I loved it and gave Jason a smile saying so.
Mom covertly wiped away a tear as she put the markers away. Then she put a too-big smile on her face and clapped her hands together. “I have an idea. Let’s all put a hand on Ellie’s leg and one by one say a prayer, or something we wish for her.”
I sucked in air. Don’t know about that. But I wasn’t in the place for objections so I stayed silent.
Hana turned off the overhead lights so that only the firelight was around us. They all inched in closer to me, placing their hands on my legs. A rush of warmth whirled through my body.
Mr. Cooper started. “Ellie, I’m so thankful for the happiness you’ve brought to my son’s life. I’m proud of how you’re handling your battle.” I smiled at him. He was so kind to be here. “I wish you a speedy and full recovery.”
I bit the inside of my cheeks and stretched my eyes wide to keep them dry. They are turning me into mush. An extremely-well-loved pile of mush.
Quinn was next in the circle. “I pray you kick some cancer ass tomorrow. You are my hero, and I love you so much.” She kissed me on the cheek.
Craig took a moment to think, then looked at me. “Hands down, the best thing that came out of my mom remarrying and abandoning me is you. I’m thankful to call you sister, and that you’ll finally let me call you that without hitting me or yelling at me.” I laughed. “I need you to heal up fast so you can get back to sharing cereal and anime with me, and letting me torture you with my music.”
My eyes were a glassy haze of tears now. I leaned in and gave Craig a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Thanks, bro. I’ll do my best for you.” I wiped my face with the cuffs of my new sweatshirt.
Hana was next. She held my hand and looked straight into my eyes. “Ellie, I’ve really admired your calm these last few days. I would say I pray for you to heal well and for everything to go smoothly tomorrow, but I don’t need to pray. I just know. I know you will defeat the odds.” She dropped my hand and gave me a huge, gripping hug.
The love around me blazed warmer than the fire. A determined part of me believed this darkness and pain and cancer couldn’t possibly stand a chance against the force of my family and friends.
Jason put his hands on my legs and leaned in, speaking quietly. “I am so thankful I walked onto that stage and into that scene with you.” I made a face, thinking of our start together. “Seriously, Ellie. Um…” He paused and took a deep breath. “You think this cancer has been a burden on everyone, but for me… it’s been…” He trailed off. Took another breath. “I’m not feeling as eloquent as everyone else.” He held my hand. “I’m just looking forward to when you’re onstage again, or on your bicycle, shocking all the doctors with your mad rotation skills like you never had titanium plates in your leg.” He leaned in even closer and gave me a melty, wonderful kiss.
Everyone whistled or awwed for a second.
Jason sat back in his spot in the circle, and I let out a quiet laugh. I hoped they were right in their optimism, but I was still scared. The reality was that even with one of the top surgeons in the country, this procedure had only been done five times—and that was only counting procedures similar to this one. Counting procedures exactly like mine, I’d be the first.
I remembered what Gary said about fearlessness not being the absence of fear, but going forward, anyway. I wanted to say something poetic and meaningful back. To tell them each how grateful I was and how much they meant to me, but all I was able to get out was a shaky “thank you.”
Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “You are the light of my life, sweet Ellie. Know that all your guardian angels will be by your side tomorrow, okay?” Her breath was uneven and she was having trouble getting the words out. “I know you will get through this and soon be on to all the big, beautiful things that await you in this life.”
Closing my eyes, I tried to make an imprint of this moment in my mind. Hopes, fears, they didn’t matter—I was ready to face tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I woke up. A bright light flooded my vision. It was hard to see.
Squinting my eyes, I turned my head, trying to look past the light. The room had changed.
“Ellie? Ellie, sweetie, are you awake?” It was Mom.
“Ellie? Hi. Are you okay? Do you need the nurse?” That was Jason. “She’s so…so puffy, Mrs. Hartwood. You can hardly recognize her.”
“It’s all the fluid, Jason. Ellie? Can you hear us?”
I still couldn’t see them—just a bright, blurry white. I tried harder to focus, but it wasn’t their faces I saw.
It was the woman from the portrait in Jason’s house. His mom. Linda Cooper.
She was beautiful, glowing, and smiling. I tried to reach out. Her presence emanated warmth and happiness. She spoke, the words not quite making sense yet, and pointed to another light, where there were two figures, one small and one tall. I didn’t understand, but the vision made me feel at peace. I closed my eyes again.
“It might take a while before she fully comes to.” It sounded like my dad, but was far away.
“I guess she still needs to sleep.” Mom’s voice. I strained to see her. My eyelids were too heavy.
Wake up. Wake up.
This time I opened my eyes and Linda’s face faded back as the outline of Jason’s face emerged out of her light.
“Jason,” I whispered. “Your mom’s here.”
“What? Yes, your mom’s right here,” Jason said, not understanding me.
Mom’s hand gripped mine. “Hi, sweetie. You did such an incredible job.”
“Hi, Mom.” It was hard to get the words out. “Jason’s mom—Linda. Jason…she’s here…she’s with you when you need her.”
It went dark again.
The next time I woke up I didn’t feel as out of it. I was able to open my eyes fully without the lids automatically wanting to fall shut. I didn’t know how much longer it had been, but there were Jason and Mom in the corner of the room, reading books.
“Hi,” I managed.
They popped their heads up and came to my bedside.
“How are you feeling now?” Mom asked.
“Pain. My leg’s throbbing.”
“Here, hit this morphine button.” Mom put the cord in my hand.
“Thanks.”
Jason’s brows were furrowed, and I could tell he was biting his cheeks.
“Are you scared of me? Do I look awful?”
“You do look a little like the Michelin Man,” Mom said, patting my hand. Leave it to Mom to not hold back. I gave a weak smile.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Jason asked.
“Not hungry. Very thirsty. And itchy.”
“I’ll have the nurse add Benadryl to your IV,” Mom said and went out of the room to hunt for the nurse.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I glimpsed Jason through squinted eyes. I did feel supremely puffy.
“The others are in the café snacking it up.” Jason smiled his side-of-the-mouth smile. Kissing him sounded nice, but I was certain my lips wouldn’t have cooperated, being that they were dry and bloated and lacking muscles.
“Do I really look like the Michelin Man?”
“Well, because of the slight green tone, I’d say more like a mini Incredible Hulk—a Hulkette.” He waited a beat. “It was scary for a while. You needed a couple blood transfusions. I’m just happy to see you’re awake and not talking about bright lights or my mom. I thought you were, um, crossing over or something.” He pulled my blanket up a little higher around my shoulders. “Do you think it was a dream, or did you…really see…”
“Your mom?”
He nodded.
“It felt way more real than a dream is all I can say. Her presence was with me.” The knowledge swept over me like a huge comfort.
Tears brimmed his eyes.
“Jason, she loves you so much. She’s with you more than you know, and she’s proud of the person you’ve become.” The words just came out as if they were fa
cts I knew by heart, not simply because they sounded nice. Jason dropped his head and a tear fell onto the bed.
“I miss her every single day.” He paused. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m glad she was watching over you through all of this.” He kissed my hand.
I couldn’t do much, but I squeezed his hand and tried to remember the details of the dream so I could tell it to him when I was more with it.
“Are you still feeling any pain in your leg?” Jason asked as he dried his eyes on a tissue.
I gave a breathy laugh. “You’d make a good doctor.” I hadn’t seen my leg yet. I reached down to grab the edge of the white sheet, and pulled it aside.
Oh my God.
My left leg was two or three times the size of my right leg, and in shades of green, yellow, and purple that made me think of regurgitated Easter eggs. Thick, black stitches poked up fiercely all along the outside of my leg from knee to hip. Mom walked into the room as I examined it.
“Did Tim Burton do the stitch-up job?” I asked, gasping at the monstrosity that was once a normal leg. “Did they get it all out? Is it going to be okay?”
Mom came around the other side of the bed and took my non-IV-burdened hand. “It went extremely well. You were in there for ten hours, but they got all the tumor cells out.
“The extra good news is he was able to save all the ligaments in your knee. That means you have an even better chance than expected of regaining rotation,” Mom said.
That did make me feel better.
Jason handed me a cup of water. “And the titanium plate fit just right.”
“That’s a lot to take in right now, sweetie. Dr. Ray will stop by early in the morning to check on you,” Mom said.
“Who sent all these flowers?” Bouquets and cards covered the windowsill, dresser, and bedside table.
“Everyone.” Mom smiled. “We can read all the cards that came with them when you have more energy.”
There was a tap on the door, and then it opened. “Ellie-bee, you’re awake.”
“Dad.”
“You did it, kiddo.” He kissed my forehead then gave me a large wrapped box.
I unwrapped it to reveal several pairs of the softest pajamas. “Thanks, Dad. Just what I’ll need.”
“There’s a card somewhere in there, too.” He rifled around in the box till he found it under some tissue paper and handed it to me.
It read:
I love you with all my heart. Keep healing strong. Love, Dad
“Thanks, Dad. I love you, too.”
Mom said, “Very thoughtful, Frank.” They shared the first genuine smile between them I’d witnessed in years.
There were more knocks on the door. “Can we come in?” Quinn asked, Hana and Craig by her side.
“Of course,” Mom said, waving them in, the room now cramped. “Frank, why don’t we take a walk and give the kids some time. It’ll give us a chance to talk about a few logistics.”
Hana, Quinn, and Craig gave me hugs, cooed at me, told me how scared they’d been, how happy they were to see me. I showed them my leg, and they cringed, covered their mouths, and generally didn’t hold back their flinching terror. Comforting.
“Guess what?” Quinn said to me, handing me her phone.
“What?”
“We’re getting a tiny bit internet famous,” Hana said, clicking play on the cued-up video of our Las Palomas del Disco sketch on Comedy Hub’s website. “It posted this morning.”
“What?” I jolted up a fraction in surprise, but even that small movement caused a pang, so I eased back down, holding still as I watched in disbelief. There were already thousands of likes.
“Hana, these comments. They all love you.”
She blushed and clicked around to another video. “Wait until you see this one. Someone from the audience posted it over the weekend.” It was a video of Craig and Jason singing.
I gasped. “You guys. Your song. I bet that recording deal isn’t far away now, Craig.”
“We’ll see,” he said, but his face radiated hope.
“It’s not all good news for us,” Hana said. She showed me the comments from all the people losing their minds over Craig and Jason. Some of the comments were extremely blunt about what they wished to do with our boyfriends.
“Whoa. Wow. Please never read these, Jason.”
“Too late.” It was his turn to blush.
“Enough of that. This one is even better,” Craig said. He clicked play on the video of my standup set. It was surreal seeing myself onstage under the spotlight, energetic and confident. Especially now, being in this hospital bed, a puffy, stitched-up, immobile green thing.
“Read the comments,” Quinn said, scrolling down on the phone.
Comedy Hub had subtitled the post with an announcement to the world that I was getting my surgery today and asking everyone to wish me well. People were sharing it. There were hundreds of comments.
Praying for you.
You’re so funny. You rock. Get well soon.
Sending big love and prayers.
You’re an inspiration.
You got this.
We love you, Ellie Hartwood.
It hit me hard and fast. Strangers. All over the world. Praying for me. Sending me their love. My shoulders shook and tears slid down my face.
There was a longer comment toward the bottom.
My son was recently diagnosed. We’ve been so devastated. This is our first laugh since. Thank you. Please give us an update of your surgery. Hugs.
My heart ached and swelled, my world expanding.
“And, the best for last.” Quinn played a fourth video.
There, in my hand, on this phone, via the internet, where the world could access it forever, were Jason and me kissing in front of the Porter stage to the booming “do it” chants.
“Oh…no. Oh God.” I covered my face. “Someone please hit that morphine button a few billion times for me real quick.”
I woke up again later, and this time it was just Jason with me. He put his book down and lifted a package out from behind a chair in the corner of the room and brought it to me.
I pulled back layers of bubble wrap and uncovered the gift. A framed painting. It looked mostly like a realistic cross section of a thigh that might be found in an anatomy textbook. But in the middle, instead of only a bone, there was this wonderland of flowers—in purples, blues, and greens—growing out of the center of the bone with rays of gleaming light.
There were no adequate words for how happy seeing this strong, beautiful bone made me feel, and how loved, knowing Jason must have put hours into it. But I tried. “This means the world to me. It’s stunning.”
“Well, you know, when you’re up worrying night after night, it’s more fun to paint than stare at the ceiling.”
“You were worried about me?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“You climbed through my window. You wrote me a song and sang it in front of an entire audience. You flew out to New York to be with me. You made me this gorgeous painting. I’m getting the feeling you plan on sticking around.”
He laughed. “Have I been too subtle?”
“I plan on sticking around, too.”
I smiled and propped his painting up at the end of my bed so my body would be inspired to grow and heal like the flowers blooming from the bone.
Epilogue
Ten months later
It’s a warm August night on the Boulder campus, a soft breeze blowing as we settle onto the stone benches in the beautiful outdoor theater. Our semester just started, and CU’s improv group is about to begin their first show of the season. My belly flutters with anticipation. Auditions are next week, and this could be my new improv group someday soon. Correction: it could be our new improv group—Jason decided to go to CU, too. There are the mountains I’ve been waiting for on my right, and the boy I’ve always wanted on my left.
Perfect.
Jason kisses me sweetly on the lips and takes my
crutches, tucking them behind our legs on the ground. Yes, ten months clomping around on these metal flanks. So, not everything is perfect. But I try not to complain. Mostly I just feel lucky, and I only have two more months to go before I’m crutch-free.
I had my nine-month follow-up appointment with Dr. Ray before Jason and I packed up our stuff and caravanned from Illinois to Colorado with our parents to move into both our dorms. Quinn is off traveling the world, but Hana and Craig are both living in New York City now and were with me at the appointment. Dr. Ray looked impressed when he asked me to lie on my stomach, reach back for my ankle, and pull my heel toward my butt to see how much rotation I’d regained in my knee. I was only three inches away from touching—way above their estimate of what I’d ever get back—and I’m determined to get to 100 percent.
Using the exercises Mrs. Lahiri and my physical therapist taught me, I get up every morning without fail to lie on my stomach on the floor with an icepack tucked under my lower thigh, just above my knee. I reach back and pull my ankle in as far as I can, to the threshold of pain, and hold it there, trying to breath instead of grimace. I push it a centimeter further for as many seconds as I can tolerate, and then flip over to do my quad isometrics, which are as boring as they sound.
As the show starts, Jason leans over and whispers, “I can’t wait to do improv with you up there someday.”
“I wish I didn’t have to audition with crutches. They make all my characters, you know, so crutchy all the time.”
“Just remember the second Mash-Up. If you perform like that, they’ll want to switch their form to crutch-prov.”
I kiss him on the cheek, and he puts his arm around me, pulling me even closer to him. Everything in me is warm and glowy. I still can’t believe he chose Boulder over all his other choices. He promised it was because of their experimental film program. But also, when I argued with him about his choice, he said, “Plus, Mom told me to always follow my heart. To follow love.”
What gets me even more was he made that choice during the most grueling, early months of my recovery, when I was stuck in bed, foggy from painkillers, with my leg in a passive motion machine for sixteen hours a day. I still don’t think my pushing him away and giving him a chance to get out while he could was wrong, but I’m grateful every day that he chose to stay. Because my miracle doctor lived up to his title, and now we’re here on the other side of cancer, on one of the most idyllic campuses in the country, about to watch what is sure to be some awesome improv.
A Messy, Beautiful Life Page 17
