We had crafts today—guess what day it is? Yes, it’s Tuesday, give that girl a prize!—and I swear if I see one more stupid painted doormat I am going to jump off the roof. I told them that, then fainted spectacularly, in a dead heap, right at their feet, which is why I’m writing you instead of sitting in group. They locked me away again, five hours in the box, and only let me out if I promised to stop being so dramatic.
Isn’t that why we’re stuck in here in the first place? Because we’re overly dramatic? Except for you. I mean, you had cause.
I’m supposed to be sans roommate for a while. We’ll see how long that lasts.
What are you doing out there in the big wide world? Is the sky bluer when you’re free? Does the sun shine brighter? God knows they’ve pumped you full of every imaginable drug, so maybe you’re just asleep. Which I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll dream of my mom again. That was cool. Write me!
Love and stitches,
V
Mindy is confused. Who is Liesel? And who is the writer of this strange letter, this anonymous “V”? 1993? That was way before Mindy was born. She does the math—her mom is forty-one now, she would have been sixteen in 1993.
Just a year younger than Mindy is now.
Her mom calls, “Mindy, hon? Where are you?” which sends her heart into frantic mode. She scrabbles the letter back into the drawer, plops some underwear on top of it, and makes a break for it. She gets to the laundry room just as her mom appears in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Forgot a towel,” Mindy says nonchalantly, grabbing one off the top of the fluffy pile.
Her mother’s face stretches into a grin. “You should have called me, silly, I would have brought you one. Want some company while you stretch? Maybe I can spot you if you need help.”
Mindy stifles a groan. “Sure, Mom. That’d be nice.”
Love and stitches. What in the world does that mean?
6
VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL
They arrive at the hospital at 7:00 a.m., complete with a blanket, headphones, fuzzy slippers, and a soft pillow, and Mindy hasn’t said much. She is being stoic, but Lauren can tell she’s not feeling well. What will she be like after weeks of this? Will she continue to be sick?
Lauren feels so useless, so incapable of doing anything to help. She can feed, clean, and love her daughter, but she can’t kill the thing growing inside of her. It’s making her bitchy; she knows she’s riding the edge. Old urges sweep through her, and she fights them down like dogs growling at a fence. Never again.
Soon enough, they are settled. The bag of evil medicine is attached to the pole, a tube snaking into Mindy’s arm. Lauren straightens the sheet and thin blanket, pats Mindy’s forehead with a cool cloth.
Jasper spends the first hour with them, then has to go back to work. Thankfully, Lauren’s art means she can stay and no one will be upset or mad. For the past few weeks she’s canceled all her appointments and showings. She hasn’t painted. She hasn’t contacted her clients. She’s refused visitors. She has been there nonstop for Mindy. It’s what a mother does. The idea of deserting her daughter even for a moment is too much to bear. As if death will slip in and take Mindy from her the moment Lauren turns her cheek.
Irrational, yes, but she can’t help herself. Every drumbeat of her heart screams live, live, live. She’s lost weight, along with Mindy. They’ve grown matching black circles under their eyes. But they are fighting. Together, they are fighting.
Mindy shifts, and lets out a tiny gasp. She looks at Lauren with pain in her eyes, apologetic. Lauren has to force herself not to run into the hall, screaming for painkillers. They weaned Mindy off the morphine quickly, but the chemo causes her pain too, just like the surgery. Every eight hours, she is allowed one Lortab. Just one. Just in case they need to ramp things up again. It takes most of the edge off, but sometimes, she has breakthrough pain, and they have to gut it out.
Pain makes Mindy looks like a five-year-old child instead of an accomplished young woman. The effect is startling. As if the chemo is leaching years from her baby.
“Oh, sweetie. Do you want your headphones? Or shall I tell you a story, take your mind off things?”
“Yeah. A story would be okay.”
“Once there was a young girl who lived in a forest.”
Mindy rolls her eyes dramatically. “Mom. Seriously? Fairy tales?”
Lauren adjusts herself on the thin mattress. “Fairy tales are good for the soul.”
“Can we just watch The Sound of Music again?”
Still in love with the movie, as she has been since she saw it the first time when she was six. It is the one childish thing about this girl, her obsession with Julie Andrews spinning in circles high atop a mountain, singing about hills.
“You need a healthy dose of fantasy right now.”
“I’m seventeen, not seven. What about Sarah J. Maas? You could read some of that.”
“You are seventeen, going on eighteen,” Lauren sings. She has a lovely soprano, and Mindy laughs, but it is strained, weak. She is so diminished. The chemo has already stripped her of muscle, of energy, of vitality. It is slowly killing her, and they both know it. The poison runs through her veins like a raging river down a hill—unyielding, unending, without thought or remorse for its consequence.
“Maas has too much raunchy sex. Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, little girl. What, you think I’m going to read you an adult story? How embarrassing would that be, for both of us? That’s what television is for. Your choice—Days of Our Lives or Mom tells you Sleeping Beauty.”
“Ugh. I’m sick of soap operas. Sleeping Beauty.”
“Gotcha. Now, as I was saying—”
A knock at the door interrupts them. Dr. Oliver enters, and it is clear by the grave look on his face the news isn’t good.
“Do I need to get Jasper on the phone?” Lauren asks immediately, and Dr. Oliver nods.
She is grateful for his honesty, at least. Mindy made them all agree at the beginning there would be no holds barred, no sneaking off into corners to share news and updates. Everyone gets the information at the same time. It is the only control Mindy has over the process. She doesn’t want parents and doctors talking about her in the hallways, then sugarcoating the truth.
Lauren dials and Jasper answers right away.
“Everything okay?”
“Dr. Oliver has news, I’m putting you on Speaker.” She presses the button, then holds out the phone to the doctor and takes Mindy’s hand.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the tests are back, and the cancer is more aggressive than we realized. We want to move ahead to a stem cell transplant, and we need to do it quickly.”
“At least it won’t hurt,” Mindy says with a watery grin.
They’ve already discussed all the science about this possibility. She is right, it won’t hurt her. But it could kill her.
“Take mine,” Lauren says. “Let’s go. Now.”
Dr. Oliver smiles. “We’ll test you both right away. Jasper, how quickly can you get here?”
“I’m on my way. Be there in fifteen.”
He clicks off, and Dr. Oliver hands the phone back to Lauren. He goes to the other side of the bed and addresses Mindy directly.
“We talked about this possibility. Happens a lot in these cases. AML is a bitch, and she doesn’t like to give up her hold of the body. I’ve already talked to a colleague of mine from Boston. He’s going to oversee the transplant, make sure we have exactly the right stem cells to work with. We are going to lick this, missy. You just keep fighting your tail off.”
He passes a hand over her balding head. Mindy’s eyes are huge in her thinned-out face, but they are clear, no tears, nothing but fire.
“Yes, sir. Go get me some decent blood cells and let’s kick this bitch’s ass.”
“Mindy,” Lauren scolds, but Dr. Oliver nods, clearly pleased.
“That’s my girl. You’re going to win this battle, Mindy. You’re a winner. I know it in my heart. Now, I’m going to get things moving on our end. You rest. Big days ahead!”
He nods at Lauren, who, despite a nasty look from Mindy, follows him out into the hall.