A Rose for Melinda (22 page)

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

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 bedside. 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

A
UDIO
transcription by dr. leigh neely, oncologist, for insertion into medical file of melinda skye: