This Star Won't Go Out

And then once again we were in a hospital elevator, going up and up. Although we would not have wanted to be anywhere else, at the time we thought of this ascension to the familiar eleventh floor of Children’s Hospital as yet another necessary detour in Esther’s ongoing treatment plan.

By the time she got settled in her room, her online friends had become aware that she was “back at the hospital.” Soon, the comments, texts and questions on Facebook, Twitter and Esther’s CaringBridge site mounted concerning her status. Blaze, from Catitude, tweeted, “I know most of you reading already know, but @crazycrayon is sick and she’s all of my thoughts right now.” From Florida, another online friend, ericaeeks wrote: “I <3 @crazycrayon, please keep her in your thoughts tonight . . . ” and her friend, Andrew Slack wrote: “Plz send love, light, & breath to 1 of the brightest stars in the world w/a smile that lights up my heart: @crazycrayon.”

Strangers too were feeling the anguish and sent note after note of encouragement. Dripduke texted: “I just had to leave class because I was about to start sobbing.” Most of the messages were similar to the one by hazmatbarbie who declared, “Esther I love you!!! You can do this.” RebeccaActually summed up the feeling of many when she said, “You’ve never met me, but I love you.” VerveRiot confessed, “I normally don’t pray. But tonight I might start to pray for Esther who is in hospital fighting to not die of cancer!” Throughout the day and into the evening, we took turns following this outpouring of affection, which brought much comfort to everyone, including Esther though she was in too much discomfort to respond.

It seemed to us that everyone online was talking about her! We shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the natural response of Esther’s online friends, collectively known as nerdfighteria. “A community,” someone once said, that has “but one zip code.” A “magical place where awesome is celebrated and where every member fights to end world suck.” This was the family that Esther had come to know and love and now that one of their own was in trouble, they were standing with her. They could sense that their young Star was struggling, fading and they determined to keep praying, texting, tweeting, messaging, chatting and talking on the phone throughout that afternoon and well into the night. They were determined that Esther not go through this alone.

Esther continued experiencing much discomfort and was becoming increasingly unstable overall as the fluid collected around her internal organs. At one point, hospital staff decided to insert a urinary catheter, a process she had endured more than once and something she hated. One nurse explained that it was necessary in case she needed to urinate, to which Esther replied, “Yeah. Good. But what happens if I need to take a crap?” Gratefully, by late afternoon, the enormous amounts of pain medication she’d been receiving began to calm her. She was less agitated, and her breathing appeared less labored (with the help of the ever present BiPAP machine). She was still conscious but began keeping her eyes closed for longer stretches, and spoke less and less.

The extreme seriousness of the situation didn’t really register for us until Esther’s medical team arrived and pulled Lori and me away, saying, “It does not look good. She may very well go tonight . . . ” After they left, we returned to her side. Her eyes were closed and I leaned down and whispered.

“Star . . . the Internet has been on fire all afternoon with people talking about you! These people online are amazing. Everyone is wishing you well.”



She smiled. I had long thought of myself as Esther’s interpreter, or messenger, and had said on more than one occasion that I would write her story should this disease take her away. And I told her about the conversation we’d just had with her doctors. I told her that she might not make it through this time. I finished our talk with a question.


“Esther, do you want me to send a message and tell your friends how much you love them?”


I expected an immediate and affirmative nod, so was stunned by her response:


“No.” she said, calmly, resolutely.



It was such an uncharacteristic answer but, as hard as it was, I obeyed her order and in my next update didn’t mention that she was sending her love. (I am sure her readers knew how she felt about them.) I made the following entry on her CaringBridge site, mindful that there would be a ripple effect and outpouring of concern, grief and affection.