She Died Too Young

by Lurlene McDaniel

  She watched him walk out of the chapel, and once she was certain he was long gone, she left too. She was halfway to the elevators when she saw Josh. He stood by the gift shop doorway, watching her cross the lobby. Most certainly, he’d seen Garrison leave also.

  “Chelsea’s up on the surgical floor,” she said as she came to him.

  “I’ll go up with you.”

  Katie braced for a fight, a barrage of questions about Garrison. Mercifully, none came. “How’s DJ?” she asked.

  “Mad. Mad at the doctors, the world, the universe. We talked, but I don’t think I helped him much.”

  “Thanks for trying.”

  They stepped inside the elevator. The car was crowded, crammed with people on their way to visit sick friends and relatives. “How’s Garrison?” Josh asked.

  Katie stiffened. “Please—not now.” Several people glanced curiously at her and Josh. She ignored them, shoved in more tightly so that her shoulder was pressed against Josh’s. They stood that way, shoulder to shoulder, all the way up to the fourth floor, but they couldn’t have been farther apart if they’d been standing on opposite ends of a gymnasium.

  Eighteen

  THE FIRST SENSATION Chelsea experienced when she awoke for the second time was excruciating pain. In the recovery room, she had wanted to tell her doctor to let her die, that it hurt too much to wake up, but there had been a tube down her throat, and she couldn’t speak. Now, at least, the tube was gone. But not the pain.

  “Wake up, Chelsea.” The voice called to her from somewhere above her head. “It’s me—Katie. I only have five minutes, so wake up.”

  Chelsea forced her eyes open. When she could focus, all she saw was Katie’s blue eyes above a green mask. Katie’s hair was covered with a green paper cap, and she was wrapped in a green paper gown. “Your outfit’s tacky,” Chelsea managed to say. Her throat felt raw and scratchy, her voice sounded hoarse.

  Katie’s eyes crinkled, so Chelsea knew she was smiling. “You made it,” Katie whispered. “You came through. You did even better than me.”

  Somehow, that notion pleased Chelsea immensely. “I feel awful.”

  “But you’re alive.”

  “How long?”

  “Until you wrinkle with old age.”

  Chelsea could vaguely recall her parents’ faces. They must have visited her too. “I want out of here.”

  “They’ll move you to your own room tomorrow. Then we can visit longer.”

  “I hurt so bad.” Tears of pain pooled in the corners of Chelsea’s eyes.

  “I know. Have you seen your hands?” Chelsea felt Katie lift her hand off the bed and bring it closer to her face. “See,” Katie said.

  Chelsea worked hard to refocus. She saw her own fingertips in Katie’s hand, the nailbeds bright and pink. “Did they paint them?”

  Katie giggled beneath her mask. “No, silly. That’s oxygenated blood pumped from your new heart all the way to the tips of your fingers. Your toes too.”

  With wonderment, Chelsea stared. She’d never seen her nails glow pink. Other sensations began to pour through her. The pain, yes, but a deep underlying feeling of coursing blood and a pumping heart. “I’m alive, Katie,” she whispered.

  “You sure are.”

  A cloud passed over her memory. “Jillian?”

  “She’s still in the hospital, and she sends her love. I’m the messenger. Got anything for her?”

  “Tell her she’s next. And it’s worth it.”

  Katie’s expressive eyes clouded momentarily. “She knows. She’s waiting. Now, go back to sleep and heal quickly. So you can go tell her yourself.”

  Chelsea’s eyelids slid closed, but the last thing she heard was the heart monitor beeping loud and strong and in perfect rhythm to the thumping of her perfect heart.

  Chelsea continued to recover quickly. She tolerated the new heart amazingly well and adapted easily to the regime of antirejection medications. Dr. Dawson fairly crowed whenever he checked her over. She was transferred to her own room and was up walking three days after the surgery. Although in isolation, she was able to see her parents and Katie for longer periods at a time.

  On the sixth day after the surgery, Lacey called. “Got time for an old friend?”

  “Oh, Lacey! I feel so good. Sore and achy still, but wonderful anyway. I wish you were here.”

  “I’d love to see you too, but you know how it is—two days before Christmas, and what with my social calendar and all …”

  “Don’t do too much partying.”

  “There is no such thing.”

  Chelsea wanted to lecture Lacey about taking care of herself, but knew she’d ignore her. “So, I guess we’re on for certain this summer with a return to Jenny House.”

  “I never doubted that you’d come through,” Lacey said breezily.

  “It was easier to go through the surgery than face your yelling at me,” Chelsea joked.

  “Smart choice.”

  “How’s your home life?”

  “No change.” The line went silent, and for a minute, Chelsea wasn’t positive Lacey was still on it. But her voice came through with a change of subject. “I sent your Christmas present to Katie’s. You can open it when you go home.”

  “Gee, I completely missed out on shopping this year.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll let you make it up to me. How’s your rich little Texan friend?”

  “I’m not sure. Not even Katie tells me much about her. I call her room, and we talk, but she’s weak and can’t talk for long.”

  “Well, tell her to hang in there from me.”

  Chelsea agreed, struggling to keep her composure. Every time she thought or talked about Jillian, she felt afraid. Chelsea thought that Jillian wasn’t getting better, because if she were, people would talk about her more often. As it was, Chelsea had to pry information out of everyone. Her sixth sense told her that Jillian was extremely ill. She prayed that another donor would be found—and quickly.

  On Christmas Day, the hospital dietitian saw to it that Chelsea got a turkey dinner with trimmings. Chelsea ate with her parents in her room. They promised her a real Christmas once she was discharged. “I want to wait to open my presents when I get home to Katie’s,” Chelsea told them. “I don’t want to do it here.”

  Late that afternoon, while her parents were out of the room, Chelsea received a visitor she’d never expected to see. The green garb was familiar, but the eyes over the mask belonged to DJ Longado. She felt her pulse race and realized that, old heart or new, he had the same effect on it.

  “Hi,” she said, wishing she looked better. There was still a tube coming out of her chest, and she couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been washed. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he returned. “I hope you don’t mind my visiting. Jillian asked me to.”

  Chelsea knew it was foolish to feel let down, but she did. If only he’d come because he wanted to. “How she’s doing today?”

  “Not any better.”

  The news scared Chelsea, mostly because DJ sounded so low. “Did you have Christmas with her?”

  “We put a tree in her room. Mom and Dad had all our ornaments shipped from back home. The tree looked good, but it sure didn’t much feel like Christmas.”

  “I wish I could go visit with her.”

  “She says to tell you the same thing.”

  An awkward silence fell, and Chelsea searched her brain for something to say. But all she had to talk about was her operation, and that was nothing to discuss with DJ. “So, how’s your girlfriend, Shelby?”

  “She’s being a pain.”

  His candor took Chelsea by surprise. “How so?”

  “Can you believe she pitched a fit because I wasn’t going to be with her over Christmas? I mean, my sister’s trapped in a lousy hospital a thousand miles from home, and all Shelby talks about is not having me around to take her to a few parties.” His eyes blazed above his mask. “I just don’t understand h
er. How can she act so selfish?”

  Chelsea was certain that if Jillian had heard his question, she would have had a snappy answer about Shelby’s lack of character, but there was nothing Chelsea could say. And after the hateful way Shelby had treated Jillian, there was nothing she wanted to say.

  “Sorry,” DJ said. “I didn’t mean to dump my silly problems on you.”

  “No problem.”

  “You hurting?”

  He looked curious, and Chelsea felt more like a medical freak than a fifteen-year-old girl trying to achieve normalcy. “Yes, I hurt,” she told him. “I have lots of physical therapy ahead of me, and that hurts too.”

  He nodded, but seemed distant, if not slightly hostile. She didn’t know why, but hoped it wasn’t her fault. He edged around the foot of her bed. “Isn’t this you and Katie?” He picked up Chelsea’s photo taken that summer at Jenny House.

  “Yes, along with a couple of friends. The girl in the middle died.”

  He set the framed photo back down with a disgruntled mumble. “That where you took Jillian over Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes. To Jenny House. We had a good time together.”

  He gazed off at the far wall. “Well, she sure isn’t having much fun now.”

  His words sounded almost like an accusation. Chelsea wondered if there was any way she could talk Dr. Dawson into letting her pay Jillian a visit. “Please tell her to remember her promise about coming back to Jenny House this summer.”

  DJ stared at her with a look so piercing, it unnerved her. “She wanted me to give you this.” He changed the subject, dug into his pocket, and brought out a wad of tissue.

  She took the tissue and carefully unwrapped it. Inside lay a pair of garnet dice. “Aren’t these from Jillian’s Monopoly game?”

  “She wants you to have the game for a Christmas present.”

  Chelsea gaped at DJ. “But I can’t take her one-of-a-kind Monopoly set.”

  “Yes, you can.” DJ sounded defiant. “If that’s what my sister wants, then that’s what she’s going to get.”

  Chelsea was dumbstruck by his angry voice. And hurt. “I—I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He backed away, his voice contrite. “I need to get back to her room.”

  “Tell her thank you, and that I’ll call her later today.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  He was almost out the door when Chelsea blurted, “I really did want her to get the transplant, DJ. I wanted it to be her instead of me.”

  He turned slowly and gave her a long, lingering look. “But it wasn’t her. The doctors decided she had to wait for another donor, and that’s what we’re doing.”

  “One will come along. Tell her not to give up hope.”

  “It isn’t hope she lacks,” DJ said quietly. “It’s time.”

  Once he was gone, Chelsea began to cry. More than anything, she wanted to see Jillian and hear her laugh and joke again. She wanted her to have the same chance at living that she’d been given. Why was life so unfair?

  Chelsea swallowed against the fist-size lump in her throat, picked up the wadded white tissue, and sat staring at the blood red dice, wishing there was something she could do.

  Nineteen

  “IS THERE ANYTHING I can do to help you, Katie?”

  Josh’s question brought Katie out of her mental stupor and back into the library, where they were studying for exams. “My mind wandered off again, didn’t it?” she said apologetically. “I can’t seem to concentrate on anything.”

  “Do you want me to take you home?”

  “It’s worse there. Every time I walk past Chelsea’s room, I think about poor Jillian.”

  “Think about Chelsea instead. Three weeks since her surgery, and she’s doing great.”

  She knew Josh was trying to be helpful, and she appreciated it. “Did I tell you that when I saw her today, she had persuaded Dr. Dawson to allow her to go visit Jillian?”

  Josh looked surprised. “I didn’t think they’d let her out of isolation.”

  “She’ll come out sooner or later anyway, and she’s really improving. They’ll take her down in a wheelchair, and of course, she’ll have to wear a mask, but the trip will be good for her. She’s going crazy not being able to see Jillian.”

  “When will they let Chelsea come home?”

  “Another three weeks if she doesn’t have any rejection setbacks.”

  “Rejection.” Josh shuddered. “I remember yours.”

  “Well, it can happen.” Katie didn’t want to think about herself. She only wanted Chelsea to be all right and the transplant center to find Jillian a donor.

  “Come on,” Josh said, taking Katie’s hand. “Let’s stretch our legs.”

  She figured she might as well; she certainly wasn’t getting any real studying done.

  The library lobby was crowded for a Tuesday night. Outside the glass doors, the January wind whipped snow across the parking lot. Katie watched it swirl in the light of the lampposts, and identified with the fine white flakes. It was how she felt on the inside—powerless, tossed and blown by the cold winds of life.

  The automatic door slid open, and Garrison walked in. His head was down, his hair wind-whipped. When he looked up, he was staring straight into Katie’s eyes. She glanced away, as she felt Josh stiffen beside her. She hoped Garrison would ignore her, but he didn’t. He came over and said hello to her and Josh.

  “Any change in your friend?” he asked.

  “Nothing new,” Katie said. She saw him every day in class, but although she was polite, she kept him at arm’s length. Their paper had earned an A-plus and the teacher’s handwritten comment, “Brilliant! Well done.” She was glad for that. Her A in honors English had been the bright spot in the weeks following a return to classes.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Garrison said.

  When he’d gone, she glanced at Josh. He wore a scowl. “It’s not a crime to talk to him, you know,” she said.

  “Did I say anything?”

  “You don’t have to.” Katie wasn’t angry. She simply didn’t have the energy for it. She kept busy. She ran every morning at the YMCA track. The high school season began in March, and she was determined to be ready for it. She attended classes. She studied. She saved Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons to be with Josh. She was trying, really trying to hold their relationship together. Ignoring Garrison wasn’t easy, but she did it.

  “Maybe we’d do better if we studied someplace else,” Josh said. His look was challenging.

  She bit back words about how juvenile he was acting and that it was a big library and they could certainly share it with Garrison. “Fine by me,” she said.

  “Wait here. I’ll get our books.”

  “Maybe it would be better to go to my house,” she said. “That way, if Chelsea wants to talk to me, I’ll be there.”

  Josh agreed and went for their books, and together they walked outside into the biting cold night.

  “They’ve put Jillian on a machine, Katie.” Chelsea’s voice quivered as she spoke. They were in the elevator, on their way to Jillian’s room in an ICU on another floor of the hospital. A nurse stood behind Chelsea’s wheelchair, looking sympathetic, but saying nothing.

  “What kind of a machine?” Katie asked.

  “An extracorporeal membrane oxygenator.” Chelsea pronounced the words distinctly because she’d been practicing them. “ECMO for short. It’s an artificial heart and lung. It’s doing the work of her heart.”

  “Doesn’t sound good to me.”

  Chelsea struggled to keep her emotions under tight control. Dr. Dawson had warned her that Jillian had been placed on the machine and that she’d been heavily sedated. He’d told Chelsea that Jillian would be unable to respond to her visit. But Chelsea was convinced that showing up in Jillian’s room, that talking to her friend, touching her, would somehow make a difference.

  Staff watched as Chelsea and her entourage came down the
hall. The hospital personnel seemed so pleased to see her recuperation progress. “You give us hope. Makes us remember why we do our jobs,” one of the nurses had told her.

  At the doorway of Jillian’s room in the ICU, Chelsea almost lost her nerve to go inside. She felt the clutch of fear, her lifelong companion. Katie reached down and took her gloved hand.

  Jillian was on the bed, lead wires from monitors snaking to her chest. Two tubes protruded from her groin area, from the femoral arteries, and led to the ECMO machine. One tube carried her oxygen-poor blood into the machine, where it was oxygenated by a special membrane, and the other tube carried the blood into her body to her oxygen-starved system. The machine was eerily quiet, adding to the life-and-death role it was playing in Jillian’s life.

  Jillian’s family hovered near her bed, the strain of their vigil showing on their faces. Chelsea’s eyes immediately sought out DJ. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his hands were clutched in tight fists. Slowly, DJ and his parents stood as Chelsea was wheeled into the room. Mrs. Longado came over to greet her. “Your doctor asked if you could come.”

  “I had to see her,” Chelsea said. “Thank you for letting me.”

  DJ walked to join his mother and placed his arm around her shoulder. “My sister’s dying,” he said. “The machine can’t keep her going for more than a couple of days.” His gaze automatically went to the front of Chelsea’s bathrobe, to the spot where her new heart beat strongly within her chest. If there had been a way for Chelsea to reach in, pull it out and offer it to Jillian, she would have.

  “Hush,” his mother said. “No use talking like that.”

  “Maybe a donor will come in,” Chelsea told him.

  “Not likely,” DJ replied, stepping aside.

  The nurse rolled Chelsea closer to the bed. Jillian’s pale, gaunt face reminded her of a picture of a death mask, stark and white and chillingly hollow-looking. Jillian’s face resembled the mask so strikingly that Chelsea flinched. “Can I touch her?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She can’t feel anything,” DJ said.