Christmas morning after I turned six, I remember bounding down the stairs at our house in Nebraska, eager to rip open the presents under the tree. My excitement got the best of me, though. Halfway down, I tripped over my nightgown and fell the rest of the way, breaking my ankle. Christmas morning was spent in the emergency room, and I needed help to open my presents when we got home. At the time, I vowed I’d never spend another day in the hospital.
This morning my alarm woke me before sunrise. I padded to my window seat and settled in. As the sun emerged over the horizon, the snow glittered like diamonds on the ground. Leaning back against the pillows and wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I curled into a ball and simply enjoyed the moment. Until my mother came to wake me, I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep.
“You feeling okay this morning, sweetie? We thought you’d be downstairs by now.”
“I feel great, Mom. Just dozed off.” I swung my legs over the side, keeping the blanket snug around me. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Eleven.”
“Are you serious?” I dropped the blanket. “Did I miss anything?”
Mom sat beside me. “Of course not.” She hugged me to her side and kissed my temple. “Take your time and come down when you’re ready.”
Just as Mom closed the door behind her, my cell buzzed. I flew across my room and swept up the phone laying on my night stand. There was only one person who’d text me on Christmas morning.
Damian: Merry Christmas. I miss u like crazy.
Me: Miss u more.
Damian: C u 2nite.
Me: Can’t wait.
I dressed quickly and tucked my cell in the back pocket of my jeans. Not wanting to relive the Christmas from when I was six, I descended the stairs at a normal pace, though I was dying to see what was under the tree.
My parents were sitting on the sofa sipping on coffee. One plate of pastries and a plate of mini-sausage biscuits sat untouched on the coffee table, along with a full cup of warm coffee for me.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Dad handed me the mug, and I sat on the floor. “Half creamer, just as you like it.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, ignoring the disgusted face he made, and lifted the mug to my mouth. I let the liquid linger on my lips as if the warmth belonged to Damian.
My gaze wandered to the brightly wrapped packages in the corner. One caught my eye immediately: a small white box with a red satin bow.
“Stocking time!” Mom announced, slipping off the sofa and crawling on her hands and knees under the tree.
Since before I could remember, we each had a stocking overflowing with goodies and three gifts apiece under the tree. From the looks of it, the tradition continued.
Mom handed me my stocking first, then took hers and Dad’s back to the sofa. I dug in before she’d sat down. Mine included the usual assortment of makeup, nail polishes, an iTunes gift card, and a couple new knit hats.
When we were done, Mom handed me a tiny package wrapped in blue snowflake paper and a shiny white bow. I sat it on my lap and waited my turn. Dad opened his first and pulled out an out-of-print book he’d been searching months for.
Mom shrugged. “I got lucky.”
He kissed her, and I smiled. “Thank you, baby.”
Inside Mom’s box lay a new bathrobe from Victoria’s Secret. I wondered if Dad had ordered it online rather than step foot into the store at the mall.
“All right, Kate. Open it up.” Mom sat on the edge of her seat.
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I tore it open and flipped the lid off the black velvet box. A golden bracelet with my name engraved on it lay inside.
“Look on the back,” Mom urged.
I lifted the bracelet and turned it over in my hand. You’re our blessing. “Thank you,” I said, fastening it onto my wrist.
Mom handed out the next round. On Dad’s lap sat the gift I’d bought. It took me forever to decide on something for him, and I hoped he liked it.
I watched expectantly as he took his time with the tape. He liked to make it a challenge by not ripping the paper. When I was little, I thought he did it to teach me patience. I’m not sure it worked.
“Oh, Katie!” He held up the framed picture of Memorial Stadium in Lincoln, Nebraska, home to his beloved Cornhuskers and alma mater. “This is great. I know just where to hang it.”
“I don’t think so,” Mom growled playfully. “I am not looking at that every time we go to bed.”
“Above the television, then?”
“Attic?”
“Den?”
“We’ll talk.”
I giggled. I was definitely with Dad on this one.
Mom opened hers and gasped. I knew what it was because I’d helped Dad pick it out at the jewelry store. She picked it out of the box and slid it onto her finger. Dad held up her hand to examine the Mother’s ring, a heart with my birthstone in the center.
“Looks better on you than in the box.” He kissed her hand.
My next gift was long and heavy. I went at it like a cat with catnip and gaped at a brand new set of golf clubs.
“Seriously?”
“A girl on the varsity team needs a good set,” Dad reasoned.
“I’m not on the team yet.”
“You will be.”
I blushed. “Thanks.”
Mom gathered up the last of the gifts under the tree and handed Dad the white one that I was sure belonged to me from Damian.
“Why don’t you go first, Marcy.” Dad set the box on the end table beside him. I kept my eyes glued to it until I heard Mom’s squeal of delight.
“Thank you, Katie!”
I’d bought her one of those craft cutting machines. I was pretty sure she’d find something to use it for by the end of the day.
“Okay, my turn.” I opened the envelope in my hand. I yanked out the slip of paper.
Check the closet.
I glanced up at my parents. Dad smirked, and Mom nodded to the hall closet. I jumped to my feet and ran, throwing the door open. My jaw fell to the floor. I dragged out the orange golf bag and matching club sleeves. Each sleeve had an orange cancer ribbon embroidered on it.
“Best. Christmas. Ever!” I set the bag in the middle of the living room floor and reached down to fill it with my new clubs when Dad said, “It’s not over yet.”
I paused and stared at him.
“I still have one gift left to open,” he said with a knowing grin. “But I think you should have it.”
I took the box from his hand and slipped off the red satin bow. My heart sped up with each piece of torn tape until it was thumping against my ribs. Carefully, I lifted the lid. Tucked behind red tissue paper lay two plane tickets to Orlando and two passes to Disney World. I couldn’t breathe.
~*~
Damian came by that evening. I waited impatiently at the door, watching him drive up. He must have seen the giddiness on my face because he flashed me a flirtatious smirk and started walking extra slowly.
“Get in here!” I yelled, cracking the door open a little.
He stopped, put his index finger over his lips, and rolled his eyes to the sky, being a tease.
“Ahh!” I searched the floor for my boots, but seconds later the door flew open, and I was lifted into Damian’s arms.
“Disney World tickets?” I exclaimed when he set me down.
“You said you wanted to go.” He shrugged. “I planned it with your parents. We’ll leave at the end of May, after school.”
“Just you and me?” My parents went along with that?
His grin widened. “Just you and me.”
I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him until I couldn’t breathe.
“I have something for you, too.” I led him to the sofa and grabbed the envelope from the side table and handed it to him.
“Get well. That’s all I want,” he said, setting the gift aside and scooping me into his arms.
“I’m working on it. But for now…” I put the envelope back in his hands.
He opened it up and slipped out the folded piece of paper. His mouth dropped open. “To record three of my songs in an actual recording studio?”
“Do you like it?”
His lips pressed together as he faced me. “Thank you.” His voice was quiet, and when he kissed me, I understood how thankful he was.
~*~
December 31
Dear Diary,
I haven’t suffered a headache all week. Nor has my mother mentioned me having a special appointment with Dr. Lowell. I’ve been trying to make an effort to eat more even though I’m not hungry. So far, it seems to satisfy my parents and Damian.
Tonight, Damian and I are helping with the New Year’s Eve party at the children’s hospital. Damian’s in charge of the wheelchair races, and I volunteered to man the mini-mini-golf course. My mother even made a glittering paper ball that will fall at midnight for the event.
I’m not expected home until tomorrow afternoon. A whole night with Damian! YAY!
~*~
January 1
Dear Diary,
Just got home—it’s 2:00pm.
We had a blast! With Damian’s “help,” Brennan got first place in the wheelchair races. His adorable toothy smile won my heart as Damian put the gold medal around his neck on the podium.
Mom’s ball was a huge hit with the kids, but I only knew that because of the cheers erupting in the Commons. I didn’t actually see it fall because Damian had pulled me into an empty room so he could kiss me at midnight. Best kiss ever! And that’s saying something.
I don’t know how I could love him more.
We stayed and helped the nurses clean up and take all the kids who had to stay back to their rooms. Finally, at four in the morning, Damian and I found an empty room and crawled in bed. Exhausted, I fell asleep before he had a chance to kiss me goodnight. When we woke up, it was past noon, so we went out for lunch—and not in the cafeteria!
Okay, gotta go. I’m heading over to Damian’s for the day to swim in his indoor pool.
~*~
January 3
Dear Diary,
Today was the first day back to school—me to Roosevelt and Damian to Valley. I’ve thought about him all day, wondering how he’s doing.
Several of my teachers pulled me aside after class to ask how I was feeling. Once, the girl whose locker is next to mine said hello between the bells, then gathered her things and disappeared into the crowd before I could respond.
After school, a dozen red roses waited for me in the office. The card simply said, Missed you.
Damian and I talked all through my chemo treatment at the hospital. He promised me he’d try harder this semester. I mean, he has to if he wants to graduate in May. I offered to help, and he dropped his math text in my lap. For the rest of the day, we ended up doing homework.
It sucks being back in school.
~*~
January 5
Dear Diary,
Had another headache yesterday, so I stayed home from school. I had to convince Damian not to skip. I’m not sure when he showed up, but he said he went a full day before coming over. I don’t remember when he left.
~*~
January 6
Dear Diary,
Dr. Lowell showed up at the end of my chemo treatment today. He asked about the headaches. I told him that they were still painful, but I thought they were less frequent than they had been. He reminded me I only had three treatments left of the 12 week cycle and then there was the routine blood draw. I couldn’t read his expression as he suggested that we should do the blood draw early—like today. Not only that, but he wanted to do a full work up.
Damian stayed as Leslie wrapped the tourniquet around my upper arm and drew the vials of blood. When she left, Damian asked why my blood was being tested early. Instead of the full truth, I told him his dad just wanted to see if the chemo was causing the headaches. How could I tell him the real truth when I don’t want to think about it myself?
I put down my pen. It was late, after midnight, and I couldn’t sleep. My mind had been spinning since Damian left.
I’d go for the scans and other tests tomorrow. I didn’t tell Damian about those. The results would take about a week to get back, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to wait that long. I didn’t want to think about it, but it was impossible not to.
My parents had told me that they requested the early draw. The house was unusually quiet all evening, even with Damian here. It was in the backs of all our minds.
~*~
January 11
Dear Diary,
Dr. Lowell called today. He got the test results back. I asked that our meeting be held during school hours; I didn’t want Damian there if the results were less than positive. It’s tomorrow. How am I going to wait until then?
~*~
My parents and I sat in front of Dr. Lowell’s large mahogany desk. He took off his glasses and set them down on top of my file. Then he leaned forward.
Déjà vu tugged at my memory. I recognized that look. I’d seen it before. Three times before, in fact. I sank into my seat.
Dr. Lowell’s gaze shifted from my father, to my mother, and then to me. I fidgeted in my seat and stared at my hands.
“I’m sorry, Kate.” His voice was low. I heard him take a deep breath as if he were struggling with what to say next. When I glanced up, his cheeks were flushed. “Your numbers haven’t improved. You’re no longer responding to treatments, and the cancer is spreading into your organs.”
My eyelids fell. I hung my head and balled up my hands. Even though I had expected it, it hurt to hear it said out loud. I worked to keep everything in, afraid of allowing myself to explode in front of everyone. I had to be strong.
“What are our options?” Dad reached for my mother’s hand.
“Well,” Dr. Lowell started, “she’s still on the transplant list, waiting for a match. There’s also a new experimental drug out. I can send a referral.”
“What does that mean?” My mother’s voice sounded like she was already shedding tears. I didn’t look at her.
Dr. Lowell cleared his throat. “It means they only take certain cases and a limited number. You’ll have to drive to Mayo, they’ll do an initial evaluation there, see if you qualify.”
“And if she does?” Dad asked.
“They’ll do the initial treatments there, then send the medication here where she can finish the study. She’ll have to go back every so often for follow-up evaluations.”
Dad said my name. I don’t know how many times. All I could think about was more tests, more medications, more hospitals. And for what? An experiment?
“Katie,” Dad asked again, kneeling beside me.
I shifted my gaze to him. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since Dr. Lowell had called this meeting the day before. The creases in his forehead seemed deeper, and gray patches rippled through his brown hair.
“This is your choice, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much already.”
My mother sobbed in the seat next to me.
I shifted my attention to the doctor without really seeing him. “What is the success rate of this new drug?”
Dr. Lowell pursed his lips. Before, he’d been upbeat and positive. I guessed I really was running out of options. I wondered if he was always this hesitant with bad news.
“There aren’t any. Not until the study’s finished.”
“And how long is that?”
“Two years.” Dr. Lowell averted his gaze and coughed as if he knew my next question.
I straightened up in my chair, forcing my voice to remain steady and confident. “And if I don’t do it, and no donor is found, how long do I have?”
My mother choked back her tears. Stunned silence filled the room when Dr. Lowell answered. I nodded slightly.
“When does the study start?” I finally asked.
“I’d be happy to refer you anytime. I have the paperwork right here.” Dr. Lowell grabbed a manila envelope from a stack on his desk. “I can fill it out now.”
“I’ll think about it and let you know.” My voice finally cracked.
From the look in the doctor’s eyes, it wasn’t the answer he’d expected.