August 6, 2000

The doors zipped to a close behind her, but the wind immediately pushed with such a force that she stepped back, causing them to open again. Resisting the urge to pull her coat tighter around her, she sighed and began the long journey home. Yes, it was cold, but at least it was something.

She found that she had to force her arm to fall against her side and swing with the other. This casual step had been instinct, was still instinct on her right side. Add a simple tube in a vein, gauze, and lots of tape, and the entire process was messed up. But how normal would she look with one arm swinging by her side and the other folded against her? Ignoring the pulling pain in her forearm, she walked on.

She spent the entire time brooding about the last week. The look on her father's face when the doctor told them she would have to do it all over again. It was sweet of her to present the situation in such a nice light. So apologetic, and skimming over the most important information, perhaps in the hope that they'd miss it. The half hour spent on the stretcher, her eyes turned away from the doctor and his work, the whole time streaming tears down her face. He would ask her how she was doing and accuse her of crying, but each time she heard herself clearly respond the she was all right. Then he would return to his work, she would concentrate on breathing hard (if she ever had a kid, she could probably skip those Lamaze courses) and the tears that had run down the side of her face, into her ears. Her transfer offered to beat the man up for hurting her. Didn't anyone hear? She was all right.

One would think that hours upon hours of lying on her ass would be welcome after months of constant work, but it quickly became old. Nurses back and forth, visitors in and out, books, television, radio, sleep. She would abandon the bed for the uncomfortable chairs meant for her parents and friends, if only to feel like less of a patient for an hour or so. At night, after her last scheduled treatment, she'd wander about the room, pretending to tidy her things and get ready for bed. She lived in pajamas all day now, so this attempt at normalcy would last for maybe fifteen minutes before she surrendered into the bed again. The late shows would come and go, and eventually so would her consciousness.

Her only souvenirs from the past week were the unused booties and, of course, the tube. Winding through her vein into her chest and requiring attention every eight hours, it served as an adequate reminder of her doctor's important information. Oral antibiotics could not kill what she had. It took her only one night of sleeplessness to realize all the implications that fact held.

She could imagine herself in another ten years, in the adult ward rather than pediatrics, but with the same tube in her arm. The nurses all knew her name, it was her second time in that year. This time no one would be exclaiming about how clear she sounded, how healthy she looked. It would be obvious that she was exactly where she needed to be.

The wind calmed eventually, and as she turned onto her street, she came upon a heavenly view of a majestic sunset. Her father pulled her from her thoughts as he beeped and drove past, turning into their driveway. Unthinkingly, she threw her left, tubed arm up in the air to wave. No pain accompanied this motion.

Ten years could be a long way off. Maybe she was wrong. Science advanced every day; maybe what was fact last week wouldn't be fact tomorrow. The hospital was restful, despite her overwhelming ennui. Her friends had proven themselves wonderfully supportive, as had her family. Where else, if not the hospital, would she have been able to watch three new movies in a row? She really enjoyed the booties. And anyway, the tube would be gone in another week.

Smiling tentatively, she broke into a run to meet her father in front of her house. When she arrived, she was rather flushed and slightly winded, but her coughs were dry and brief. The drugs were working already.

From Tracy Bonham's new album, "Down Here," You Don't Know Me: You've got your head twisted round the back * So you can't see * My life colliding with your life * And you say you know me * But you don't know me * You don't know me * And in no way am I a mystery * Just hang a bell around my neck * And call me ol' Bessie yeah take that cattle prod back before I see red * You've got your neck twisted round the back so you can't see * My horns colliding with your ass * Cause you think you own me

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