I Want to Live

by Lurlene McDaniel

  He glanced at his watch. The date winked at him with an accusing flash. It was supposed to be his wedding day. Rob hunched over his steering wheel, closed his eyes, and expelled a weary sigh. He forced himself to ignore the sounds of the parking lot. All he remembered was the last conversation he’d had with Darcy. They’d sat in her car near a lake. The moon had been full and the color of ivory. . .

  Darcy said, “Rob, I don’t want to postpone our wedding. The invitations are printed. Relatives are coming from as far away as California . . .”

  He stared at her, seeing her beautiful face bathed in moonlight that reflected off her silken hair. “I can’t believe you’d even think about a wedding when my sister’s life is hanging in the balance. By late August, she’ll be trying to recover from the transplant operation. She can’t be a bridesmaid; she’ll still be in the hospital.”

  Darcy reached out and touched his hand. “Rob, please try to understand my feelings. I know how difficult it is for you to think about our wedding at this time, but try! I’ll replan the ceremony. Make it simpler and less formal. I’ve already bought my gown . . .”

  “Maybe we need to rethink everything, Darcy,” he said, swallowing hard.

  She looked stricken. “You mean call it off? Oh, Rob! I don’t want that.”

  “Somehow—whenever I think about Dawn’s bone marrow transplant versus our wedding—the scale keeps tipping in her direction. But it’s more than changing the wedding day, isn’t it, Darcy?”

  Her glance was quick and stabbing, as if he’d unmasked her. “I hate all the sickness here,” she confessed. “Every time I come . . . it’s horrible. Your whole household revolves around Dawn’s illness. I—I never had to live around sick people before. I can’t stand it, Rob.”

  “Dawn can’t help being sick.”

  “And I can’t help hating it. Of being afraid of it.”

  Darcy’s eyes shimmered in the moonlight. He knew that they had come to a hurdle they would never be able to overcome. Goodbye, Darcy. If only . . .

  “Are you asleep?”

  The question caused Rob to jerk into the present and stare out his car window into Katie O’Ryan’s bright blue eyes. “No. Just daydreaming.” He tried to cover his embarrassment. Katie looked pert and cute in a pale blue pants suit that was also her uniform. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders, and he noticed a fine dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  “I’m on break,” she said. “I’m going down by the pond to have an early lunch. I have enough for two. Care to join me?”

  Suddenly, he wanted to join her very much. “I eat like a horse,” he warned.

  “Good. There’s plenty of grass to graze on down there.” She shook a brown bag at him. “Also two sandwiches, two apples, and four brownies.”

  He got out of his car and fell into step next to her. They headed toward the small, blue-green pond on the hospital grounds where there were picnic tables and benches. “Why so much food?” he asked. “You don’t look like you eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

  “I never know when I’ll be able to grab a bite, so I pack plenty and nibble on it whenever I get the chance.”

  “But if you share with me—?

  She held up her hand to stop him. “I can get something out of the machines in the nurses’ lounge. I’d really like to get to know you better, Rob. Dawn talked a blue streak about you before the transplant. She thinks you hung the moon, you know.”

  Rob hunched his shoulders. “I think she’s pretty special, too.”

  “Here—sit here while that tree is still shading the table.”

  Rob swung his long legs over the bench and watched as Katie unpacked the paper sack across from him. “I’m glad I’m able to spend some time with you, also,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to say thanks for all the extra attention you’ve given Dawn. I know it’s your job. But, nevertheless, our family really appreciates it.”

  Katie took a bite of her sandwich and laid it onto her napkin. “Dawn’s a very special girl. She has more courage and guts than I’ve seen in most adults. As a nurse, they train you to not become emotionally involved with your patients. But I can’t help it. I’m involved.”

  Rob studied the slim woman, seeing the softness in her eyes, hearing the compassion in her voice. “Thanks anyway.”

  “You did a brave thing, too. Offering your bone marrow.”

  Rob scoffed. “What worried me is that it might not be good enough. What if she rejects it, in spite of all the drugs you’re giving her?”

  “Rejection between incompatible donors is a very real threat. But so far, that’s not happening. You can’t assume the guilt if it does.”

  Rob shook his head. “I can’t help it. I feel responsible for the transplant succeeding. Maybe because I want it to succeed so badly.” He toyed with his sandwich wrapper. “Anyway, I hate hospitals. Somehow I see them as institutions of dying, not healing. Having Dawn walk out of there would change my opinion in a flash.”

  Katie nibbled on her apple. “Most people do come to the hospital to get well and go home. Dawn’s a very special medical case. We’re using technology that’s very new. Patients like Dawn are forging new frontiers for tomorrow’s leukemia victims.”

  “I wish someone else could forge frontiers. It’s frustrating. With all those medicines and machines and doctors . . . every day I expect her to get better. To get well. But she doesn’t.” He leveled a challenging look at Katie and asked, “Will she?”

  The red-haired nurse took up the challenge in his eyes. “Rob, we’re doing everything possible for your sister. Everything that can be done both medically and humanly. The human body is extremely complex. We can’t ever give any guarantees. Right now, all we can do is wait. And hope.”

  Fourteen

  DAWN hung onto life. The doctors became concerned about her heart. “It’s under a terrible strain,” Dr. Singh told the Rochelles. “We’re keeping her attached to the heart monitor, and I’m having a crash cart brought into her room in case she goes into cardiac arrest.” Rob watched the green blips peak in the center of the screen that monitored his sister’s heartbeat. He felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. Did they expect her to die?

  Later, Rob asked Katie about it. “It’s only a precautionary measure,” she explained. “Her reflexes are good, and her heartbeat is strong. She does have periods of complete alertness, and that’s encouraging. As long as you hear that ‘beeping’ sound from her monitor, she’s alive.”

  Rob wrote again in Dawn’s dairy:

  Hi. They’re planning to jump-start your heart if it takes a vacation. You know . . . like the time my car battery died, and Dad had to restart it using special cables hooked to his battery. When you read this, you’ll think it’s crazy, but that’s what they’re going to do.

  I can’t wait for you to get home and see all the letters, presents, and junk from your friends—Mom and Dad’s friends, too—have been sending you. I kid you not, Squirt. There’s a pile of mail and packages a mile high in your bedroom. It’ll take you a week to open it all. Your friends also call the nurses’ station a lot. That girl Rhonda (she’s nice, but sort of a bubblehead) phones every single day. Katie says that she sets her watch by Rhonda’s daily calls.

  Some boy called long-distance from Cincinnati. I think his name was Jake or John. I’m sure you’ll know who he is. Evidently news travels statewide via Rhonda—who is better than a daily newspaper about keeping your other friends informed. But it’s good that so many people care about you.

  So many are pulling for you, Dawn. So many. . .

  Prickly sensations ran up Rob’s spine. He felt as if someone was watching him. He glanced over at Dawn’s hospital bed and stared straight into his sister’s wide-open green eyes.

  Rob knocked over his chair getting to her bedside. “Dawn! Are you awake?”

  “Where have I been?” she asked. “I’m starved.”

  He rang for Katie, who came in on the run. “How are you fe
eling?” Katie asked, taking Dawn’s pulse.

  “Tired.”

  “You’ve been asleep for days,” Rob said.

  “I have? Like Rip Van Winkle?”

  Rob grinned. “Like Sleeping Beauty.”

  Dawn turned her head with great effort. Her voice was a whisper. “Where’s my prince?”

  “Turned into a frog and hopped off.”

  “Figures.”

  Dawn improved as the days passed. Dr. Singh called for another bone biopsy and thought the findings spectacular. “Everything’s looking good,” he told the family. “We may send her home in a week to ten days.”

  The news encouraged Dawn so much that she told her mother what clothes to bring to the hospital for her to wear home. She refused to look into a mirror, knowing that it would only depress her. She remembered when she’d come out of intensive care during her first stay in the hospital over a year before. The image in the looking-glass had been horrifying. No, she’d wait a while. Maybe when she returned home and could put on some makeup . . . Her mind whirled with plans.

  Two days later, late in the evening, she began to run another fever. Outside, in the hall, Rob pounded the wall with frustration. Katie let him get it out, then asked, “Feel better?”

  “Why? Why, when everything was going so good?”

  “We don’t know, Rob. But we’ll attack again with antibiotics—”

  “Stop it!” he shouted. “I hate it! First, hope. Then, no hope. Then, hope again. And now—”

  “You must never give up hope,” Katie cautioned. “Never.”

  A misty film coated his eyes. “I know.”

  Katie flashed him a broad smile. “Come downstairs with me. It’s time for my supper break.”

  Rob hesitated, then decided that being with Katie was what he wanted and needed. In the hospital cafeteria, they chose a table in a corner, and since it was so late, few people were in the big dining area. Rob surveyed Katie’s dinner tray with dismay. “You’re eating that stuff?”

  “When you’re hungry enough, even swill looks good.” Katie laughed. Rob realized that she was really very pretty. Not a beauty like Darcy, but wholesome and fresh-looking.

  “Dawn told me that you’re engaged,” she said. “So when’s the wedding?”

  “We called it off.”

  Katie’s fork paused in mid-air. “Sorry. I wasn’t prying.”

  “Dawn doesn’t know. She’ll think it’s her fault because of the transplant and all. I don’t want her to feel that way.”

  Katie eyed him, as if weighing her words. At last she spoke. “Rob, you once told me that you’d feel responsible if Dawn’s body rejected your bone marrow.”

  “I still feel that way,” he said stubbornly.

  “And yet you don’t want her feeling guilty over your broken engagement?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your logic doesn’t wash, Rob Rochelle.” Katie’s smile was kind, her expression gentle. “Don’t you see the conflict? How can it be your fault if the transplant fails if it’s not her fault you’re not getting married?”

  Rob opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t dispute her wisdom. He gave her a sheepish look, then confessed. “Okay. So I’m not logical.” He hunched over. “Actually, the engagement was a bad idea from the start. Football star, prettiest girl in her sorority. . . two people need more than that,” he added, half under his breath.

  Katie took a last sip of iced tea and glanced at her watch. “I have to get back to the floor.”

  They rode the elevator in silence. Katie’s comments made sense, and they gave Rob a lot to think about. At the door of Dawn’s room, he said, “Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder.”

  “I didn’t mind.” Katie touched his arm. Rob thought about hugging her but decided it wouldn’t be proper. She was just being kind. Why hadn’t Darcy been more like Katie?

  “I’m going back into the room with Dawn,” he said.

  In the dimness of the room, he heard Dawn’s shallow breathing along with the rhythmic beep of her heart monitor. Other equipment lined the walls. He heard Dawn ask, “Rob? Are you there?”

  “Right here.” He gently took her frail hand. At least she wasn’t hallucinating as she had during her last bout with fever.

  “I have a favor to ask.” Her voice was soft, and she spoke with effort. “I want you to pack up all my teddy bears and bring them here to the hospital.”

  For a few moments the impact of her request didn’t reach him. Finally, he asked, “All of them?”

  “Every one of them.”

  Cold snaked through his insides. “Even Mr. Ruggers?”

  “He’s so old and raggy, maybe you’d just better throw him away.”

  “Could I—would you mind if I kept him?”

  A partial smile formed on her mouth. “You’re too big for teddy bears. But if you want to, you can keep him.”

  “Dawn. Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m so tired.”

  Rob had to lean over her to hear her words. “You can’t give up, Squirt.” He heard his own voice catch.

  “Rob . . .”

  “You must fight, Dawn!” he interrupted. “You can’t give up.”

  “I love you, Rob.” Her eyelids closed. Next to her bed, Rob heard the steady beep of the heart monitor turn into a loud whine. He stared, open-mouthed, at the screen where the sharp peaking line had gone flat.

  Fifteen

  THE room erupted into a violent whirlwind of activity. Rob shrank against the wall as doctors and nurses rushed through the doorway. No one was sterile. He assumed it didn’t matter.

  A team of technicians surrounded Dawn’s bed. Bedcovers hit the floor.

  “No pulse!” a voice yelled.

  “I can’t get a blood pressure!” another shouted.

  Rob trembled as the room seethed with medical urgency. Above all the activity rose the persistent whine of the heart monitor.

  “Don’t you want to see your new sister, Rob?”

  Seven-year-old Rob tugged his baseball cap tightly on his head, shuffled his sneakers on the carpet and flashed his mother a sullen look. No. He did not want to see the squirming bundle that had arrived from the hospital in his mother’s arms. He’d never asked for a sister. Why’d they go get one?

  “Come on, Son,” Mr. Rochelle urged. “She’s a real beauty.”

  Obediently, Rob sidled over to the sofa and stared down at the baby wrapped in pink, lying in his mother’s arms. Mrs. Rochelle pulled back the edge of the blanket, and Rob forced his eyes to peek at the baby. His breath caught in his throat. He’d never seen anything so small and fragile. Fine red-blond fuzz capped her head. Her eyes were closed, her mouth pursed, the lips perfectly formed into a bow.

  “Here, sit next to me and hold her.” Mrs. Rochelle patted the sofa cushion next to her.

  Rob wanted to protest, but was so mesmerized that he meekly sat and accepted the doll-sized infant. He stared at her, enthralled by her perfection.

  “We named her Dawn,” Mrs. Rochelle said. “Because she’s so pink and soft. Do you like that name?”

  Rob nodded silently, unable to look away from the baby. Tiny lashes, no longer than the hairs on his watercolor paintbrush fringed her eyes, and her nose was no bigger than his shirt button. Ever so slowly Rob lowered his cheek to nuzzle against hers. Her skin was soft and she smelled of powder and baby lotion.

  “Dawn,” he whispered. Her feather-soft breath fluttered on his cheek, and a warm tingling sensation spread over his body. His arms tightened around her small form, and he began to rock and chant her name.

  “Get the cart!” The machine next to Rob was yanked into motion and shoved over to Dawn’s bed. Doctors attached electrodes to her bare skin. Rob clenched his fists, held his breath, and pressed tighter to the wall. The sound of his blood pounded in his ears, merging with the mechanical screech of the monitor until he thought his eardrums would explode.

  Someone called, “Clear!” Doctors and nurs
es stepped away from the bed and the cart. The air snapped with tension. The body on the bed twitched as electricity surged through it.

  Rob held up a rattle, gave it a shake, and baby Dawn broke into a broad, toothless smile. Rob rubbed her plump check and tickled her under her chin. The baby squealed and giggled, thrashing her arms wildly. She grasped the rattle and Rob shouted, “Mom! Come see what Dawn can do!”

  He patted her head, stroking the new growth of red hair. Dawn dropped the rattle and grasped Rob’s finger. He laughed, and the baby laughed with him.

  A doctor barked, “No response! Let’s hit her again.” Rob had lost all feeling in his fingers. He was cold. Why was he so cold? The machine zapped and crackled, and the body heaved on the bed one more time. The monitor sent out a weak, wavering blip. Rob caught his breath.

  Katie pressed her mouth to Dawn’s ear and shouted, “Dawn! Can you hear me?” She clapped her hands sharply, but the girl on the bed didn’t respond. The nurse turned to Rob and commanded, “Call her. Keep calling her name.”

  “Rob, does your stupid baby sister have to follow us everywhere?” Jimmy Callahan complained.

  Guiltily, ten-year-old Rob turned his back on the three-year-old toddler tagging along on the sidewalk behind them.

  “Aw, she’s just a kid, Jimmy.”

  Dawn hesitated, stuck out her lower lip, and turned pleading green eyes toward her brother, “Dawn come with Rob,” she announced.

  “Doesn’t she know she isn’t wanted?” Jimmy turned and stamped his foot.

  “Don’t scare her,” Rob commanded.

  “Why not? She’s bugging me.” Jimmy darted at the little girl. Dawn froze, stepped backward, caught her heel on a crack, and fell flat on her bottom. She let out a loud wail.

  “Now see what you’ve done!” Rob shouted at his friend. “You scared her and now she’s hurt.” He rushed over to his sister and gathered her in his arms. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.” He stroked her red curls and nestled her against his chest.