Surgery is scheduled. I’m going to surprise Jack this weekend. Just the thought of Jack spreads warmth in my chest and eases the tension in my body. I’m doing this to get back to my life.
As much as I hate to admit it, Ryan was right. And before he finds out, I want to tell him—that way, there will be zero room for him to gloat.
And maybe I just want him to tell me one more time that surgery is worth it. That I made the right choice. Because every time I think about stepping back into the OR I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Plus maybe he has an idea on how I can talk to Mom about her blog. Because without that Caitlin won’t go and I’ll be stranded at the Family Care Home.
A little sleuthing and I find Ryan’s room number on the check-in/checkout board. We’re on the same floor, but his block of rooms is off in the other direction from the kitchen. With every step, my muscles unknot themselves and calm seeps in between the cracks.
His door is propped open by the lock, but I still knock.
“Yeah?” The voice on the other side of the door sounds barely awake, and a strike of regret flashes through me.
You’re not the only one going through shit, I remind myself. I back up; this was a ridiculous idea. I should have just texted him. Our relationship requires digital mediation in order to be successful.
And just like that, my body snaps back into pure panic mode. “It’s okay,” I tell myself quietly. I’ve handled this before and I can do it again. I have been through more than one hospital stay, more than one doctor’s appointment, without Ryan.
Backing away, I’m just about ready to sprint down the hall when the door opens.
Ryan leans heavily against the doorframe. Not leans—slumps, like it’s taking everything he has to keep himself upright. The low buzz of the TV carries through the doorway.
I step back and immediately regret it, because I’m shocked. This is the first time he doesn’t try to hide his illness from me.
He wears jeans, a hoodie—some soccer team, again. There are deep bags under his eyes, and it’s like his muscles just can’t hold him up. His black hair hangs in his face and he doesn’t even bother to push it aside. I know nothing can make this situation better, and if I say the wrong thing it will one hundred percent make this worse.
“Um, I … well…” I stumble over words, trying to find the right combination. But I’ve already messed up this conversation. I made it worse.
“What do you want, Ellie?” His voice is tired—it’s a tired that has been put through a shredder and then reassembled.
“My DVDs.”
Way to say exactly the wrong thing.
I shift on my feet; this was not how I thought this conversation with Ryan would go. I wanted to surprise him, congratulate him on being an excellent medical coach.
“Your DVDs?” he asks very slowly, which given how I barged in on him … fair.
“I’m having surgery.” Can he be proud? Spout off some pep talk that would make any sports team win that big game? Give me what’s mine and then we can both just go right back to what we were already doing?
“You told me.”
Right. Of course I did.
“So, DVDs.”
He shifts, a smile playing at his lips as arrogance boosts him back up. “I’m holding them hostage until you come back from the OR. So did you already visit the OR and come back?” His words start off tired but gain sarcasm as he continues.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. This was not exactly what I had in mind when I wanted to come talk to Ryan. Here I thought he might want to gloat or even celebrate that his ridiculous plan worked. But noooo, all I get is attitude.
And isn’t that what I wanted? Ryan was never going to let me off easy, and I wanted that. Wanted him to be a wall that I would have to knock down, because for once I wouldn’t be stuck thinking about my impending trip under the doctor’s knife.
“It’s on the books, next week.” I expect him to be happy about that—to start gloating. Mentally, I’m even prepared to admit that maybe I was wrong.
“See you in a week.” He starts to back his way into his room. I should just let it go. Walk away, Ellie. But I’m not here to give in.
“Can I give you some advice, patient to patient?” I ask. “Sleeping and lounging around is better done in sweats.”
He looks down at his jeans. I purposefully do not. My cheeks heat and I turn on my heels and walk down the hall. I force myself to remain at a walk when all I want to do is run.
“That really why you came here?” he calls after me.
I turn around, walking backward. Get away, get away, get away. As much as I wanted to come see him, so he could quiet the fear boiling inside me, I now want to be anywhere else.
He tries to take a step away from the doorway, and for a moment his whole body hangs there like a marionette. Then, like his strings have been cut, he falls.
I run back toward him—I’m not a total jerk.
Ryan holds up a hand, the universal signal for I’ve got it and the disabled signal for Back off, asshole, I’m handling this. He pulls himself back up, a sour look on his face.
We look each other in the eye, neither of us knowing what to say. We’re stuck in that awkward moment when you know you needed help and got help but were so embarrassed that you needed help. I wish there were great comebacks for this that I could share with Ryan, but this is just how it is.
I recognize that look in his eye. The one that says No one knows what I have and I’m trying to deal. Summoning the last of my courage, I meet his gaze. Questions dot my tongue. I’m not Caitlin, I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of illnesses and medical abnormalities. But I know how this feels.
“You so need my help,” I say. Ryan raises an eyebrow. He may be able to translate a special dialect of doctor for me, but he is still learning the language of being a patient.
“Come on.” I jerk my head toward a common area. Ryan starts, but his muscles refuse to cooperate. “Do you have a mobility device?”
“A what?”
“All that doctorese and you don’t know what a mobility device is? A walker? A cane? A thing that makes sure you can move.”
He scowls.
Oh, so it’s one of those.
“Please tell me you are not, not using one because—”
“I don’t need it.”
Oh boy.
Caitlin has given me the same song, different verse. I didn’t let her get away with it then and it’s certainly not going to fly now. I may have been a jerk before, but that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. I have nothing left that will hold my tongue to give him nicer advice. Well, it’ll be the same advice, just delivered slightly differently.
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m fine.” His tone wants to put an end to this conversation. That may work on new parents and old friends, but it doesn’t work on me.
I stand in his path. “Rule three—you always have to tell the truth,” I say. He frowns, probably regretting the rules that I could remind him were his idea. I stand my ground. When he doesn’t relent, I push further. “Have you looked around? Do you see where you are? You need it.” This is where I am more comfortable. The needs that will keep you going as a patient.
Ryan goes back into his room and returns with a cane. This is one of the few times in my life where I get a glimpse of what it must be like to be Brooke or Jack. But you never ask what’s going on with people here: you wait until someone tells you what they have. No matter how bad I want to know, I’m not breaking that rule.
“You won’t judge me?” He leans heavily on his cane.
“Would you care if I did?”
He looks away. No explanation needed; he would care. Very much. Can’t say I blame him. It’s why we do what we do, the constant need to fit in, to try to make everyone else remember that we’re normal. Mostly. Probably.
One of those “totally normal” but obviously toxic things Caitlin always talks about. While the feeling can be normal, the response shouldn’t be dictated by others’ normality scale.
I wish it didn’t make me feel like that revelation mattered. That he’d trusted me with something precious. Most people—I don’t care what they think. But my friends? My family? If they ever looked at me the way some people in the wild do, I’d want to crawl in a hole and die.
“Don’t you have enough on me to judge in return?” I say, turning down the hall. “Come on.”
We find the living room and drop onto the now familiar couch.
“I guess you know my secret now,” he says.
“You’re not the first boy I know who’s used a cane.”
“They don’t know why I’m here.” His voice is quiet but not small. It fills the space, blown up with all the fear he seems to have bottled up. “But I’m sick. I can’t … my muscles…” The easygoing nature gets sucked out of the room. Ryan draws patterns on the arm of his chair with the tips of his fingers.
He seems to be fighting a battle with himself whether to let me in or not.
“Again, if you’re trying to win this game of who has it worse: try harder.” We’re different. Our cases are not remotely the same. He should get to go back to being normal, but I want him to know that he doesn’t have to be alone in this.
He looks up at me, like really looks at me. I hold his gaze. The skin on my arms prickles, each hair standing up on end.
“I’m fine,” he says, the words barely forming complete syllables.
“Tell me the truth.” He started talking about his illness, so now I can pry. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, because I don’t break hospital patient rules.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean don’t give me the bullshit you give your friends.”
He gives me a quizzical look, completely not understanding my words. And here I thought he was smart. “Like you do?”
“I have no less than ten doctors and have since I was born. I’ve been involved with every medical study about VACTERLs—they practically have my number at the NIH. I have letters V, C, both versions of R, and L—which can also double as one of the Rs. Let me translate that for you,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “My vertebrae are half formed, my heart also has issues, only one kidney, and no radius, as if you didn’t figure that out.” I hold up my right hand, showing off what I usually hide.
I hold my breath, unsure how he’ll respond. But this is all temporary. Things that happen here, in the hospital, they don’t last. So even if I make a big clusterfuck out of this, it’s okay. The chances of me ever seeing Ryan again are slim to none.
He relaxes, his cold exterior melting away to reveal the Ryan who watched BSG with me.
“So I shared, now you—how long has it been happening?”
He presses his lips together.
Come on, Ryan.
“A few months, I just—it started off small.” He waves his hand away, cutting himself off. “They just sent through a battery of tests, so I should have some answers soon.” His gaze drifts, as if he’s looking into the future now and can see his diagnosis.
Fear hits me, but also something like solidarity. We both have things that doctors, even the smart ones here, aren’t sure about. I offer him a smile—we can get through this. And I don’t just mean the hospital and doctors’ appointments.
“And…” I let my voice trail off, waiting for him to take up the story again. He has some time before I have to push him to go on.
Ryan rolls the edge of his hoodie between his fingers. “I used to play soccer. Played soccer all the way through the spring, then summer started. I felt weak at practices. Coach thought it might have been growing pains, shin splints, normal stuff. Then one day, I fell. Just tripped over myself because I couldn’t control anything. And here I am, letting myself be poked and prodded by doctors.”
“So you can play soccer again?”
He smiles for just a moment and it changes his whole face. Makes it brighten, which is so unlike his sour expression he seems to wear around me. I surprise myself because I want to make him do that again. It makes my lungs feel lighter and ignites a glow in my chest, like I can fill the space. This moment, it’s for us.
And that’s where I bring myself to a screeching halt.
Ryan Kim does not make my heart do things.
I’m just helping the new kid. Repaying a favor. Because this whole world is different and our relationships are just … different.
Jack is the one who’s been there for months. Who made me feel special. A lot of my other friends did the whole boyfriend thing early in high school.
I didn’t expect high school boys to get the whole disabled thing. College was going to be great, high school—survivable.
Then Jack happened. Suddenly, the future, the one that is always pitched to me—in the future they will grow you a new thumb, in the future they can correct your spine at birth, in the future boys won’t feel awkward around you because you’ll be normal—that future was then. This now should not exist.
“If you know so much, why am I the one giving you advice?” He gives me another one of those smiles and I want to lean into it.
“Because I need to get my boyfriend—my life—back.” The verbal reminder is for my heart and head.
Just like that, the ease we had with each other evaporates. I shift in my seat. There’s no reason I have to hide this face from Ryan. After all, he was there for my most epic meltdown, but now it alters the mood, forces us back onto different sides of an invisible line.
“You’ll get him back,” Ryan says, focusing on his hands, his voice soft. “He’d be stupid if he lets you go.”
The truth of his words sinks into me, making me feel warm and safe in a way I haven’t for a long time. I want him to look at me and say those words. As if he can sense my thoughts, Ryan looks up, and his gaze daring me to disagree causes butterflies to stir in my stomach.
“I know,” I say with confidence I don’t feel. “But since you helped me, I am going to return the favor.”
“What?” Ryan looks confused.
“You know how to handle a doctor, but you know nothing about being a patient.”
“You want to coach me in how to be a patient.” Skepticism abounds.
I sit up a little straighter, something I picked up recently when talking to doctors. Act like you know what you’re talking about and they are less likely to question you.
“Oh, you need me.”