If I Should Die Before I Wake

by Lurlene McDaniel

  Deanne had favorites of her own on the staff.

  One afternoon, after her shift was over, Deanne hurried to her father’s office. She was running a little late. But she didn’t want to keep him waiting.

  “Sorry, Deanne,” Mrs. McGinnis, his secretary said. “He’s still in surgery.”

  Deanne caught her breath and then wandered down the hall. She drifted into the small rec room on the surgery floor. Books, games, toys, and puzzles lay all over the child-sized tables, the floor, and the messy bookshelves. She sat down with a tired sigh.

  “I’m whipped,” she told herself from the hardness of the wooden yellow chair.

  “Well, what are you doing?” a voice snapped behind her. “Waiting for the stuff to put itself away?”

  Deanne turned so sharply that she fell off the chair. She turned red as she looked up into the stern face of Mrs. Sanders. “Well . . . I . . . that is . . . I mean,” Deanne sputtered.

  “Get to work, girl!” Mrs. Sanders commanded.

  “B-but . . . I’m off . . . ,” Deanne began and then wished she could have eaten her own words.

  “So what?” Mrs. Sanders snapped back. “We can’t wait until you’re ‘on’ again for this mess to get cleaned up, now, can we?”

  “No . . . no,” Deanne said, scurrying around on all fours, scooping up puzzle pieces.

  “Honestly, you girls think your duty is restricted to the hours you work! This is a hospital and we all work until everything is done. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne gulped.

  She looked up to find herself alone. Mrs. Sanders had stalked off. Deanne felt tears stinging her eyes. How dare she yell at me! she thought hotly. I work hard for this place.

  Mrs. Sanders sounded just like her mother in many ways. Oh, the words were different, but the tone was the same. It’s not fair! she muttered to herself. Deanne had taken this job to get away from her bossy mother. Now, all of a sudden, she had a bossy boss!

  Deanne’s mouth set firmly while she cleaned up the room. Well, she’d show them all! She was going to be the best VolunTeen All-Children’s ever had. She didn’t care what they made her do!

  * * * * *

  “Miss Vandervoort! Corners on a hospital bed must be sharp and neat!” Deanne pulled back from the edge of the bed she was struggling to make.

  “Like this, Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders said, stepping next to Deanne and expertly folding the fresh linen into place.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne mumbled.

  “Now, let me watch you do it,” said Mrs. Sanders as she moved to the foot of the bed.

  Deanne felt her blood boil. She’d show the old biddy! Her fingers flew and she folded the next corner perfectly.

  “Better, Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders said. “Better.”

  It went like that every day. No matter what Deanne did, Mrs. Sanders was around to tell her how to do it better. Finally, Susan asked, “Has she got something against you?”

  “I think so,” Deanne sighed. The two girls sat in the cafeteria, sipping soft drinks during a break. “I think she doesn’t like the fact that I’m a doctor’s daughter,” Deanne continued.

  “So what?” Susan asked.

  “I think she feels that she should push me harder. Plus, I don’t think she likes me very much,” Deanne confided.

  “Gee, that’s too bad. Too bad she’s in charge of all the nurses. That means she’s all over the hospital,” Susan said.

  “Not too much up on oncology,” Deanne told Susan. “I asked my dad. He said that oncology has its own special staff, special programs, and special needs. She doesn’t haunt the halls too much up there. But then, neither do we,” Deanne added.

  “Some of the VolunTeens do,” Susan mused. “I wonder what it’s like? And I wonder how they get picked for that duty?”

  “I don’t think I’d like it,” Deanne said. “It seems so depressing. Kids with cancer . . . ugh!”

  “But, they’re still kids,” Susan reminded her.

  * * * * *

  “Honey, I do believe you’re losing weight.” Mrs. Vandervoort appraised her daughter with a critical eye. Deanne put on lipstick in front of her bedroom mirror.

  “Oh, yeah . . . a few pounds,” Deanne admitted casually. She had lost five pounds since she started working. She already had to move buttons over on the pants of her uniform. And the white blouse looked a lot less snug than when she first put it on three weeks before. Frankly, she was too busy to think about eating. She rarely took time to eat more than a container of yogurt for lunch. By the time she got home, she was too tired to eat much dinner.

  “Well, then this job’s been good for you,” her mother said. “But you sure haven’t been getting out to the country club like you said you would.”

  Deanne rolled her eyes. “I’m just too busy.”

  “Joan Cortland asked about you the other day,” Mrs. Vandervoort began.

  Deanne froze. The last person in the world she wanted to hear about was Judson Cortland.

  “I’m disappointed that you and Judson aren’t seeing more of each other. I mean, he’s such a nice young man. The Cortlands sail a lot, you know. We could join them at their beach place any weekend we want—”

  “Oops!” Deanne said, looking at her watch. “Can’t talk now, Mother. Dad will be honking his horn for me any minute now! You know how he hates to be kept waiting!”

  “But, Deanne, I’m not finished!” her mother called after Deanne as she ran down the stairs from her room.

  “Later, Mother!” Deanne called up. “Much later!” she added under her breath. She promised herself that she would increase her volunteer hours at the hospital that very day. She was going to stay as busy as she possibly could—even if that meant being under the eye of Mrs. Sanders twice as much!

  Five

  The wheel on the bookmobile was stuck. “Rats!” Deanne muttered as she struggled with the uncooperative cart. Her arms ached from fighting with the thing. She wasn’t even half finished with her rounds on the third floor.

  “Come on, cart!” she said aloud. “Have some consideration.” But the large portable cart stopped short as its wheels refused to turn.

  “Problems?” Deanne heard Mrs. Sanders ask from behind her.

  “No,” Deanne answered, a little too quickly. “It’s just being stubborn.”

  “Let me see,” Mrs. Sanders said, taking over the bar handle of the cart. With effortless motion the cart slid forward. Deanne only stared in disbelief. “Seems to be working fine, now,” Mrs. Sanders said with a sniff.

  “I guess you have the magic touch,” Deanne mumbled weakly. She glared at the cart as Mrs. Sanders continued crisply down the hall.

  Deanne got it into a room. Sara Miller smiled broadly as Deanne came through the door. “Hi, Miss Deanne!” the little girl grinned from her hospital bed.

  “Good afternoon, Sara. Need a book today?”

  “What ya got?” the child asked.

  “Want a good mystery? Or, how about a horse story?” she handed Sara a greencovered book about horses.

  “Yeah!” Sara smiled. “I love horse stories.” Deanne filled out the patient’s name and the book title on her information chart.

  “You gonna be down at the rec room for arts and crafts?” Sara asked.

  Deanne checked her watch. Oh, my goodness . . . it’s less than an hour from now. I’m not even half finished with my bookmobile rounds, she said to herself. “Of course I am, Sara. Let me get rolling here and I’ll be back for you in an hour.”

  Deanne tugged the cart out the door and back into the hall. The wheel stuck again. “Drat!” she said. Then she gave it one big push in disgust.

  The wheel released, suddenly. The bookmobile leaped out of her hands. Deanne watched in horror as it swung around crazily, careened toward the wall and hit with a sharp THUMP! Books flew everywhere! Nurses came running. Kids came to the doors of their rooms to see what had happened.

  “Oh, no!�
�� Deanne cried. She scrambled to pick up the books.

  “Now what happened?” Deanne looked up from the floor into Mrs. Sanders’s face.

  “It got stuck,” Deanne said weakly.

  “Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders began. “I always seem to be looking at you on your hands and knees.” She tapped her toe as she spoke. “If the bookmobile is giving you a problem, may I suggest you call a custodian. He would gladly oil the wheels for you, and you could be about your business with fewer mishaps.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Sanders only looked down her nose and sighed.

  * * * * *

  Clare Coffman, the Child-Life Program specialist, showed the eager group of children how to fold, cut, and paste a colorful tissue paper flower. Deanne, Susan, and two other VolunTeens, Kathy and Chris, watched closely. They would have to help the kids make the flowers during the two-hour recreation period. Since this was the favorite part of Deanne’s day, she found it easy to pay attention.

  “That’s it, kids,” Clare smiled broadly. “Now, have a go at it.” The kids all began talking and working at once.

  Deanne hurried from child to child, supervising the activity. “Nice job, Kenny. Wait, Alan, I think you’re supposed to fold it like this first. That’s right, Sara, you’ve got it,” she said. The time flew. She couldn’t believe that two hours had gone by when Clare called a halt to the work.

  The VolunTeens wheeled the patients back to their rooms. Then they returned and began to clean up the scraps of paper and sticky paste messes.

  “Thanks a lot, girls,” Clare said to the four helpers.

  “It was fun,” Deanne told her.

  “I wish they all had your attitude, Deanne,” Clare said. “You’re the best help I have.”

  Deanne blushed. Then she said, “Tell Mrs. Sanders. She thinks I’m Klutz of the Year.”

  Clare looked over at her. “Oh, but I have told Mrs. Sanders,” she said.

  Deanne almost dropped her cleaning sponge. “What?” she gasped. The other girls listened intently.

  Clare threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, honestly. . . don’t act so shocked. Whenever I have good help, I let people know. You do a fine job. Plus, you really seem to like doing it.”

  “Oh, I do,” Deanne said. “It’s . . . oh, you know. . . Mrs. Sanders sees me falling all over myself so much. How’s she going to believe you?”

  “It’s been my experience, Deanne, that Mrs. Sanders only pushes the ones she thinks are good. Believe me, it would be worse if she just ignored you.”

  “HA!” Deanne scoffed.

  “I mean it,” Clare continued. “We need sensitive, caring volunteers. These kids need people who can make them feel less scared— people who can relate to them. You’re lucky because you can.”

  After Clare left the room, Deanne thought about what she had said. She really did care. She loved her job and she liked the people she worked with.

  “Well, that’s it for me,” Kathy said, pushing her hands against her back. “I’m going downstairs for lunch.”

  “Yeah,” Chris and Susan agreed. “But why don’t we sit for a minute first,” Susan sighed. “My feet are killing me!”

  They all plopped down onto the floor and stretched out. It felt good to relax. “Just think,” Deanne piped up. “We get to do it all over again in two hours.” The other three girls groaned.

  “Haven’t you girls got anything to do?” the voice from the doorway asked. It was Mrs. Sanders. The girls jumped to their feet.

  “Oh, sure!” Kathy said. “Lunch, you know.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. Sanders said. “Then get to it. We’ll be needing some of you to strip and change beds this afternoon.”

  They all nodded and headed toward the door. Each wanted a fast escape to the cafeteria. “Just a minute,” Mrs. Sanders called. “Miss Vandervoort, I’d like to speak with you for a minute.”

  Deanne froze in her steps. Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes, Mrs. Sanders?” she asked, turning toward the stern-faced nurse.

  “I want to give you a special assignment. You too, Miss Pyle.” Susan stopped next to Deanne.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders?” she also asked.

  The other girls left the room in a hurry. Deanne and Susan waited for Mrs. Sanders to speak. Finally, she said, “I’ve gotten some good reports about you two girls, about your hard work and initiative.”

  They waited for her to continue. “They’re short-handed upstairs in oncology. The Child-Life Program there needs some volunteers.” She stared at them until they each nodded.

  “As you know, these cancer patients have their own recreation areas. We need VolunTeens to help out and I’m personally sending you two up there. You’ll report to Renee Stewart. She’s the R.N. in charge during the day shift. She’ll tell you what she needs you to do.”

  Deanne and Susan stood there and stared at Mrs. Sanders.

  “Did you hear me?” Mrs. Sanders asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanders!” they chimed in unison.

  “Then get moving, please,” Mrs. Sanders said as she turned to leave.

  The girls dashed for the elevators and pushed the button for the fourth floor. Deanne’s heart was pounding. She didn’t like this one bit. She felt nervous about being around kids with cancer. And she didn’t like Mrs. Sanders “volunteering” her to do it.

  * * * * *

  The oncology floor looked like every other floor of the hospital: a central nurses’ station, rows of rooms, and a large rec room at the end of the hall. The first person Deanne saw when she got off the elevator was a ten-year-old boy. He was very thin, and he was pushing a portable IV stand. Two bags of IV solution hung from either side of the stand. Long clear plastic tubes ran from the bottles to the needle in the back of his hand. Deanne turned her head and walked quickly toward the nurses’ station.

  “Mrs. Stewart?” she asked. A green-eyed woman dressed in crisp white looked up.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “We’re the VolunTeens Mrs. Sanders sent up,” Deanne continued.

  Renee Stewart smiled. “Good. I’ve been waiting for you.” As she stepped out from behind the desk area, Deanne could see that she was tall and very pretty.

  “I really need you girls to help out in the rec area. Some of the younger kids have a lot of pain, and it helps to be distracted with games and such. Some of the older kids just need someone their own age to talk with. You know what I mean?” Renee asked.

  Deanne and Susan nodded. Deanne wished she could be down in the cafeteria, eating lunch with Kathy and Chris. She really didn’t want to be on the oncology floor.

  Renee led them into the rec room. She chatted all the way, giving them some details about the kids’ schedules. “Larry has to be taken down to radiology at one o’clock. He’s in room 404, bed C. Kyla needs a chemotherapy session at two o’clock. She’s in room 416, bed B. And we need someone to help write letters for Karen, room 423, bed A. She’s just had an operation on her eyes and the bandages are still in place.

  Deanne listened. Every kid on the floor had some form of cancer. It was hard to believe and she felt nervous. When they reached the rec room, they went inside. It looked a lot like the rec rooms on the other floors. Three video games lined one wall. Patients stood and worked the controls. They seemed unaware of everyone else. Some were dressed in pajamas and robes, some in T-shirts and jeans. Most were between ten and fifteen years old.

  Some were bald. Deanne knew that their hair loss had been caused by the treatments they were receiving. She swallowed hard and walked over to one tall boy bent over a video game.

  She watched him move the controls and stare intensely at the video screen. “Hi,” she said casually as soon as one of the video ghosts ate his electronic player.

  He turned to her. She found herself looking into two beautiful blue eyes. They were set in a thin, pale face that was framed by a mass of thick brown hair. Somehow, he looked very familiar. “I’
m Deanne,” she said nervously.

  “I’m Matt,” he answered.

  Suddenly, she knew where she had seen him before—in the lobby last spring! His whole family had been standing around his wheelchair! That had been several months before and he was still here! She felt her voice catch in her throat.

  “You want to play this?” he asked.

  “Against you?” she asked.

  “Why not?” he shrugged his thin shoulders and pushed the button for playing doubles.

  She watched him as he took his turn. Deanne felt a little shaken. He was a very good-looking guy. He was tall and she guessed he was about sixteen. It was hard to believe he’d been sick in the hospital for so long. She wanted to know more about him.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  She took the controls and concentrated on the game.

  Six

  “You seem a million miles away,” Susan said. Deanne glanced over at her friend and stopped twirling the straw in her soda.

  “Oh, I don’t know. . .” Deanne’s voice trailed off.

  “Those cancer kids really got to you, huh?” Susan asked.

  Deanne dropped her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s such a bummer, you know? Getting cancer when you’re just a kid.”

  “Are you going to tell Mrs. Sanders you want off the floor?”

  Deanne shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Even though I hate the way she ‘volunteered’ me, I think I’m going to hang around up there.”

  “That Matt is pretty cute, huh?” Susan asked, leaning over the table in the hospital cafeteria.

  “He sure is,” Deanne smiled. “I wonder what’s wrong with him? You know, what kind of cancer does he have?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan shrugged. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

  Deanne looked at the clock. It was already four o’clock. “Dad usually leaves around six o’clock if he’s not tied up. I think I’ll just wait for him.”

  “I’ve got to catch the bus for home in twenty minutes,” Susan said.