Kismet

|1| Sick and Tired

 
    Sometimes I wish I was the type of child who wrote in a diary. One of those special children who would write about their day with a pink princess pencil, and instead of having an eraser like most useful pencils it would have a tutu at the end of it. That way I could have gone back to the exact day my life started to change. Maybe it was a Tuesday, and Dad must've accidentally bought meat soup as opposed to our regular- he was always trying to mix up things for Mom, y' know trying to get her to try new foods. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, I guess because she would never eat it. Then again it could've been Friday, and Mommy forgot to say goodnight and sing me to sleep... that could have caused my body to go into distress after a bad day at school. 

     It's funny what the mind chooses to remember. I can't remember my first birthday or my first pet, but I can remember my first time at the park, and the first time I went to the aquarium- oh and the first time something sweet ever touched my lips, Vanilla Ice Cream, golden cone, cold but inviting. Dad used to tell me to story of how my brown eyes would lite up every time I saw a cone, and how Mom would curse him to the high heavens because of it. They were in love, Dad seemed to find a new reason to love mom every day. 

   On February 15, 1999, I was brought into this world. I was given two seemingly loving parents. The apple of my father's eye, and from what my father used to tell me, the joy of my mothers' world. My father was a carpenter, one of the best, he met my mom in July and was ready to marry her in November. A true hopeless romantic. I was the reason that fairytale ended. 

         "Hey, I know that look. What are you thinking about so hard to cause such an ugly frown?"

         "Nothing Taylor, just pondering."

          "Are you sure it's not because the cafeteria lady switched out the name brand pudding for that guck again? I swear-"

   Taylor. He is the walking definition of tall, dark, and handsome depending on who you ask. Just never ask him, ever. He's been with me since the very first day. I can't remember a time here without Taylor. I almost think that he stopped taking days off since I've been here. 

           "Young Lady, are you listening to me? I don't just talk for the fun of it."

          "Sorry Taylor, I'm listening now. To answer your question no. I don't even like pudding, and please don't go down there yelling at Gertrude again on 'my behalf.'"

           "*scoff* You used to love it. Dr. Hark would be so worried that you would only eat pudding that he changed you Jell-O. Do you remember? Four puddings a day turned into one Jell-O."

           "Please don't remind me. Why would you ever allow that?"

          "Silly girl, a cup of pudding made you happy. It brought a smile to that beautiful sad face. Nowadays that doesn't even work. Maybe we could pitch in to get you another dolly."

           "That's very sweet of you Taylor but I must insist that you keep those things away from me. I don't like looking at their eyes. Besides all of that, I am happy."

   Liar. 

           "Yeah, you were an odd child. Your smile would light up these dull halls. At one point everyone wanted to transfer to this floor to see the girl wonder. Dr. Hark put a stop to that quickly when you kept getting sick-I mean."

          "It's okay Taylor, I know I'm sick. That's the reason why everyone comes to the hospital. I am going to take these to my room now. Be nice to Gertrude."

     I leave Taylor in the hall and turn towards the direction of my room. I wonder how many people have the luxury of saying they have a nurse and a doctor as their mentor-and that they live in a hospital. It isn't all bad, free books, the hospital is down the street from the library and that's a walk I'm allowed to take once every few months unmonitored. A chance to be normal for twenty minutes, any longer Dr. Hark is running down the street with a staff of nurses. My dad liked him because of his dedication. 

      Sigh

      

       You would think by now I would be healed, fixed, cured. No one goes to the hospital to stay, everyone leaves eventually. It seems like my body just didn't get the memo. It can't seem to comprehend that I'm fighting to survive, so it's fighting against my fight.  It has been for a very long time now. On my first trip to the hospital, I was admitted April 8, 2009, for a tummy ache. On May 15, 2009, I was admitted for what seemed to be a migraine. On August 1, 2009, I was admitted for body spasms, and later that month for seizures. On October 20, 2009, I was admitted for full-body aches, I couldn't move a muscle without crying out in pain. On December 24, 2009, I was taken to the hospital for a routine check-up and in my cat scan I lit up like The Great Rockefeller Christmas Tree. 

   My parents knew from that day forward my life was going to change. My father made the next day the best Christmas ever. My mother spent the whole day with us- no work, no phone calls. It was perfect. My mother was the type of woman who wanted to change the world. at least that's what Dad said. She had a pure soul and a mean wind, so in other words, if she put her mind to do something she'd do it. I remember the night of Christmas- she sang to me. Her soft voice filled our home and her tender caresses to my hair lured me to sleep. She always sang me to sleep sometimes next to me, and sometimes in Ghana, or Asia, Thailand, Rome, Madagascar, Uganda pretty much anywhere the called for help she was there... until she wasn't.

      Everyone leaves after while no one stays forever. Around the time of my mothers' departure, I was going through my fifth surgery. I survived but she didn't, I don't think she wanted to. She was tired, though she would never say it... I knew she was.  She was in the Amazon looking for a cure, for me. Every diagnosis, every test they all came back negative. That's how I became the girl wonder. Cancer one week, gone the next- no trace. Tumor one scan, Blood clot, internal bleeding, and I survived them all-or they just vanished. I used to hate how excited the doctors at home would get when something new would be eating away at me, and Dad did too. That's why he moved us to Chicago and I was admitted to the great Overlook Memorial hospital.

    I, Luna Blackburne, have been here for 9 years, 7 months, 8 days, and 11 hours and to put it in lament terms. I'm ready to go.