Sixty-Five Roses

            I didn’t know that was going to be the last day. I swear I didn’t know. If I had known, I would’ve baked oatmeal raisin cookies instead of buying chocolate chip. I would’ve worn the earrings she liked—the ones that looked like little turtles. I would’ve brought a game she actually enjoyed playing. But I didn’t know, and I didn’t bake or wear or bring, and that was the day Rose died.

***

            “Took you long enough!” she yelled. I rubbed my hands with sanitizer upon entering room 223, trying not smirk at the way her voice cracked when she was irritated. Florescent overhead lighting mimicked noon in the worst possible way.

            “Oh, be quiet. It’s eight in the morning, you brat.”  A shiver seized the hair on the back of my neck as I adjusted the thermostat. There was no point in asking if she wanted a blanket—she didn’t. My eyes brushed her bones, knowing that drum-tight, moon-colored skin was the normality of her condition. Her blue lips fused into a firm line as she adjusted her oxygen cannula, then her floppy sunhat, which she insisted on wearing year-round.

“What’d you bring me?” she asked.

"I'll tell you what I should've brought you—nothing.” Rose laughed in reaction, mucus bubbling in the back of her throat. “Hey, can you even see with that thing on?”

            "Obviously. Not that there’s much to see here, anyway," she said. And she was right. With rounded furniture in varying shades of gray and a third story view of sidewalk cracks and bus station smokers, blindness seemed like a tumor worth trading for. Out came the cookies and the deck of cards.

            "Seriously? We played Uno yesterday," Rose said, not at all trying to conceal her disappointment. I constantly eyed the growing dullness of her corn stalk hair and wondered whether she was actually swallowing the pills I placed next to her milk. But when it came to what she was feeling, there was no guesswork involved. Methodically, I took off my coat, tossed it onto the empty recliner, and sat at the foot of the bed.

            "Well, Uno is a classic. And the classics are classics for a reason,” I replied, shuffling.

            “That’s what my dad says about his music.” I paused for a moment to watch her. Her freckles hid in response to January snow, clashing with the perennial power of her eyes. Her port dressing was coming loose, barely visible above the neckline of her t-shirt.

            “When was the last time you talked to your dad, Rose?” Now it was her turn to pause.

            “Last night.”

            “And what did he say?”

            “Nothing. Just the usual stuff.” She was growing more and more annoyed, her gaze refusing to set from my fingers and the cards.

            “Is he coming to see you, soon?”

            “Deb, does it matter?” Her eyebrows blew together and furrowed. “He’s too busy with work. Besides, you’re way more fun. And you’re a nurse. If I was dying, you would know how to save me.” She pushed her bangs behind her ears and I could see tiny dewdrops shimmering on her forehead.

            “Why would you say something like that?” I asked.

            “Because it’s true.” A cough rattled from within her ribs, proof that disease had rooted itself in a place neither of us could reach.

            “Here—we’ll start with more cards this time. It’s harder, but it’s also more fun.” Rose’s nostrils flared as I passed her seven Uno cards and straightened the deck between us. She froze, staring at her purpling fingernails.

            “You won’t stop coming, will you, Deb?”
            “Well, considering how often you tease me, I should.” I dug a finger into her side and a single, scratchy laugh was uprooted from behind her teeth. “But, no. I’ll always come. Life would be far too boring without you.”

            “Ugh. Stop mushing out on me and play.” She picked up a chocolate chip cookie, bit into it, and grimaced. “You know,” she said, chewing, “these taste like shit.”

***

            I often look back on that day and consider the things I could’ve done to give myself more time with her. I ask myself if the meticulous lip-liner was worth it—if my sedan really needed to be washed. They called it “Rose’s Celebration of Life,” but that’s not at all what it was. Or at least that’s not what it turned out to be. I withdrew into my skin, safe and unchanged, and peeked: thirty people in a dim room they could barely afford, listening to a man preach about a god they didn’t believe in, weeping over the loss of a girl they never paid attention to.

Walk Day 2013

Well, it's been a few days.
I have absolutely no idea what's going on with my body. The bad taste in my mouth has completely stopped and the chest pains are slowly fading away, but now I have completely knew (or, returning) symptoms to deal with. My vision is getting more and more blurry, along with extreme fatigue, headaches, dizziness, and an increase in my unbalanced tendencies. This is making it really hard to play soccer, dance, and focus in school. I haven't let up on my treatments, so I have no idea what's causing this. I just know that I have to make it to the end of the year. I have nationals for dance come July, but other than that I'm basically open. I just have to make it through school, and then I can worry further about my health.
The walk went really well! It was yesterday (well, technically two days ago. It's 12:21) and we raised at least $28,000. If we reach 30K, we could break our all-time record! And that's saying a lot, considering we've been fundraising for thirteen years. The weather was lovely, the food was lovely. A family friend named Mark set up a PA system for the music and microphone announcements, which worked wonderfully and gave the walk a really professional feel. I also got to see Deb! Deb was my nurse at the CF clinic ever since I was diagnosed until a few months ago when she left for another job. It was really hard when she left...I can't even tell you how amazing she is at her job. She's just a remarkable woman. We got a chance to chat about Alex and Ilene and transplant and me--possibly--changing clinics soon. It was extremely refreshing.
Of course, there are going to be those people who break promises. Those people who tell you they'll come but don't. Tell you they'll donate but don't. And I've gotta say, I struggle with accepting that. I always put myself in the other person's shoes and say, "If I said I would do something, I'd do it." Some "friends" from school told me they'd come to the walk, and were then overheard today talking about how they had much better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than just walk. I don't think they get it. We're walking for a CURE. A cure that could've saved my best friend. But instead, they choose to believe that I'll be okay. That everyone with CF will always be okay. I guess I'll just have to do my best to change their minds.
I've also been having some mental and emotional break-downs lately, but that's not something I want to dive into. I talked to my mom about going back to my counselor, and she thinks it's a good idea, so that'll be taking place hopefully once school gets out. I know it'll help.
I'll upload some pictures from walk day later, since I've got mountains and mountains of homework to do now...ciao.