A Rose for Melinda (5 page)

Roses

MELINDA'S DIARY

July 8

This has to be the MOST embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me! One minute I was in class doing a plié, my arms arched, my back perfectly aligned: the next minute, I woke up on the floor of the dance studio. Thinking back, I did feel dizzy and light-headed, and suddenly everything went to spinning. I felt hot all over and the music sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, then my stomach felt funny, and then came the floor and people screeching and the master holding my hands and rubbing my face. Someone stuck a wadded towel under my head and someone else lifted my feet. And voices kept saying, “Call an ambulance.”

By the time the medics arrived, I was sitting up and feeling better, but I had to go to the ER and get checked out. The hospital called Mom, who came all the way up from Atlanta, and now I'm in a hospital room and she's huddling with some doctors in the hall. She said Dad's on his way back from Paris. I'm mortified! But I'm tired too. I'll bet I'm anemic, like Patti Johnson was last year. The doctors kept asking me questions in the ER and now it occurs to me that they were trying to find out if I'm a bulimic
UGH! How gross … sticking a finger down your throat to make yourself throw up just to lose weight. But I am losing weight. (I sort of fudged to the doctor when he asked my normal weight.) But I'm NOT bulimic. No way!

And the worst part of all is that everybody's conspiring against me to make me go home! I don't want to go home! Don't they understand? If I leave the school now, I'll never get asked back! This isn't fair. I've wanted this all my life and now it's going to be snatched away all because of a little fainting spell I had during class. I CAN'T STAND IT!!!!!!

TO: All Concerned
Subject: Melinda

I've created a special address heading—All Concerned—to keep everyone in our circle of family and friends updated about Melinda, and either I or Elana will give you information. PLEASE DON'T CALL THE HOSPITAL. We flew home with Melinda yesterday and checked her into Emory University Hospital, where she'll undergo tests for the next few days. She's running a fever, but she doesn't seem to have an ill-ness—baffling. At the least, she's very anemic.
Elana is blaming herself for not catching Melinda's weight loss, bruising and excessive tiredness before Melinda took off to Washington. But our girl's never had a sick day in her life beyond those due to the common cold, so why should we have been suspicious?

We have great confidence in her doctors, especially her hematologist, Dr. Jan Powell, who we've been assured is one of the best in her field.

Melinda, Elana and I appreciate your prayers and thoughts, and as soon as we know what's going on, we'll let you know. In the meantime, keep praying.

Lenny

“Hi … is this really you, Melinda?”

“Bailey? Where are you?”

“The lobby. They won't let me upstairs to see you.”

“Mom's turned into a real watchdog. She told the nurses' desk not to let anyone in. She's down in the cafeteria having dinner or she'd never have let me take this call.”

“That's so mean!”

“She's not being mean, Bailey. She's just being Mom. It's good to hear your voice.…”

“Now don't start crying, or I will too. Can you tell me what's going on? I haven't got long to talk.”

“How did you get here anyway?”

“Pete drove me. Now, tell me, what's happening?”

“I—I feel like a pincushion. They've drawn blood about a hundred times and sent me down for a CT scan—”

“A what?”

“It's a test—a full-body X ray.”

“Oh. Did it hurt?”

“No … but
all
the needle sticks are awful!”

“When can you come home?”

“I don't know.”

“Your mom asked me to take temporary custody of Zorita. She's being a good cat but she misses you.”

“I miss her too. I miss everybody. Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“E-mail Jesse. He's probably not on Dad's e-mail list. Jesse still thinks I'm in Washington.”

“I'll e-mail him today. Now, don't cry or your
mom will pump you and you'll have to confess that I came here and talked to you. And my parents will
kill
me if they think I got into a car with Pete without their permission.”

“Thanks for taking the chance, Bailey.”

“Don't you know? ‘Chance’ is my middle name. I really want to see you.”

“I'll beg Mom to bring you next time she comes. Maybe we'll know something by then. And … and thanks for telling Jesse for me.”

TO: All Concerned
Subject: Tests

I'm letting those of you we love know all that is happening. They took Melinda down for a bone marrow aspiration today. I stood by her bed holding her hand while they told her about the procedure. It's horrible! They stick a long needle into her lower back between her vertebrae while she's curled into a fetal position. She'll only have a local anesthetic to numb the skin and she has to lie stone-still. One of the nurses said that Melinda could hold her hands and squeeze as hard as she wanted. She said that Melinda could yell or cry—anything except move. I
begged them to let me go along, but Melinda wouldn't have any of it. She looked at me and said, “Mom, I'm not a baby.” I watched them roll her away while I cried. Doesn't she know? She's MY baby. Please keep praying. We don't know what else to do but wait and hope.

Elana

TO: Jesse Rose
Subject: Melinda