of boys she didn’t know. “Hi,” she mumbled.
“Couldn’t help but notice that you two were all alone,” the taller of the boys said. “Thought we’d introduce ourselves. Maybe join you, if you’re not waiting for someone.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” Rhonda said. “We’re all alone.”
Dawn shot her friend a murderous glance.
The two boys slid into the booth, and Dawn pressed close to the wall. Her heart hammered, and her mouth went cotton dry. She took long sips from her water glass.
“I’m Rick,” the boy next to her said. “This is my friend, Todd. We go to Westerville High. How about you?”
“Worthington High,” Rhonda lied.
Again, Dawn fixed a killing gaze on her friend.
“What’s your name?” Rick’s question was directed at Dawn, and she couldn’t avoid it.
“Dawn.”
“A pretty name for a pretty girl.”
“How can you tell? It’s dark.” Her hands started to shake, and she was afraid she’d drop her water glass.
“It’s not that dark. You don’t have to squeeze up against the wall. I won’t bite.”
The others at the table laughed, and Dawn felt her face flush. “I—I’m not . . .”
Across the room, a waitress brought Rick and Todd’s pizza to their empty table. “Over here,” Rick called. “We’ll be eating it over here at this table.”
The waitress set the pan on the center of the checkered cloth. “Have some?” Rick asked the girls.
“Ours will be coming soon,” Dawn told him, positive that she’d choke to death on anything she tried to eat just then.
“So, we’ll share.” His voice was low. Rhonda was busy talking to Todd and wasn’t paying any attention to Dawn. Dawn thought about kicking Rhonda under the table, but she was afraid she’d miss and kick Todd.
Rick rested his arm casually on the back of the booth. “So, Dawn, tell me about yourself.”
She felt his hand ease onto her shoulder.
“There’s nothing to tell . . .”
“I bet there is. A good-looking girl like you must have a hundred things to tell.”
She thought about Mike. “Who wants to date a one-legged boy?” She thought about Greg. He’d kissed her. She thought about Jake. He’d never kissed her. She thought about Rob. He loved Darcy. Who would love Dawn? She turned her face. It was inches from Rick’s.
Suddenly, the thought of Rick touching her made her skin crawl. Dawn jumped up. “I gotta go.”
The others turned startled expressions toward her. She forced past Rick, almost crawling over his lap.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Rick called. But she was already half-running to the ladies’ room. She darted inside and leaned against the wall, waiting for her breath to catch up with her. She began to shake all over. What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? She felt sick to her stomach, but it wasn’t because of chemotherapy.
The face in the mirror glared back at her. Quickly Dawn squirted soap in her palm and rubbed her face until the makeup smeared and ran. She splashed cold water from the faucet, rubbing and rubbing until all traces of the color were gone. She stared at the clean, scrubbed, damp face, recognizing herself once again. She carefully cleaned out the sink, drying it with paper towels until no traces remained of her “dangerous living.”
In a few minutes, Rhonda would figure out that Dawn wasn’t returning, and she’d come looking for her. What would she say? Dawn combed her hair, knowing there was nothing she could say that Rhonda would understand. All at once, she felt childish and stupid and tired and drained. All she wanted to do was go home.
* * * * *
Dawn hadn’t realized that a night could last so long. She’d lain awake and watched the hands of her alarm clock glow in soft shades of digital green until almost four in the morning. After a few fitful hours of sleep, she went downstairs to the kitchen. Her family sat clustered around the breakfast table.
In the doorway, Dawn stood, studying each one silently. Her father was reading the morning paper and sipping black coffee. He looked fresh in his crisp business suit. He adjusted his reading glasses. When had his hair turned gray at the temples? Mrs. Rochelle buttered her toast and turned over the section of the paper she was reading. Dawn thought, She’s had that old flowered robe for ages. We should get her a new one . . . Are those streaks of gray in her almost-black hair? Rob was hunched over the sports section, a half-eaten cantaloupe in front of him. He looks tired. He’s working too hard and too long. Mist filmed over Dawn’s eyes and a lump swelled inside her throat. She cleared it, and three pairs of eyes snapped in her direction.
“Good morning,” Dawn’s mother said, holding out her hand for Dawn to clasp. “Did you sleep well? How about some toast? Cantaloupe, too, if you want it.”
Dawn took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. “In a minute.” She scanned their faces, as if memorizing every line and pore. “I—I made my decision. I know what I want to do about the transplant.” Rob nodded encouragement. “I’m tired of being sick. I want to live! Tell Dr. Singh I’m going for the cure.”
Rob beamed her a smile, and her parents mouthed their agreement. She told her brother, “I know this will mess up your wedding plans—”
He interrupted, “I’ve already told Darcy that our wedding is on hold. We’ll just move it to Christmas. It’s no big deal.”
Dawn had made up her mind. She’d go to the hospital and have the transplant. She’d take the immune suppressant drugs; she’d endure the endless testing and medicines and treatments. Maybe the transplant would be successful. “Until Christmas,” she said. By Christmas it would all be over for her, one way or the other.
Eleven
AUGUST 3
I haven’t been keeping you real up-to-date, diary, but now that I’m checked into the hospital and settled into my room, I promise to write in you everyday.
Dawn reread her words and laughed at herself. As if her diary cared whether she wrote in it everyday or not. But she was determined to write down as much as possible about her transplant experience.
I checked in at 8:30 this morning. It’s different being part of a transplant operation than being a regular, old sickie on the oncology floor. There’s a whole team of people just on my case. I even have my own special nurse, Katie O’Ryan. She has red hair and blue eyes and is really young. I like her a lot. I have my own special room. No roommate. It’s full of machines and equipment, and it’s squeaky clean. Mom likes that part.
They did a bunch of tests today. On Rob, too, since he’s my donor. Dr. Singh did a bone marrow biopsy on me because they’re going to “harvest” my marrow and freeze it. That way, if I reject Rob’s marrow, they can put mine back in me and keep me alive.
“Didn’t you like your supper?” The question came from Katie, who breezed into the room with a thermometer and blood-pressure cuff. Dawn
laid down her pen and wrinkled her nose at the hospital supper tray. “Remember,” Katie warned, “nothing by mouth after nine o’clock tonight so we can do your harvesting operation in the morning.”
“I’ll eat a good lunch afterward,” Dawn promised. “How’s my brother?”
Dimples showed along the sides of Katie’s mouth. “For a big, strong football player, he sure is a baby about needles. I thought he was going to faint when I gave him a shot.”
“Where’d you give it?”
Katie’s blue eyes twinkled, “Right smack in his rump.”
Dawn giggled. “Bet it was more than the needle that made him faint.” She watched as Katie strapped on the blood pressure cuff and squeezed the black bulb. “Am I gonna feel awful tomorrow?”
“You’ll be asleep most of the day. But by this time tomorrow night, you’ll be refusing more hospital food.” Katie offered a comforting smile.
“I wish it were all over. Tell me again what’s going to happen.”
“After a few more days of testing, we’ll put you into isolation and begin the immune suppressant drugs. A week later, after the drugs do their job, Rob will have his operation to remove his bone marrow, which we’ll put into you. Then we watch and see if it takes. After that, it’s only a matter of time until your release and you go home.
Home. How wonderful that word sounded. Already she missed her bedroom and her shelves of teddy bears. Grow up, she instructed herself. Teddy bears and fourteen didn’t go together.
That night she prayed that she would go home again. She dreamed about Rob playing football with a long plastic tube hanging from his side. It ran the length of the field, up into the stands where she sat, and was attached to her side. In the dream, he went out for a pass. The tubing stretched taunt and the ball fell to the ground useless at his feet. Dawn knew it was her fault that he was tied down and his team was losing the game—her fault.
Early the next morning, someone woke her long enough to give her a shot that made her drowsy. She dozed, feeling sensations, hearing voices and noises, until hands lifted her from her bed onto a gurney that rolled her down a hallway. She watched the lights slip by overhead. Doors to an operating room swung open, and a doctor in a pale green mask and a green cap leaned over her. She recognized Dr. Singh’s brown eyes.