The Girl Next Door

Chapter 2

“Gemma, come on. We’re going to be late!” my mom called up the stairs. I thought being late for my first chemo session would actually be a good thing. Better yet, maybe we shouldn’t go at all. I’d stayed up til two in the mornings last night, reading about all the side effects of chemo and patient horror stories; basically freaking the hell out of myself. I imagined nurses holding my down and stabbing needles into me, pouring toxins into my body, killing all of my fast dividing cells. That meant no hair, mouth sores, nausea and vomiting, fatigue and more were in store for m.

I rolled slowly out of bed and practically dragged myself over to the other side of my room. I wondered if my exhaustion was from staying up so late and waking at seven or if it was a side effect of leukemia. Maybe it was both. I fished in my dresser and pulled out a pair of expensive yoga pants that I’d spent babysitting money on and a sunshine yellow sweatshirt that said Palm Beach on the front. I’d never even been to Palm Beach; my dad had brought it back from a business trip. But, I barely even processed what clothes I grabbed.

I shuffled over to the bathroom and changed, then splashed cool water on my face before brushing my teeth as gently as I could. I didn’t want my gums bleeding again. My dark hair was ratty and knotted from a night of fitful sleep, so I wrestled it into a messy braid and put on an elastic sports headband. It took some time to find some socks, time that—according to my mother’s hollering up the stairs—I didn’t have. But, at last I found a pair nestled in a basket of clean laundry my mother had left outside the door. I slipped my tennis shoes on over them.

The garage door creaked open, rattling my entire bedroom. I raced for my closet and pulled out a canvas tote bag with a funky design on it. Into it I had placed all of the essentials I would need to pass time and I had clothes and other things packed into a separate bag. The nurse had told me that her chemo session might last all day, but I would need to stay in the hospital for longer after. I couldn’t just sit there. In the bag was my sketchpad, a butt-load of mechanical pencils, Paper Towns by John Green (my all-time favorite book and author), one of the Harry Potter books (I didn’t check which), magazines, my iPod, ear buds, and an EOS lip balm. My mother revved the engine in an attempt to hurry me up. “Coming!” I yelled.

I grabbed my phone off the charger and dabbed concealer under my eyes, trying to cover the dark circles. It didn’t work, but I couldn’t care less. I sprinted down the steps, exhausting the last of my energy and then dove into the passenger seat of my mom’s crossover.

“Finally,” my mother sighed and sped down the driveway. Sitting on the console were two Eggo toaster waffles wrapped in paper towels. I started munching on them, only to please my mother. I had no appetite.

The drive to Children’s was way too short. It seemed only seconds later that my mom and I pulled into the parking lot and began battling for a spot before finally finding one at the back of the lot.

“Can you walk this far?” my mother asked as she parked. “I can drop you off at the door if you need me too.”

I rolled my eyes and hopped out of the car, pulling my tote and duffel out behind me. My mom and I started our long walk to the hospital and with every step, my nerves grew worse. I was trembling by the time we reached the front doors and the walk actually had taken a lot out of me. I shuffle-stepped up to the doors with my mother and they automatically slid open with a quiet whirring sound. The lobby was as bright and cheery as before with the nurses in neon scrubs and the jungle scenes painted on the back wall.

My mom started talking to the woman at the reception desk, a petite nurse with almost black hair that shone. It only reminded me of my own dark hair that I would lose. My weak legs carried me to a chair in the waiting area and I collapsed there, hugging my arms around my chest. After a few moments my mother came for me along with a nurse in fuchsia scrubs. The nurse took me by my elbow and helped me stand. Apparently there was no need for a comment on my exhaustion or weakness. Maybe everyone was like this.