CHAPTER THREE
“‘ My favorite patient’?” Alyssa repeated with a smirk as she stepped closer. Her brown gaze shifted above my head, most likely to confirm that the coast was clear. I turned with her gaze to see my mom immersed in a conversation with Dr. Pierce out in the hallway. I swear the two women had become best friends considering the amount of time they’d spent together. I imagined them talking about the singular interest that brought them together: me and my ol’, well new, heart.
“ Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?” Alyssa asked with a warning tone.
“ Yeah, it’s sorta urgent.”
“ Sort of?” she mocked.
I scrunched my nose in protest. “I’m nineteen, remember? I’m allowed to use words like ‘like’ and ‘sorta.”
Alyssa laughed and gently tugged my arm so she could pull us into the closest exam room.
“ You realize you’re putting not only my job, but this practice and the hospital, in jeopardy by asking what you’re asking.” Every feature of her face was stern, which only added to the seriousness of her warning.
“ Alyssa, I realize there are ramifications for my actions. They sound really terrible, and I promise I won’t use the information recklessly.”
She rolled her eyes and then narrowed them on me, as if judging how worthy I was. I hoped in that moment that my makeup-less face portrayed me as innocently as possible. For good measure, I widened my sage green eyes and flashed her a pleading smile. I gave her the full on sick-kid face, and I knew she was putty in my hands. I’m sorry that you have to know about that. I wish I could say that I never used my sickness for selfish reasons, but I thought of it like this: life had dealt me a really shitty hand. Other people were pretty or smart, and they used those qualities to their advantage in life. Why couldn’t I, ONLY once or twice, use my sickness to my advantage? I mean, I didn’t even get a Wish. This was my Wish. Alyssa was my quasi-Make-A-Wish Genie in that moment.
Maybe I should have told her.
Anyway, she pulled out a piece of paper from one of the like twelve dozen pockets on her scrubs and shoved it into my hand like she was dealing drugs and wanted to get the paraphernalia out of her hands, lest the police roll up soon.
“ That’s their name and address. You DO NOT know me and you DO NOT say the true reason you’re there, ever.”
My hand shook a little bit when she gave me that speech. The whole idea felt serious in that moment, like the road trip might actually happen after all. Beck’s handsome features materialized in my thoughts.
“ How long are you planning on being gone?” she asked with a flash of concern.
“ Two weeks,” I whispered, fearing her reprimand.
“ So you’re going to miss two weekly check-ups?” Her voice was harsh. I wanted to scream, YES. I’m going to miss two appointments so I can LIVE my life! What’s the point of getting a new heart if all it’s good for is watching reality TV and picking out spices with my mom?!
I wanted to say that so badly, but out of respect I offered only a nod.
“ Yes, but I’ll be fine. I’ll take all of my medications and take my temperature every day.”
I knew that wasn’t enough. There were so many things that could go wrong.
She mashed her lips together in deliberation before she tugged the piece of paper away from my still-trembling hand. “Here, let me write my cell number on the back so you can call me if anything comes up.”
…
Mom didn’t leave me alone until late on Monday night and I told myself I was too tired to worry about the fact that I hadn’t heard from Beck all day. I mean, he had texted me that morning and I never responded, but what kind of determination was that? One text and he gave up? I thought romance was supposed to be desperate and wild.
Just as I began to ponder that fact, my phone buzzed next to me on the night stand and I shifted my weight to peek at who was calling. CAROLINE lit up the screen with her cheerful, steroid-y face. She was my best friend, besides my parents and obviously now the gay couple next door. Oh, I should have mentioned earlier that the blind man is not actually blind blind, just that strange kind of blind where you aren’t sure if they’re looking at you or straight through you. Earlier today I was taking my trash down to the dumpster and the blind man had stepped out of his apartment at the exact same moment.
“ Is that Otis you have there?” he asked, eyeing the trash bag.
Otis?
“ Uh…huh, it...Is…” My words sounded scraggly and half-hearted. I had no clue what else to say. What was I supposed to do? Admit to the poor guy that it was a trashbag full of yesterday’s salmon smashed into the remnants of whatever organic/vegan/gluten-free dish I had consumed alongside it?
That’s the sort of awkward I am. I would rather proceed with a ridiculous lie than make either one of us endure one of humanity’s pained moments.
The phone buzzed once more in my hand and I swiped my finger to answer it. Oh, right.
“ Hey Caroline.”
“ Hi Abby.”
She sounded tired like she always did lately.
“ How’s life over at Methodist?” That was the hospital where most of the sick kids I knew received treatment. I met Caroline there when we were both suffering through an extended stay a few years ago. We were on the donor waiting list at the time. Obviously, I wasn’t on that list anymore. Caroline still was. She needed a transplant because she had a rare form of liver cancer that had originated as intrahepatic bile duct cancer. She was on the donor list, but they don’t give new livers to patients that still have cancer. There are too many people who need them that are cancer-free.
So Caroline was too sick to be cured and too sick to get a new liver. She was the biggest reason I had a problem with the whole fairness-of-life thing.
“ Same ol’, same ol’. My parents are both working to keep up with the bills, so it gets pretty boring during the day,” she answered,
“ Are you having to go to any groups?”
“ I told my mother that they depressed me and she said I didn’t have to go anymore.”
I frowned, thinking back to how boring and sad those groups had been. “Yeah, I agree. I have a book I need to lend you. It has tons of steamy romance.” I hopped off my bed to start a collection of books to take to her soon. There was already a bag sitting by my desk, so I picked up various books off my shelves and started stuffing them inside.
“ Oh good,” she answered. “I’ve been swapping between TV and books.”
“ Same.”
“ Did you finish getting your GED?”
Right before the transplant, when the prospect of me continuing to exist as a human looked pretty slim, my parents became lenient about school. As soon as I was healthy enough post-transplant, I started studying for the GED so I could start to become an actual member of society and not just a sick person. It’s a strange concept, considering for so many years I tried to push thoughts of the future out of my mind. It was too painful to consider the possibilities of a future career when the odds of reaching my nineteenth birthday were less than likely.
“ Yeah like a week or two ago. I should have invited you to my graduation.”
She laughed, a sad little laugh. “You had a graduation?”
“ My mom and dad made this giant deal of it. They ordered a cake. Oh, and they printed out my certificate and had it placed in this extravagant gold frame.”
“ Where is it now?”
“ Behind my door in my bedroom. It’s pretty ugly, but I told them I would hang it up soon.”
A part of my brain warned me to walk on eggshells, that I was being insensitive to Caroline, complaining of things like ugly framed diplomas, when she would never get one of her own. However, a bigger part of me remembered that she was my best friend and if I couldn’t be honest with her then we had nothing left.
“ When do you get to come home, Caro?” I asked.
“ Soon I hope. Maybe this week.”
“ That’s awesome.” I tried to have genuine hope in my voice, but it was hard when I knew that she was going home with cancer still in tow.
“ My mom has me going to some career counselor tomorrow,” I began, hoping the situation would make her laugh, “but I’ll stop by after that and if you’re out by Wednesday, let’s get coffee somewhere. We’ve never done that before. Y’know, just sitting somewhere and chatting about real-life guys… not just movie stars.”
I could hear her smile through the phone when she replied, “We’d have to actually meet them before we did that.”
“ I’m working on it…” I murmured.
“ Alright, I’ll see you then.”
“ Bye, Caroline.”
…
Precisely thirty minutes before my counseling session, Mom picked me up in her fancy silver SUV. I slid onto the cool cream leather, and she gave me one of her isn’t-life-grand smiles. My dad made enough at his job so that we never had to worry about medical bills, which in turn allowed my mom to devote every ounce of her spare time in the past nineteen years to making sure I was happy and healthy.
“ Mom, thanks for picking me up and coming with me today.”
A smile spread across her face and I knew it was the right thing to say. Sometimes I got so lost in the cynical side of life that remembering to feel extremely freaking lucky about certain things just slipped through the cracks.
Oh yeah, I should apologize in advance. If you’re reading this because you thought I was inherently selfless, you might want to turn back now. Most of my worldly knowledge comes from quotes from famous books, minimally acclaimed documentaries, and Reddit.
We drove downtown to a shiny new medical complex. I’d never been to any sort of counseling, but I’d looked Dr. Lucas up last night and she seemed to know her stuff. The little plaque beneath her office read: “Dr. Patricia Lucas: Life Coach, Career Counselor”.
I was still mulling over that bit of information when we strolled into the waiting room. Above the shiny granite check-in desk, there was a massive stenciled quote: “ Clear your mind of can’t ”. I tried to do just that, but nothing really happened. I shifted in my Keds awkwardly before taking a seat. I wasn’t quite sure what it really meant, because it wasn’t as if I had a dream to be an astronaut and I was sitting around thinking: “Now, Abby, you know you have to have perfect vision for that job and you only have 20/50…so you CAN’T be an astronaut”. Having a career goal in life would have been a luxury for me. Every time I tried to think about the future, I felt an overwhelming pressure in my chest. How could I make a career decision when there were so many people depending on me to do something noble with my second chance at life?
But that’s why I was at the life coach; I suppose she might illuminate it all for me.
“ So, Abby, tell me a little bit about yourself,” Dr. Lucas prodded with a gentle smile.
I wanted to be helpful, but nothing really came to mind other than pre-transplant information that I’m sure mom had already filled her in on. My hobby was being sick. My hobby was waiting. Waiting for the beeper to go off. There wasn’t room for anything else.
“ I’m not sure there’s much to tell,” I offered genuinely, no hint of teenage-attitude present.
Dr. Lucas dressed really well: J. Crew pencil skirt and slim-fitting blouse. Her outfit told me I could put my future in her hands. She wouldn’t steer me wrong.
“ I like your outfit,” I offered, because I felt bad about my lack of personal details to divulge.
She laughed shyly and then scanned over my outfit. “Thanks, I like yours too, Abby.”
She was trying to earn my trust and make me feel at ease. I looked down at my clothes. I never strayed from the basics most of the time: Jean cut-offs of various levels of distressing and pretty, summer tops. It was easy and I prided myself on taking 0.5 seconds to get ready in the morning. Brush hair, brush teeth, moisturizer, and hair in a messy bun or side braid— done. Makeup was for the birds (or you know, girls who were actually on guys’ radars).
“ Thanks…” I dragged it out awkwardly, not sure where the counseling session was going to go from there. Were we just going to compliment each other for 60 minutes?
“ Your mother told me you earned your GED a few weeks ago?”
I nodded. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“ Have you put any thought toward applying to college?” She broached the subject lightly, as if she didn’t want to offend me.
Of course I had. Everyone thinks about going to college. I had read enough New Adult Romances to know that the moment I stepped on campus, I would surely be noticed by the mysterious loner jock or hot nerd that didn’t get noticed in high school, or maybe the off-limits TA.
“ Yes. I’ve put some thought into it,” I offered plainly.
“ And?”
“ And that’s all. I’ve thought about it.”
She nodded for what felt like an eternity after that, scanning my face and acting as if she was reading between the lines. Could she discern something in my sage green eyes that had eluded me in the mirror that morning? Maybe my future career path was tattooed around my irises in plain view of everyone but me.
“ Abby, I’m going to have you take a career aptitude assessment. I always give this to individuals like yourself; those who find themselves unsure of what they would enjoy doing in life.” She didn’t wait for my response. She stood to retrieve the test and a pencil from her desk.
I blurted out, “Can anyone be a Life Coach? I’ve never heard of it before.”
She cleared her throat, obviously surprised by my question. I didn’t want to be disrespectful of her in her own office, but it just seemed silly to me in a way. Counseling is counseling and I’m sure people genuinely benefit from it, but life seemed to be quite a strange thing and to think that any of us knows enough to not only coach ourselves in it, but to coach others as well… it just made me think of that quote from Socrates that said: “true wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us” or something.
Weren’t we all just faking it anyway?
“ There’s no real regulation of it, but I also have a master’s degree in family counseling and have had twenty years of experience in helping people meet their life goals.”
She had me there. She had twenty years of experience and I had only been alive nineteen years, so surely she knew more about what I should do than I did.