After we’ve finished eating, we play a few more games before the sun starts to set, and then head back to Cool Beans and our cars.
Meredith says goodbye and leaves first.
“I had fun today,” Spencer says with a smile, doing that thing where he rubs the back of his head when he gets nervous.
“I did too, it was nice. And, uh, thanks for this.” I hold up the stuffed bunny he won and gave to me—he won a turtle also and gave that to Meredith. Harlow won a live goldfish to go with her gorilla and has already named him Fred.
“Don’t mention it. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend?” he asks, looking between Harlow and me. “We could go to the skate park if you guys want to learn.”
“Yeah, sure, maybe. We’ll see.”
He chuckles. “Um, right. Then … bye.” He glances between the two of us and then ducks into his car.
Harlow and I pile into mine and I start it up.
“He likes you,” she tells me with a giddy giggle.
“No, he doesn’t.” I back out and drive toward the exit, getting behind Spencer in his old 90s Mustang.
“Yes, he does,” she counters.
“Well, I don’t like him like that. Just as a friend,” I say, shoulders resolute.
“Are you sure?” she sing-songs.
“Yes, I am,” I defend, a bite to my tone.
She shakes her head. “You’re weird. He’s super cute, and he’s nice. He’s going to college too, clearly he’s got his shit together. What’s not to like?”
“I won’t lie,” I begin. “It made me … feel good when he came up to me the other day at the beach. It was nice to have someone notice me for me and not because they remembered me as the girl who needs a kidney. But … he doesn’t make my stomach explode with butterflies or my heart do back flips. I feel … fond of him.”
“Fond,” she repeats. “The one word with the potential to kill any budding relationship. Fine,” she relinquishes, “you don’t like him like that, okay—but tell him that you only want a friend and don’t give him false hope. If he’s a genuinely good guy, he’ll still be your friend after, and if not? Well, you dodged a bullet there.”
I laugh. “Thanks for the advice.
“I gotta look out for my big sis,” she defends, looking down at Fred in the plastic bowl he came in.
I shake my head. Harlow is way too smart for her age.
We’re quiet the rest of the drive. We arrive home and, when we get inside, we find Mom and Dad watching Scandal on TV.
Dad pauses it and looks at us from the back of the couch. “How was your day?” he asks.
Perry lifts his head from his paws on the floor.
“Good. I got a bunny.” I hold up my stuffed bunny. It’s rather cute—the pale purple plushy with floppy ears.
“And I got a gorilla and a fish,” Harlow beams, juggling both.
He and Mom laugh.
“Sounds like you had a good day then,” Mom says with a smile.
“Night, girls,” Dad says.
“Night,” we echo, heading upstairs to our rooms.
I close my door behind me and flop on my bed. Lifting my wrist to my eyes, I study the bracelet and smile.
Every time you look at it, think of something happy.
My mind immediately goes to green eyes and the smell of salty sea air and my chest most definitely feels lighter than it was before.
I dance around the room.nbsp;
My movements are free and fluid.
The smile never leaves my face.
Riiiiiiing.
I spin. I twirl. I leap.
Riiiiiiiing.
I revel in the sounds of the pads of my ballet slippers touching the floor.
My soul feels ignited, vibrant, alive. I missed this. How could I have possibly stopped?
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
I jolt awake, shaking off the groggy effects of my dream state.nbsp;
Riiiiiiing.
I grab my phone, and my heart stutters at the name flashing on the screen.
“H-Hello?” I answer, my voice shaking.
It’s the transplant hospital, and they’re calling in the middle of the night, which can mean only one of two things.
They have a kidney for me, if I take it after they give me all the information on it, or I’m basically an understudy for someone else if they turn it down or for whatever reason can’t make it to the hospital in time.
“Is this Willa Hansen?”
“Yes, it is.”
I sit up and rub my eyes with my free hand. Glancing at the clock on my desk, I see it’s three in the morning, yet I’m completely alert. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this awake in my life.
“Hi, Willa. This is nurse Amanda. We’ve had a kidney come in, and the network chose you as the best match.”
I can’t breathe.
It’s like my body has completely forgotten how to do it.
I force myself to breathe before I pass out.
“Are you still there?” she asks at my quiet.
“Y-Yes. I’m here. I’m … this is great.”
“The donor is male, seventeen-years-old, no history of drug or alcohol abuse. Medical history is clean. The kidney donor profile index is coming in around eleven percent.”
“Is that good or bad?” I blurt. “I can’t remember.” I begin to panic.nbsp;
I remember the hospital saying deceased donor kidneys are graded between zero and one-hundred percent but for the life of me I can’t remember if a low rating is a good thing or bad.
She laughs lightly over the phone. “The lower the better.”
“R-Right.”
“You have some time to think about accepting if you want. But we need to hear back by the hour.”
“N-No. I’m taking it,” I say.nbsp;
An eleven percent is rare, and someone my age at that. This is an opportunity I can’t throw away. I have to jump on it before it’s gone.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s early in the morning; maybe you should talk to your parents.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I’m taking it.”
“Okay, we’ll prep the operating room. How soon can you be here?”
“About an hour? Is that okay?”
“That’s perfect.”
She then goes over questions like when was the last time you ate? Drank? Blah, blah, blah.
She hangs up, and I sit for a moment in stunned silence.
Did that really happen?
I stare down at my glowing phone and know it did.
I quickly go about doing an emergency shut off from my dialysis machine. Once I’m free, I run down to the end of the hall and barge into my mom and dad’s room.
“Mom! Dad! Get up!”nbsp;
My dad sits straight up. “Whashappenin,” he slurs, looking from left to right.
“Get up.” I beat my hands on the bottom of the bed. “The hospital called. They have a kidney for me. It’s a good match. I have to take it.”
My mom rolls out of the bed. “We have to hurry, Jake,” she tells my dad.nbsp;
I leave them to get dressed and grab their things, then I wake up Harlow, knowing we can’t leave her behind to wake up to an empty house with no clue where we went.
“Are you serious?” she asks, coming awake oddly alert.
“I’m serious.”
And then I burst into tears.
My body is a rollercoaster of emotions.
Happy, scared, overwhelmed, completely euphoric. It’s a lot to process.
“Oh, my God, Willa, this is amazing.” She hugs me tight and I sob into her shoulder.
It is amazing.nbsp;
More than that, it’s life changing.
“I have to go change,” I tell her, and dash back to my room.
I throw on a pair of my favorite sweats, a jog bra, and a loose T-shirt. I know I’ll have to change when I get there, so I don’t see the point in trying to look cute.
I dig in my closet for
the backpack I packed, probably a year ago now, so I’d be ready at a moment’s notice when the hospital finally called with a kidney. Inside, I have several pairs of pajama shorts and tops, my toothbrush and toothpaste, an old hairbrush, and other miscellaneous things I thought it would be important to have with me.
I throw my hair up into a sloppy ponytail to get it out of my way. A light sweat has broken out across my skin as I’ve rushed around.
I look around my room for anything else I might need.
My bedroom door is nudged open, and Perry wags his tail as he comes inside.
“Hey, boy.” I smile from ear to ear. “I’m getting a kidney.” I pet him.nbsp;
I can’t keep the giddy tone from my voice. I begin to cry again.
It’s impossible to describe the feeling of elation. I’m quite positive nothing in the world could ever make me as happy and grateful as I am now. I’ve never understood the meaning of the word blessed until now, but that’s exactly how I feel.
My life is about to change in about an hour.
My life is being saved.
Unless you’ve experienced this, or know someone who has, you can’t possibly begin to imagine how life saving it is.
My heart thunders in my ears and Perry looks up at me seemingly confused by my tears but happy tone.
I’ve waited for this day for so long. I hoped for it and imagined what it’d feel like, but nothing I could’ve thought up truly compares to what it actually feels like.nbsp;
Wishing for this day led me to believe it was never going to happen. That I was destined to live my life on dialysis.nbsp;
But each day, each treatment, has brought me closer to this moment.
To the moment when I finally get to live again.
When I’m free of tubes and wires.
When I don’t have to take my blood pressure constantly.
When I don’t have to take pills every time I eat.
When I don’t have to think about these things all day long.
I get to be me again.nbsp;
Yes, my life will never be the same, but at least it’ll be an actual life and not half of one.
I stuff my feet into a pair of flip-flops and nearly trip myself up.
I catch myself against the wall then Perry looks at me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he’s laughing at me.
Straightening my backpack, I meet everyone else in the hallway. By some miracle, we’re all ready at the same time.
We rush downstairs and tumble into my dad’s Mercedes SUV.
I sit beside Harlow in the back. She looks as excited as I am but scared too.
Reaching over, I take her hand in mine and squeeze. She smiles back at me.
“I’ll be okay,” I tell her. “Better than ever.”
“I know.”
She then hugs me as best she can in the back of the car.
We hold each other all the way to the hospital.
Once there, it’s a flurry of excitement, having me change into a gown, putting an IV in, going over the risks and precautions with my family and me.
It’s overwhelming, that’s for sure. There’s even a part of me that begins to panic that I can’t do this. What’s the point? This kidney won’t last forever.
But I remind myself I can’t dwell on the promises of the future; I have to focus on the gifts of now.
The room they have me in is small, a temporary space before wheeling me back for surgery. My mom sits on one side holding my hand, while my dad stands by her. Harlow sits on my other side holding that hand.
I’m scared—I can’t help it, surgery is daunting. Knowing they’re going to be cutting me open and putting someone else’s organ in my body feels wrong on so many levels, but I know I’m being overly paranoid.
“What are you thinking about?” Harlow asks beside me.nbsp;
“Things I shouldn’t be,” I tell her.
She smiles and reaches up, pushing a piece of hair out of my eyes.nbsp;
“Do you remember when we were little and I tripped on the Slip n’ Slide and broke my ankle?”
I nod. I don’t think I can ever forget my sister’s cries that day.
“You told me it was okay to be scared—that being scared didn’t make me weak. You’re not weak, Willa, not at all. You’re strong, and brave. You’ve overcome more than anyone your age should ever have to, and I’ve watched you do it with dignity. I admire you more than anyone else in this world, and I’m lucky to be your sister.”
I cry again, for the umpteenth time tonight.
“I low you.”
I let go of my mom’s hand and hug my sister.
“I low you too.”
She squeezes me tight. I feel a tear leak from my eye onto her shoulder but she doesn’t let me go.
“Knock, knock.” The surgeon raps his knuckle on the open door.nbsp;
“Hey, Doc.” I smile.
Dr. Marks was one of the first surgeons I met at the transplant hospital and we clicked. He reminded me of Dr. Keegan in a lot of ways. He was in his forties with two sons, twelve and ten years old. He was quirky in a lot of ways—always wearing bright yellow Converse with his suits every time I saw him, and constantly spinning a pen or pencil between his fingers like he had pent-up energy he needed to expunge.
“Are you ready for this, Willa?” he asks, stepping up to my side. My mom and dad scoot out of his way.
I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” My chin begins to tremble with the threat of tears.
He picks up my hand and pats it gently. “It’s okay to be scared,” he echoes what Harlow told me. “I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t scared. This is a big moment for you.”
With the back of my other hand, I dry my face. “It’s overwhelming,” I admit.
He nods and lowers my hand back to the bed.
I notice for the first time since I’ve seen him he’s in scrubs.
This is happening.
This is really happening.
“I want you to know how you feel is completely normal. The transplant process is a long, difficult, journey and often times feels like there’s no end in sight. But you made it, Willa. You’ve made it to the end. Is there anything you want to discuss with me before we take you back?”
“How long do you think she’ll be in surgery?” my dad asks, his hand on my mom’s shoulder. She reaches up and places her hand on his. I can see the worry etched into every line of their faces. This hasn’t been easy on them, either.
I’m the one going through the hard stuff, but my family suffers from this too.
It’s a hard burden for everyone to bear.
“Typically, it’s between three and four hours.”
“That long?” my dad asks surprised.
“Yes,” Dr. Marks replies. “But don’t worry. Willa’s in good hands, I promise you. Anything else?”nbsp;
They shake their heads. I know they’re too stunned and overwhelmed to think of anything else.
Dr. Marks turns back to me. “You’ll be sedated after surgery, you might not wake up until tomorrow. Once you do wake up, it’ll be important that we get you up and walking as soon as possible. We definitely want to see you peeing on your own, okay? And it’s important that you drink as much water as you can. No more fluid restrictions. Any questions?” His kind brown eyes sparkle behind his glasses at me.
“Just … take care of me, Doc.”
His face turns suddenly serious and he nods. “I will.”
Before he leaves, he marks on my body where they’ve decided to hook up the kidney—he presses on my abdomen feeling the pulses of my bowels or some gibberish like that and decides that my right side will be the best place to put it.
He looks at me as he leaves. “We’ve got this.” He gives me a thumbs up and leaves.
Barely a minute passes before the anesthesiologist comes in and goes over the risks of being put to sleep and on a ventilator and all that jazz.nbsp;
I have to sign a paper and my pa
rents as well.
Another person comes in and puts a hair net—I guess that’s what it’s called—on my head.
And then, in a matter of minutes, I’m being wheeled away from my family.nbsp;
I hold my sister’s hand until the last possible second.
Once in the OR, I scoot onto the table and they position me as they need me.
Around me I hear the rustling of paper being spread and the clinking of metal.nbsp;
Somewhere, I hear someone washing their hands.
“I’m your nurse, Willa. My name’s Jessica. I’m going to be right here by your side the whole time monitoring your vitals. I’m going to put this mask on you, and I want you to take deep breaths.”
I nod, tears shimmering in my eyes, my chest tight.
Fear is seizing my body and asking, why me? Why do I have to go through this? Why does anybody have to go through this?
She places the mask on my face, and I breathe like she says, my eyes darting around.
“Count to ten in your head for me, sweetie,” she says.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Five.
… Six.
Seven.
Eight …
My eyes close, the bright round lights above me disappear, and I am no more.
nbsp;
Awareness prickles in slowly.
Muffled voices.
Shuffling of feet.
Beeping outside.
Why is it beeping?
I try to open my eyes but it’s like they’re caked shut.
I reach up, rubbing at them, and hear an intake of breath.
“Willa?” my mom asks.
“What? W-Where am I?” I ask.
“You don’t remember?”
I finally manage to open my eyes and look around, taking in the hospital surroundings and my parents’, and sister’s, worried faces.
It all comes rushing back to me.
“N-No, I remember,” I hasten to assure her. “D-Did everything go okay?”
“It went perfectly.” She brushes her fingers through my hair. It feels ratty and matted to my head.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Well, they wheeled you back to surgery at almost six in the morning. It’s almost nine at night now, so you woke up sooner than they hoped, which is good. Honey, can you go tell the nurse?” She looks at my dad over her shoulder.
The Other Side of Tomorrow Page 7
