Mom is an early riser, which makes it almost impossible for me to sleep in. Even when she tries her hardest to close the door as softly as possible, I’m jerked out of dreamland.
Exhausted, but at least free of any medicinal-induced fog, I roll over and stare at the popcorn ceiling. A cough boils in my lungs and I hold it in, playing a game of chicken with my body until a long stream of coughs erupts, cracking my lungs like eggs.
I crash back on the pillow and reach blindly for a cough drop on the side table. Sucking on the medicated candy, I try to persuade my body that sleep is not my archnemesis.
A pitiful cough fights back against the cough drop and I turn over on my side. My phone wakes up, showing me a list of notifications. I scroll through them.
I can’t believe it was so easy to pour my heart out to Ryan. I told him things I’ve never told anyone. Not Brooke, my best friend for years. Not Caitlin, who knows more about my life here than anyone else. Least of all Jack, who came here wanting to share this experience.
My heart lodges between my tonsils, as if those useless organs can stop its escape.
Jack has been part of my friend group for years. We did speech together, and Brooke and I went to his swim meets. I’d never even considered him boyfriend material. Wasn’t sure I even thought of him in that way. He was just Jack. But the more time we spent alone, something started to develop. The more I looked forward to seeing him sans Brooke & Co. And the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about comics became the way he looked at me.
And I liked that.
Jack saw me, wanted me. And the butterflies that flew around my chest were something I’d never felt before. Like I was special, and not just in the bad way. He took me to the dance and we’d been together ever since.
And now not only does he know about my impending surgery but he read Mom’s blog. I just have to make it to Brooke’s party. Then we can put all of this hospital stuff behind us and go back to our lives. I just need to focus on getting better, on getting out of here as fast as humanly possible.
One notification stands out among the rest—Mom’s blog. Against my better judgment, I click the link.
This is how you be a parent.
And there is the photo of me from yesterday.
I skim her words, trying to take in as little as possible. It’s a recap of everything that’s gone on—with the highlight and big reveal being: surgery! I’m the villain of her blog, it seems, being the one who doesn’t want to do this, and she’s having to pull rank as a parent. The only thing I read in full are her likes, bookmarks, and shares—which are the highest they’ve been in months.
Not to mention the commenters only validate her decisions.
You’re doing the right thing!
I have just the thing that will fix this—email me to know more.
We’re praying for you!
People are always willing to pray for you, as if you’re the thing that’s wrong and needs help fitting into the world and not the world that needs reshaping to make space for you. I take a screen grab of the comments and send them to Caitlin.
Ellie
Why is this totally normal?
Caitlin
That is definitely 100% absolutely weird.
She has to stop this.
#FreeEllie
I can make that trend if you like.
I start to type a message, How about you trend something if I win state…, but I stop because I’ll be back to my life-life without Caitlin. But she could be around, my mind says. A new message pops up on my phone, and I click over to it.
I stare at my phone—Medical Coach? I tap on the contact.
First Name: Medical
Last Name: Coach
Title: Ryan Kim
Well, I guess he really meant what he said last night. I click back to his message.
Medical Coach
Sleep well?
Ellie
Debatable.
You?
The door to the room cracks open and Mom sticks her head in. “Ellie, you up?”
I wipe my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and force a smile, hoping that I come off as natural as possible. The fact that I’ve been sick for the last three months is probably helping me more than I’d care to admit.
Mom’s smile is warm and, bless her, she has coffee—it’s the peace offering I need. Plus caffeine is a natural cough suppressant, so in between doses of medicine I can have all the coffee I want.
My lungs do not like the change in position, popping off a few coughs. To her credit, Mom doesn’t even flinch at these. She sets my coffee on the side table and retreats to the desk chair. We live in the wreckage of our shattered conversations. Her words still cut like shards of glass, trying to wear me down into accepting her position. The blog says it all to everyone, and sometimes I wish these things could just stay between us.
Everything she’s done for me. Her words ring in my ears. A response to a comment I’ve never forgotten: My life is Ellie’s health. There is nothing left for me. Eleven words was all it took for me to zip my mouth shut about everything. Caitlin can talk all she wants about how easy it should be to talk to my mom, but how am I supposed to do that?
What took me so long to figure out was that as much as she may want her own life—the only one she has is about me and so she won’t let me go. Freeing myself will kill her, and she’s the only one who’s been here from day one. Even Caitlin can only guess at those early years.
I sip my coffee, wondering why Mom’s up because we don’t have a list of appointments. The medical coach might call this a bye day. All I want to do is stay in bed, hang out in our room, and plead illness.
Mostly true.
Mom carefully sets her coffee down on the counter and folds her arms across her chest.
I tense, ready for a fight. Last night still hangs in the air and clings to our clothes. Words and their tangled meanings that just drive us further apart.
Now we’re both on the defensive. “I heard back from Dr. Darlington’s office.” Mom’s voice is cautious.
I run my finger over the edge of my cup. “And?” I try to keep my voice as neutral as possible. I don’t want to rock this boat, but pain and hurt sneak in there, souring my words and turning them into darts.
“I scheduled the surgery—” I open my mouth, but Mom holds up a hand. “Let me finish. I think this is best, but I understand you have questions.”
Resentment pushes against my skin, making me feel like I’m too much. What she doesn’t say is that there is a choice. I don’t get to decide to have surgery or not, I can just be more okay with it than I was yesterday.
I slump back against the headboard. Ryan’s words are caught in my sleep-deprived mind. Why suggest surgery if it’s all in your head? I try to come up with every possible answer to that, but Coffman is not like other hospitals. Here, doctors don’t get paid per test or per surgery—so it’s not financial gain.
“And Dad okayed this?” It’s my last trump card; any hope of putting this off lies with him. Surgery has to happen ASAP so I can whiz through recovery in time to get back to Jack, but I can’t shake off my body’s natural reaction to the threat of surgery. The world takes on that milky shade of blue green. As if some kid who really liked Star Wars’ idea of blue milk grew up to design ORs.
Am I really going to do this? Just waltz back into Darlington’s office and be like Yes, please let’s discuss cutting me open?
Ping!
Medical Coach
See reason.
Remember they wouldn’t just suggest surgery.
You have to talk to the docs.
Ellie
So terrible. Got it.
Medical Coach
Nice deflection.
But it won’t help you.
Ellie
Foul!
Well, all right, then. I take a big breath. Jack, this is all for Jack. “I was just hoping we could see him today.” Again, no matter how hard I try to sound nonchalant, my words crumble to the ground between Mom and me, separating us even further.
“You want to see him? Dr. Darlington?” Mom asks, her voice heavy with skepticism.
Mom narrows her eyes at me. She comes up to the bed and puts the back of her hand to my forehead. “Are you running a fever now too?” There’s a lightness to her question that can’t quite block out the concern. In moments like this, I feel like we’ve fallen back into safe territory.
“I’m fine,” I say, ducking under her hand and dropping my phone in the process. I feel secure that we’ve found this joking manner again. It’s back to us facing this together rather than her chronicling my life. There’s hope here that we can be that again.
“About last night,” I start. It’s hard to talk around the tightness in my chest, but I know that the only way to ease this will be to talk. Sometimes I can take this pain, but I can’t take every punch.
“Your father and I just want what’s best for you. I know that’s not always what you want to hear. And trust me, I know you have not always been happy with our decisions, but they are because we love you.”
Her words are final and burn off the ache in my chest, replacing the hurt with fury. How dare she talk to me like I’m still four and in need of major surgery? I was a child; I had no idea how to weigh in on what was happening to me. But now I can form words, thoughts, ideas. In two years, I am going to be the person in charge of myself and my parents will have nothing to say about it.
I am going to have the surgery because I want my life back, but I will at least share my thoughts on the subject.
“I know,” I say, trying to look cowed, apologetic—things I hardly feel.
“You need this, Ellie. We all want you to get better.”
My phone buzzes with a new message.
Medical Coach (1)
I close my eyes. Do I really want Jack back badly enough to go through surgery? Of course I do. I want to go back to hanging out in the halls after school with him, working on our respective speech pieces. The faith he has that all of this is going to work out. I may not be able to see a future for myself doing what I love, but Jack can. That means playing nice.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and drop my head down into the blankets, fighting with my own emotions as much as I fight with my mother.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
Mom’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry too.” She comes over to the bed and pulls me up into a seated position.
“Get dressed,” she says. I can hear the humor in her voice. We may have had harsh words last night, but they’re all one-sided because they never seem to cut Mom. “I think we both need a break from these walls. Let’s do something fun.”