If I Should Die Before I Wake (4 page)

“Y
ou’ve lost weight,” Matt said, more as
a comment than a question. Deanne
shrugged and leaned over to straighten up
the blanket on the empty bed next to his.

“Yeah,” she said, “a little.” Secretly, she was excited that he’d noticed. She had lost ten pounds since the beginning of the summer. Her VolunTeen uniform pants were a size too large and she had to put on a belt to keep them from falling down.

“I’m sure looking forward to today,” Matt said aloud. “You’re going to like my parents and my sisters and brother.”

Deanne smiled and nodded, but she was nervous. It had been Matt’s idea to have a picnic on the hospital grounds for the Fourth of July. His doctors had thought it was a great idea. So, he told his mother and she packed up a picnic basket for them. Now they were on their way to the hospital to meet him. Matt’s family had a summer home on a lake about fifty miles from All-Children’s Hospital. They called often and came to visit once a week.

“Of course, you’ll come, too,” he had told Deanne when the picnic became official.

“Oh, no,” she protested. “It’s just for you and your family. I’d just be in the way.”

“That’s dumb!” Matt had said. “I want you to meet my family. Besides, you haven’t got a better offer, have you?”

Deanne had blushed. “No, it’s just that I don’t want to, you know. . .”

“No, I don’t know,” Matt had said. “My mom makes the best fried chicken in the world. My sisters are dying to meet anyone who has beaten the Great Matt Gleason ten straight times in Scrabble. Come on, we’ll have a good time. I promise.”

Deanne had finally agreed. Now they were both waiting for his family to arrive and go to the small pond near the oak trees on the west side of the hospital. Deanne was both excited and nervous. She knew by the way Matt talked about them that his family was pretty special to him. She wanted them to like her.

“Matt!” A little blond-haired boy of four bounded across the room and took a flying leap into Matt’s lap.

“Anthony!” Matt cried, rubbing his hands through the smiling child’s white hair.

“Matt! Can I ride down with you in your wheelchair?” the boy cried, plopping into Matt’s arms and touching the chair’s big silver wheels.

“I think I could arrange that,” Matt smiled. “What do you think, Deanne? Can you push us both?”

“Gee, I’m not sure,” Deanne teased. “Maybe if Anthony promises to sing on the way down . . .”

“I will! I will!” Anthony shouted.

“And I’ve got news for you both,” Matt said. “Just as soon as we’re outside, I’m walking!”

Just then the rest of Matt’s family came into the room. Once again, Deanne was struck by their strong resemblance. Everybody began talking at once.

Finally, Matt shouted, “Hey, wait a minute! Let’s keep it down. There’s someone here I want you to meet.”

Deanne’s eyes swept over the handsome group as Matt introduced her. His mom, Janet, was petite and pretty. She had short, dark hair and laugh lines around her eyes. Deanne liked her right away. His dad, Chuck, was a big man, with close-cropped hair and large, expressive hands. Deanne could see where all the kids got their beautiful eyes. His eyes were a deep, penetrating blue.

The oldest sister was thirteen-year-old Tina, then came ten-year-old Theresa. Next she met Janette, who was nine, and Patricia, who was six. All of them had sandy-colored hair and bright blue eyes. Deanne couldn’t remember seeing a more attractive, friendly, outgoing bunch of people.

“So glad to finally meet you, Deanne,” Janet Gleason said warmly. “Matt’s told us so much about you. We really appreciate all the personal time you’ve spent with him.”

Deanne blushed and smiled. “So, when’s lunch?” Chuck Gleason asked. “I’ve been smelling that fried chicken all the way here from the lake house, and I’m starved!”

“Me, too!” Anthony chimed in. “Then, let’s go!” Matt called, pushing his chair toward the door.

“Wait for me,” Deanne said as she grasped the handles of the chair. Together, they all went down in the elevator and outside into the warm, sunlit summer day.

* * * * *

Matt was right. His mother did make the best fried chicken in the world. Deanne loved the meal of fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans, watermelon, brownies, and plenty of ice-cold lemonade. Deanne thought she was going to burst. Everything tasted so good!

Two hours later, everyone had settled down to let the food digest. The four younger kids played ball. Matt and his dad went for a walk. Janet, Tina, and Deanne stretched out on the blanket under the shady oak trees.

Deanne couldn’t remember feeling more content. She briefly thought of her mother at the Cortlands’. She started to feel guilty, but she pushed the thought aside. “We’re all having a good time,” she told herself. She was. And she knew her mom would be having a good time sailing. Her father was happy working at the hospital.

Janet Gleason spoke up, “Matt tells me you’re part of the hospital’s volunteer staff.”

“Yes, I am,” Deanne confirmed.

“Is it fun?” Tina asked.

“It’s fabulous!” Deanne said. “It makes me feel busy and useful. I hate sitting around doing nothing all summer.”

“I don’t think I’d like to be around sick people all the time,” Tina sighed. “What with Matt and all . . .” her voice trailed and she sniffed loudly.

Immediately, Deanne knew what she meant. “You don’t think about how sick a patient is,” Deanne told her. “You just think about how you can make him feel better.”

“I can’t stand to see Matt hurting,” Tina continued.

“Matt’s been sick for a very long time, Deanne,” Janet said, patting Tina. “On again, off again. In the hospital, out of the hospital. He’s well for months and then back for more radiation, chemicals, spinal taps . . .”

“Sometimes,” Tina started, “I used to hate him.” She paused. “Mom and Dad were with him all the time. My aunt and I were in charge of the others. It made me mad and I felt guilty, too. I was well and healthy. Matt wasn’t.”

“We have a wonderful minister,” Janet explained. “He’s helped us deal with Matt’s illness, and our feelings about it. I don’t know what we would have done if we hadn’t had him.”

“Don’t you ever get angry with God?” Deanne asked. No one had ever talked to her as if she were an adult, as if she had feelings and thoughts about life.

“Why?” Tina asked. “It’s not God’s fault Matt’s sick. Bad things happen to good people all the time. It’s how the person faces up to the bad things that really matters. Matt’s never hated God because he’s sick. How can I?”

Deanne felt the impact of her words. She looked across the green grass at Matt and his father. They walked slowly. Their heads were close in conversation. Her heart went out to him. Her life was so perfect by comparison. If only she could tell her parents right then how she felt. If only. . .

* * * * *

The hospital halls were dim and quiet. Deanne could hear the hiss of oxygen coming from a room as she walked quietly down the corridor.

It had been such a full, exciting day: the picnic, the walks, and the games of Scrabble and Clue she’d played with the Gleason family. She’d had the best time of her life.

Matt’s family was terrific. She liked them so much and they all liked her. But all the activity had really tired Matt, so he had gone back to his room and his family had left by seven o’clock.

Deanne checked to see when her father would be ready to leave, but a sudden emergency had put him in the operating room at seven-thirty. She went to his office and tried to watch TV for a while. Then she tried to sleep. But she couldn’t do either.

So, she walked quietly down the halls, drawn like a magnet toward Matt’s room. She slipped inside. She could see his resting form on the bed. Deanne slipped over to the side of his bed and looked down on him.

His arm was laying across his face, covering his forehead and eyes. His mass of curly hair was laying against the pillow. She wanted to let him know how much she cared.

“Don’t go.” His voice startled her.

Deanne jumped back. “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he said. “I hate to go to sleep anymore.” He raised himself up on his elbow and peered at her through the darkness. She listened to his husky voice.

“Do you want me to get a nurse? She could give you something,” Deanne suggested.

“No,” Matt said. “You don’t understand.” He paused. Then he said, “When I was a little boy my mom taught me my first prayer. I’m sure you know it. It goes:

‘Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.’”

“I know that one,” Deanne nodded.

“One night it occurred to me that I could die in my sleep,” Matt told her. “After that, I was so scared of going to sleep. I slept with a light on for months. Silly, huh?”

Deanne said nothing.

He continued. “And now—now I really might die in my sleep. I don’t want to do that,” he whispered. “If I die, I want it to be in the daylight. I want to meet the sun.”

“Don’t talk that way, Matt.” Deanne reached out and took his hand. “You’re not going to die.”

He plopped back down onto the bed. “Could you stay with me for a while?” he asked. “Just for a while. Just until I get to sleep?”

“Of course, I can,” Deanne said, squeezing his hand.

“Somehow, it’s not so hard when someone’s with me—when someone’s holding on.”

“I’ll be right here,” she told him. She pulled a chair over next to his bed, never letting go of his hand.

From down the hall, she could still hear the night sounds of the hospital.

“D
ad, do people with cancer ever get
well?” Deanne blurted out the question
as her father sat reading in his woodpaneled
study.

Dr. Vandervoort put down his medical journal and stared at his daughter. Deanne’s face was troubled. She knew she must look worried. But she
had
to talk to someone about what she was feeling inside.

“Come sit down,” her father said.

She went over to the brown leather sofa across from his desk and sat down. Its surface felt smooth and cool. She always liked his study. It smelled of leather and old books. She felt warm and welcomed in the brown and navy blue-colored room.

“First of all,” Dr. Vandervoort began, “cancer is not just one disease. It’s a group of diseases. There are many kinds of cancers. A
cancer
is a group of mutant cells that begin to grow uncontrollably and crowd out normal cells. No one knows why it occurs in children.”

Deanne nodded. She understood. But what she really wanted to know was if people were ever cured of cancer.

“And yes,” her father continued, “people do get well. Sometimes they go into remission and it never comes back. Sometimes, we can operate then treat the patient with radiation and chemotherapy—and it’s completely gone.”

Deanne let out an audible sigh. Her father looked at her sharply. “But,” he said in his most authoritative voice, “sometimes, despite all the treatments, all the surgery, all the skill and knowledge of an entire staff of medical experts, we can’t save a cancer patient.”

Deanne sagged in her seat. “Nevertheless,” he said, “we
never
give up. We bombard the cancer with everything we’ve got. It’s like a war. The cancer’s the invader, and we’re there to throw it out.”

“I wish you had a sure cure . . . ,” she began.

“So do I, Deanne. Every day I pray for a cure. But, while I’m waiting, I go on fighting.”

The room grew silent. Deanne could hear the ticking of the clock on his bookshelves. “Something tells me you have a particular cancer case in mind,” Dr. Vandervoort said into the silence.

She dropped her eyes. “Oh, not really. It’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of work on the oncology floor, and I feel so sorry for some of the kids.”

“Don’t let pity cloud your ability to serve,” he told her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re there to do a job, to help any way you can. Listen to your patients’ needs and help them. Don’t feel sorry for them. You’re not doing them any favors, believe me.”

Deanne wasn’t quite sure what her father meant, but she was glad she talked to him. At least she now had some hope for Matt, hope that he really might get well.

* * * * *

“Deanne! Come quick! Pam Miller’s locked herself in her bathroom and Mrs. Stewart can’t get her to come out!” Susan’s excited voice preceded her into the hospital room where Deanne was making up a bed.

“Oh, no!” Deanne cried and raced down the hall behind her friend. Together they burst into room 409, Pam’s room.

“Pam! Pam Miller! You open this door right now!” Nurse Stewart said as she pounded on the hard door surface.

“What’s going on?” Deanne asked.

“Pam woke up this morning and huge wads of her hair were laying on her pillow.”

“Oh, no,” Deanne said.

“Yes, it’s the chemotherapy. She knew it might happen. But I guess it’s hard when you’re only fifteen and your hair is your crowning glory. Pam!” she called through the door again. “Please open up!”

“No!” Pam shouted back. “Go away! I’m never coming out! I swear!”

“Can I try?” Deanne asked nervously. “I’ve worked with her a lot. We’ve kind of gotten to be friends.”

“Sure,” Mrs. Stewart said. Then she added, “Quick, Susan, go down to maintenance and get someone to bring up some tools. We may have to take the door off the hinges.”

Deanne went over to the door and called, “Pam? Pam? It’s me, Deanne. What’s going on?”

“Go away!” Pam shouted back. “I’m never coming out! I tell you,
NEVER
!”

“Well, why not?” Deanne asked, trying hard to think of a way to get Pam to open the door.

“Because I’m
BALD
!” Pam wailed. “I—I look hideous!”

“But, Pam, you can’t stay in there. What about all the stuff we planned to do this afternoon?”

“I can’t do anything! Paul is supposed to come today. I can’t let him see me like this!” Pam started to cry.

Paul! Of course!
Deanne thought. Paul was her boyfriend.

“Oh, Pam, Paul won’t care. I know he won’t. Why you, Paul, Matt, and I have even talked about it. You know he likes you just the way you are.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Pam sobbed. “He’s never seen me bald. Besides, you have lots of beautiful blond hair!”

Deanne gave a start. She never once thought of her hair as beautiful. It was so limp and baby fine. But it must seem glorious to someone who is going bald. “You know it will grow back,” Deanne tried again. “Matt’s fell out and it grew back, even nicer than before, he says. Now, please unlock the door.”

“Go away!” Pam shouted

Deanne searched her thoughts for an idea. Pam was a nice girl, very outgoing and with a good sense of humor. Deanne remembered that she often talked about becoming an actress. Pam had been in many school plays and loved the theatre.

“You know,” Deanne began. “If you never come out, I won’t be able to use you in the special play Mrs. Coffman asked me to help her with.”

There was silence. “It’s a neat play,” Deanne continued. She made up what she was going to say quickly. “It’s going to be about life here on the oncology floor told from the patient’s point of view. We were talking about asking you to be the star.”

“Really?” Pam asked.

“Sure,” Deanne said, crossing her fingers.

“You know what we’re going to call it?”

“What?” Pam asked.

“
Hairless
,” Deanne said in her most deadpan voice.

Suddenly, Deanne heard a little snicker come from beyond the door. “W-What?” Pam asked. Deanne could tell Pam was trying not to laugh.

“Hairless,”
she repeated. “In fact, the only reason we were hesitant about using you is because you had all your hair. . . ,” she paused. Then she heard a click. The door slowly swung open and Pam stood there looking out at her.

“In a few weeks, I’ll look like Telly Savalas,” Pam muttered.

Her long hair hung in clumps. Deanne could see several bald spots on her head. “Then I guess you’ll be just right for the part,” Deanne smiled broadly.

Pam gave a half laugh. “You could say that.”

“Come on, Pam,” Mrs. Stewart said, taking her hand. “Let’s sit down and talk about it.”

She led the girl across the room to a chair. “I’m sorry,” Pam said,

“It’s all right,” Mrs. Stewart told her. “It’s tough, I know. But you’re not alone. Many, many kids lose their hair with the treatments. It’s a small price to pay if you get well, isn’t it?”

Pam nodded. “It’s
only
hair,” she said. “I can get a wig.”

“Or wear a scarf,” Deanne added. “You’re still
YOU
.”

“
Hairless
, huh?” Pam said with a half-smile.

“Thanks,” Mrs. Stewart said to Deanne. “You can go on now.”

“Listen,” Deanne said as she neared the doorway. “Matt and I will still be waiting for you and Paul in the rec room this afternoon. Want to play some Scrabble?”

“Sure,” Pam smiled. “It’ll keep my mind off my problems.”

Deanne hurried off down the hall to go find Matt and tell him about her adventure.

* * * * *

Deanne became a minor celebrity among the nurses and volunteer staff. She kept her cool and talked a patient out of a potentially dangerous situation.

Everyone seemed to know her and admired her for her fast thinking. “I said the first thing I thought of,” she told Susan. “I remembered that she liked plays and stuff so I said the part about her starring in a made-for-the-hospital play. I’m just glad she thought it was funny and came out.”

A few days later, while she was on her way to take Matt down for a radiation treatment, she heard her name called from an open doorway.

“Miss Vandervoort.” Deanne froze in her tracks. The voice was that of Mrs. Sanders.

“I would like a word with you, Miss Vandervoort,” the voice called out. Slowly, Deanne turned to face the tall, starched form of Lillie Sanders.

“Y-Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” she said.

“I’ve heard about your recent action with the young patient in oncology.” Deanne felt her heart pounding.

Mrs. Sanders’s face broke into a smile. “Good work!”

Deanne sighed with relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Sanders,” she said.

“In fact, I was impressed with your suggestion. I’ve told the Child-Life Specialist, Mrs. Coffman, that she should get with you and the two of you should write such a play.”

“What?” Deanne gasped.

“It’s a good idea,” Mrs. Sanders continued. “These patients need a way to express their feelings about the doctors, the hospital, the treatments—everything that’s happening to them. A play is a great way to do it. We have video cameras, TV sets, plenty of kids to play the different roles. Yes, I think a play we could record on videocassette for incoming patients about cancer would be a wonderful idea.

“I want you to get with Mrs. Coffman today. You can start planning it. I want you to help write it and pick out kids for the different roles. And why not call it
Hairless
? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Deanne stood staring at her with her mouth open. “Well, run along,” Mrs. Sanders said crisply. “Get your work done, then go see Mrs. Coffman. You two have a lot of work to do.”