The Strength To Fight

Part 1 - The Strength To Fight


Elizabeth

"Cancer, Mrs.Wilson." the doctor limped slowly toward us. He addressed my mother instead of me, as though I were a very small child or else deaf. "I'm very sorry."
He didn't sound very sorry, he sounded rather impatient, as though he had a lot to do and this was not an important part of his day. I imagined him this evening, going home, dropping into an easy chair, exhausted.
"Busy day?" his wife might ask concerndedly.
"Oh yes, very tiring. I set two broken arms, gave someone stitches in the arm, and diagnosed three cancers." Diagnosed three cancers. Gave three people, children maybe, news of something that would change - maybe even end - their lives. An unimportant part of a day's work.
So. I had cancer.
"What kind?" I asked. Some kinds were more fatal than others, I knew that. I didn't know much.
"Leukemia."
"A type of blood cancer." I said. "It's one of the more common cancers in children."
He nodded, looking vaguely surprised. This time when he spoke he did not ignore me.
"You'll have to start treatment almost immediately. You can go home, get some things, then you need to check in in Pediatrics."
My mother started. "Today, you mean? She's that bad, she can't even be at home?"
"She'll need to be at the hospital for treatment to take place."
"What sort of treatment?" she sounded aggressive, the way she did when she was nervous.
"Chemotherapy. The first, well, at least couple of rounds will be testers, to find out which medicines she'll need."
Chemotherapy. I'd heard the word so often. All I knew was it made you very sick, horrible for a few days, and it made your hair fall out. I shuddered involuntarily. She seemed to think I was worried about what was currently being discussed, because otherwise her next words made no sense whatsoever.
"That's all right, Elizabeth. We'll visit as much as we can."
"I'll be fine." I said. But it was a lie. I did not know if I would be fine, and even if the chemotherapy wasn't too bad... well, people die from cancer.

I didn't talk at all on the way home, which made my mother even more worried about me. What was I supposed to say? 'I'm fine, mom, cancer? Oh well, I'll just have to cancel my plans for a while, could you please pick up my work from school? I don't want to fail eighth grade. Also I need to call Marissa and Liana, they'll want to know.' Assure her I was fine and babble on about natural things, pretend everything was normal.
My mother talked though, about all the things we'd need to do, mentioning things like school and friends and when-I-got-better. I sunk low in my seat and didn't interrupt until she said, "I hope this doesn't last too long, when you get better you won't want to have missed too much school-"
This made me very irritable for some reason, maybe because school seemed so trivial for me, in the months to come.
"Has it occured to you that I might not get better?"
My mother froze and jerked the car to a stop. She stared at me as though she hadn't noticed me up to this point. when she spoke, her voice was shaking with shock and anger.
"What do you mean, Elizabeth." She was not really asking. I glared at her.
"Elizabeth Wilson, I asked you what you meant." I still didn't answer. After a moment she turned off the engine and sat there, staring at me.
"I've got cancer, mom." I said quietly. "People die from cancer."
"You are not going to die!" she snapped. "You are thirteen years old. The doctor said - this was caught early enough that the chances of you recovering are very good."
"He also said there are no guarantees... I'm sorry. I'm just so upset. I mean, I'm... just... I wish - I think I'd give anything to be anyone else right now."
She gulped down tears and jammed the key back into the ignition.
"You'll be fine, Elizabeth, I'll make sure of that... you'll be better soon, I promise." I didn't mention what I was thinking, that it was not her decision who lived and died.


Anna

"What did you get on your math test?" Rachel's voice was nervous.
"Eighty three. Why, what'd you get?"
"No fair. I only got a seventy four." I grinned. I love beating Rachel at anything.
"At least you passed. I have a way you could get better grades."
"What?"
"Try studying."
"Oh, shut up. Anyway, where's Elizabeth? Maybe she could help me with my homework."
"Tell you the answers, you mean."
"Same difference. Go get her."
"Just a second. I'll call you back."
"Bye."
I hung up. "Hey Elizabeth!" I ran up to the room we shared. "Where are you?" The room was empty, her usually occupied desk chair neatly pushed in. My own side was so cluttered with clothes and papers I couldn't have used it if I'd wanted to. Looking at her chair, I felt an unexplainable shivery sensation traveling down my spine, like a trickle of ice water.
I went back downstairs and checked the fridge for a note. Nothing. Weird. That wasn't like Elizabeth. I went over to the phone to call Rachel, but it rang as I picked it up.
"Rachel, how impatient can you be? I only hung up two minutes ago. Elizabeth's not - mom?"
"Anna? Is your father home? I-I need to talk to him."
"He's not here. Why, is something wrong?"
She ignored my question. "Tell him to call me back when he arrives. What about Sheila and Brendan?"
"No, I'm alone. What's going on?"
"Nothing, I just - except stay home, all right? Don't go anywhere. And tell Sheila and Brendan the same thing." I thought for a moment. Something seemed wrong about what she had just said. Wait...she hadn't asked about Elizabeth.
"Okay, I will. Is Elizabeth with you?"
"Yes."
"Where are you? Should I make dinner or something?"
"Please do. We're at the hospital."
"You're WHERE?"
"It's a long story. The school nurse called me around lunchtime, told me to bring her... she had some bad bruises on her legs."
"She had to go to the hospital for bruises?"
"Anna... I don't want you to worry..."
"Mom, I am going to worry, until you tell me."
"They think she might have cancer."
My mouth literally dropped open. No way. No way.
"Anna?"
"Anna, please talk to me."
"Anna! This is precisely why I wasn't going to tell you...oh, Anna...don't tell Brendan, whatever you do...please pick up, Sweetie... Anna Jean Wilson, you answer me! Now! Oh my God..."
I heard my mother crying and the line went dead. I ran up to my room anad lay on my bed sobbing. The phone rang, but I didn't pick it up. The answering machine got it.
"Anna? This is Rachel. Where the heck are you? You said you were gonna call me back." I felt sudden fury at her. How dare she, calling so stupidly, so innocently? I knocked the phone onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed.

"Anybody home?" I heard someone rapping on the bedroom door. Sleepily, I forced myself up and staggered over to pull it open. Sheila stood there, looking anxious.
"You sick, Anna? You don't look too good."
"No, I'm fine. Just tired. I was sleeping." Suddenly I remembered why, and there was a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"Where are mom and dad?"
"Dad's still at work and..."
"What?"
I shrugged. For some reason, I suddenly couldn't tell her. Saying it aloud would be like making it true. "I... don't know where mom is. Where's Brendan? And Elizabeth?" I added quickly, remembering how mom had given away that there was something wrong with Elizabeth. Sheila scowled.
"You know something." she snapped. "Tell me."
"N-No I don't." She looked at me hard, then starting walking away.
"I'm going to Sandra's. Tell mom when she gets home."
"Wait... no!" I said, a little too urgently. "Uh, mom left a note saying for us to stay here."
"Oh yeah? Where is it?"
"I...dropped it in the - um... the toilet."
"You are a terrible liar." She gave me one of her most withering looks and started down the stairs again.
"Wait, Sheila. She really did say to stay here. She called."
"Well, where is she?"
"At the hospital."
Sheila's reaction was almost exactly the same as mine.
"WHERE is she?"
"The hospital..." I mumbled. I stared at a red stain on the tan hall carpet where Brendan had spilled some punch. "With Elizabeth. She said for us to stay here and tell dad to call her, get some dinner."
"Why is she at the hospital?"
"I don't kno-"
"Yes you do."
"Elizabeth has bruises on her legs or something."
"I have a feeling it's the 'or something' that's wrong with her."
I could feel my cheeks flush. I really was a bad liar. There was a long silence, both of us staring at each other. Finally, I broke it.
"Where's Brendan?"
Turning her back on me, she snarled, "Todd Rider's. I'll go call for him to come home."
I followed her numbly to the kitchen and waited while she called. She explained that there was a family crisis and he needed to hurry home. Sheila can sound much older than fifteen, if she wants to.
"Anna, can you please tell me what's going on." I shook my head, forgetting I was pretending not to know.
"People don't go to the hospital for nothing." she snapped. "Either tell me, or I'm calling mom on her cell phone."
I did not think it would be a good thing if mom got called up and asked again to explain.
"Well... she said they - they think... that Elizabeth's got c-cancer."
"No. She can't. She's thirteen years old, for christ's sake."
I felt like crying. "They could be wrong. Doctors aren't avincible."
"Invincible."
"Who cares."
"You're right, who does?"
We sat still for several minutes. Finally I stood up and got out bread and peanut butter for sandwiches. "We're not supposed to tell Brendan."
"Fine." she said grumpily, "You explain why the hell he got called home, then." She picked up a peanut butter sandwich and sat down at the table.
"No, you do. You're the one who was stupid enough to call for him, and besides I'm a terrible liar, remember?"
She swore under her breath and stood up so fast she knocked the chair over. Without picking it back up, she walked out of the room.


Elizabeth

I was sicker than I had ever been in my life. The doctor had been telling the truth; they had started treatment almost immediately. Right after I had returned from picking up my things. Then I had felt all right, for a few hours. Bored, I had fallen asleep. When I woke up, I was too sick to move, or talk, or even think. My mother was there, saying something I couldn't hear. I knew the chemicals would help me, once they found the right ones, but right now all they were doing was making me feel bad enough I wished I was dead. I remembered, as though from a former life, a phrase from a book. Which one? I couldn't remember. '...Take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me...' I knew how they felt, I suddenly realized, as I floated away. I concentrated on those words, saying them over and over to myself, until I fell asleep...

"Moby Dick."
"What?" asked my mother.
"That's where it's from... never mind." I mumbled as I realized she had no way of knowing what I was talking about. I pushed myself into a sitting position. My eyes blinked open, but it was a minute before everything came into focus. My whole family was there, looking tired but happy. I still felt a little sick, but not too bad. My stomach had stopped churning enough that I was hungry.
"How do you feel?" asked Sheila nervously. She was holding something in her arms, but I couldn't focus well enough to tell what it was.
"I'm fine." I said quietly. My voice sounded funny. "What time is it?"
"Eight P.M."
I felt as though I'd been sleeping for days, not only a couple hours. I was confused. "I thought he said the sickness from the Chemotherapy would last a few days."
My parents exchanged looks at this.
"It did. It's Saturday."
I didn't say anything, just gaped at her. I had fallen asleep Wednesday.
"Elizabeth?" said Sheila in that same nervous way, "We got you something."
"Th-thanks." I suddenly noticed she was handing me a small wrapped package. I opened it carefully. Inside was a jewelry box, deep blue with a silver clasp. Sitting on the velvet was a tiny silver cross on a chain. I pulled it out and put it carefully around my neck. It was cold against the bare skin over my hospital gown. Suddenly Brendan rushed over, unable to contain himself.
"Look on the back!" he practically shouted. Anna, Sheila, and my parents all said 'Shhh!' at the same time, and I pretended not to hear. Desperate for something to say, I cast my eyes around the room. They fell on a pile of gifts, cards, and flowers on my nightable.
"What's that?" I asked, with a sinking feeling I knew. They had to be get well cards, there was no other explanation... but how many people had been told I was sick?
"Presents and stuff from your friends." Anna told me.
"How'd they know I'm so sick?"
Anna glanced at Sheila, who gave her an I-told-you-so look. "I told a couple people, thought you'd want them to know..."
"Thanks." I muttered, trying my best to sound truly grateful. My cheeks glowed hot. If they had to find out, I'd rather have told them. "I'll have to write back to them soon. Has...um, has Marissa or Liana called or...or anything?"
"They both did, and asked that we tell them as soon as you were feeling up to visiters, they want to see you. A couple other people called, too..." My mother broke off, and I could tell by the way her eyebrows bent together that she did not approve of these 'other people.' I wondered who they were.
"Are you hungry?" my father asked. I jumped slightly. He had not spoken up to that point. I nodded and he left the room. An uncomfortable silence fell. I searched again for something to say.
"How're you doing, Brendan?" I asked.
"Good."
"What've you been doing at...school?" I suddenly wished I hadn't brought it up, I missed school alot and would give almost anything to be sitting at my desk checking my Algebra homework for mistakes and not lying in a hospital bed.
"Not much. I got an A on a math test." His voice told me he was lying, but I didn't bring it up.
"Speaking of school...I got your work for you." said Anna. "Just in case you feel better, so you don't fall behind." She made a face that suggested anyone who would do make up work of their own free will was insane.
"We brought you some other things too, so you don't get bored. Books and puzzles and stuff." Sheila said. I nodded. She was trying to change the subject, I could tell. But I asked the question anyway.
"So... what's - what's it like at school?"
"Well, almost everyone knows you've got - I mean, how sick you are." Anna looked worried, as if something bad might happen if she said the word 'cancer' in my presence. Whatever.
"They know I have cancer."
My mother got a strange look on her face and gripped my shoulder so hard I winced. Anna, Sheila, and Brendan all looked at each other miserably.
"I'm going to go get a drink of water." Sheila sounded uncertain. She left the room, and Anna and Brendan both followed. I was alone with my mother.
"Well... would you like to call Marissa and Liana? They could probably come over tomorrow."
I did not want to talk to them. I nodded my head anyway, and she got the phone.
"Dial '1' before the number." I called Marissa first. Her brother answered the phone.
"Hi who is this?"
"Elizabeth Wilson."
"And I guess - wait...aren't the one who's got cancer?"
"I'd like to speak to Marissa, please." I said coldly. There was a thud like the phone had been put on a table, and I heard a muffled shout.
"Hey Marissa! Get down here! Some cancer kid wants to talk to you!"
"Jake! I KNOW you did not just say that. Are you talking about Elizabeth? You are such a stupid brat." She picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi."
"Elizabeth, I am so sorry, he is such a jerk. You feeling better?"
"Yeah."
"Did you get my card?"
"Well... I haven't opened any yet, I only woke up forty five minutes ago and I was with my family. I'm looking for it right - OW!"
"What's wrong?"
"Oh wow, I just noticed, I'm hooked up to an IV. I'm clever." I finished sarcastically. "Just a minute, I'm going to ask my mom to get your card." I covered the mouthpiece. "Mom-"
"Of course." she handed me a thin envelope and a wrapped rectangular present. I slid it open and read a short note inside the card. Then I pulled the wrapping paper off a small blank book - a diary. Inside the front cover was a picture of Liana, me, and her. I picked the phone back up.
"Do you like it?" she asked eagerly.
"It's perfect." I was sincere. I knew I would use it alot in the next few - weeks? - months? - years?


Anna

I was supposed to be doing my homework, but instead I was scribbling on the edge of my paper. Homework had mattered to me even less than usual in the last two months. I had gotten a D on this Friday's test, but I didn't really care. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was getting all her work done and handed in on time. I spent most of my time watching television. I knew I was becoming little more than a boring couch potato, but that didn't worry me either. The only thing I was really interested in was helping Elizabeth, and she didn't need much help.
If I had cancer, I would have spent all day, every day moping around feeling sorry for myself. She wasn't, though. She was doing her homework and reading a bunch of books I wouldn't be able to understand and learning Latin and even helping the other kids in the hospital cope with their problems. She was so perfect it irritated me.
Mom and dad were not dealing with it as well as Elizabeth. They tried to be cheerful, but dad would stay away from home as much as possible, working late or doing things with friends, and more than once I had walked in on mom crying in her room. Brendan had become a little quieter, but as he did not understand the full magnitude of Elizabeth's illness it wasn't affecting him as much as the rest of us. Sheila simply went about her normal life as if nothing were wrong, except when we went to the hospital. Then she was polite but quiet. Nervous. We spent most of the weekends in the hospital, visiting, playing Monopoly and Parcheesi, doing puzzles, telling her about school and friends, and wishing it were Monday again.
I glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty. I needed to leave for school and my work was not finished. I stuffed it in my bag and went down the stairs.
"Oh, that's wonderful! We'll be over soon, Elizabeth." Mom hung up the phone and said "Sheila! Anna! Brendan! Come here!"
Sheila looked very apprehensive as she walked in, but her expression cleared when she saw mom. "What's going on?" asked Brendan.
"They found the right medicine! Oh, drop that backpack, Anna, we're going to the hospital."
"Elizabeth's better?"
"Well...not yet." said mom. "But she will be in a couple weeks. Come on, get in the car. Sheila, could you please use my cell phone to call your father? He'll want to know too..."


Elizabeth

The chemotherapy still made me sick, but at least now it was helping me. I was doing well, everyone said. I wasn't depressed and was keeping busy. No one knew about the sobbing, the throbbing misery I lived with when I was alone.
I had opened all the cards. From my friends and relatives, teachers, and people I barely knew at school. All of them were nice, thoughtful gifts and I spent many hours writing thank you notes to everyone. But the only ones I really wanted were the necklace and the diary. Both of these had become very important to me.
As soon as my family had left I had looked on the back of the tiny silver cross. Inscribed was a tiny word that I had to squint to read. Strength. Whenever I was awake, sick from chemotherapy, I would finger it and think have strength, Elizabeth, you'll get better, have strength. Then I would pick random phrases from my favorite books and repeat them over and over until I fell asleep. My favorite was still take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me.
When I was well enough to write, I would record everything in the diary. It let me sort out my feelings, share them with out complaining to anyone. I also knew I would want it, in the future, to remember it by. Not that it was a good memory, but it would still matter alot to me that I had this diary.
My mind had become both a refuge and a bitter enemy. I could use it to disappear, to forget all my worries. But it was what reminded me, cancer can kill you. I could die, a week from today. So I worked it hard, doing schoolwork and reading and things. I was studying Latin and some other difficult courses, to keep my mind occupied. After the initial flow of cards and presents, hardly anyone called or wrote. Only Marissa and occasionally Liana. Marissa would talk about school and things, and make me feel depressed, and Liana's calls were awkward, short, and nervous. I could tell she didn't know what to say and was only calling because she felt obligated to. I tried to fill up the long hours, but there was always that constant, nagging fear: what if I died?
But I couldn't. I was thirteen and they'd found the right medicine. I was getting better. I was strong.


Anna

Three months, three weeks, and four days after Elizabeth's cancer was diagnosed, she came home from the hospital. This was actually a very short amount of time to go into remission. Sheila and Brendan and I stayed home while they picked her up and made dinner. It was spagghetti, her favorite food. For some reason I could not understand, I was not happy.
Elizabeth's better. I told myself. The cancer's gone. Smile. It's all over now. But even as the thought entered my mind, a terrible, jealous emotion erupted in me. She had gotten all that attention, all those gifts and sympathy, while we suffered. And now she would come back completely unscathed, with people talking about how brave she had been.
I left the spagghetti to boil over.


Elizabeth

Anna was not herself when I got home. She seemed angry at me, although I had no idea what I had done. If I entered a room, she would either leave or ignore me. If anyone mentioned anything to do with my cancer, she would glare at me and leave the room. In hope of getting some idea of what was going on, I called Rachel. She had been both of our friends since we were very little, one of the only friends of both of us. If anyone knew why Anna was being like this, it would be her. I dialed her number.
"Finally! It's about time, Tim! You were supposed to call two hours ago! Did you deposit it? Well?"
"Um..."
"Just as I thought! You are so irresponsible! Could you possibly, just this once, do what you said you will? You are such a--"
"Um, Mrs. Parker? This is Elizabeth. Could I talk to Rachel please?"
"Oh... of course. I am so sorry." I could hear a muffled voice calling for Rachel.
"Elizabeth? Listen, could you call later or something? My mom's expecting a phone call."
"Can you come to my house? I really need to talk to you about... something." Anna had just walked into the room. "Actually, let's meet at the library."
"Okay." She sounded relieved.
When I got to the library she was waiting for me, sitting on the bike rack with her algebra homework. As I got closer she glanced up.
"You were wondering about Anna, I believe?"
"Yeah... how'd you know?"
"Well, she's been ignoring you lately, and you have seemed very confused about it." Sometimes Rachel is too smart.
"Do you know why?"
"She's jealous."
"What?"
"Jealous."
"Jealous of me? For what, because I got cancer?"
"Well, yes, that's exactly why. Because of the attention, and you, well, you... um, don't get mad at her or anything..."
"Spit it out."
"You got better."
"So? Does she think -- you mean she wanted me to die?"
"No, of course not, this is why --"
"She was jealous of having cancer? She wanted me not to get better?"
"No, not really--"
"That's what it sounds like to me!"
"She didn't want you to die, Elizabeth! She wanted you to get better! She's just mad that you got everything, all that extra attention, everyone all worried about you, and then you're better all the sudden! It doesn't seem fair to her! Three and a half months off from school with everything you want, all that attention and everyone caring--"
"Does she think I enjoyed it? Doesn't she know how terrible it was? Doesn't she know I wish it'd never happened?"
"Yes, she does really--"
"But she's jealous of the attention, is she? She wishes she's the one who spent months in the hospital, so sick you wish you were dead and so sick you might just get your wish? But she'd like that, wouldn't she, for a little attention--"
"She suffered too--"
"Yes, I suppose chemotherapy is a lot of fun compared to what she went through." I said sarcastically
"She suffered nearly as much as you did! She's not jealous of the chemo, she's jealous of you! She spent three months worried, miserable, grieving, because she cares! She cares! And it seems like it was all for nothing! Caring hurts! And you're better, you're happy, and she went through all that pain--"
"It was not for nothing!"
"But it seems like it was. And it was for nothing that you got sick."
I suddenly became aware that there was a small crowd of people gathered around us, gawking like we had just sprouted antennae. I felt my face burn.
"I'm sorry, Rachel." I muttered. "I didn't mean to yell."
"That's all right. Better me than Anna."
"Well... I'll see you."
"Talk to Anna."
"What? Oh... all right, I guess..."
"Goodbye... oh man, I forgot."
"Huh?"
"Never mind, I was just going to..."
The crowd had disappeared and I thought I could bear the shame of staying here a few more moments.
"What?"
"Can you help me with my algebra homework?"
For some reason we both thought this was very funny.


Anna

Elizabeth and I made up the night before she went back to school. She was sitting at her desk, doing her homework. My desk was too messy to work at, so I had cleared a place on my floor where I was sprawled, struggling with my French homework. Elizabeth wasn't doing the same classes as me anymore, she had gotten too far ahead while she was in the hospital, so far ahead she would be entering tenth grade instead of returning to eighth. I had misspelled a word for the sixth time, and erased so hard my paper tore. Elizabeth glanced over.
"You want help?"
"No!" I snarled.
"Why? You always begged me for help before I got cancer. And I was taking French at the beginning of the year."
"Well, I don't need help!"
"Fine then, start on your eleventh sheet of paper."
"Shut up!"
"No. It's not my fault I got cancer, or that I got better."
"W-what?"
"And if you're honestly jealous of me, I'd be glad to switch places."
I didn't say anything. Elizabeth turned back to whatever ridiculously advanced work she was doing.
"You -- Rachel told you this, didn't she?"
Elizabeth hesitated. "Yes."
"I'm sorry." I mumbled.
"That's all right." she said, "Now, do you want help with the French?"
"You have your own homework to do."
"No, I'm done. I'm writing in the diary Marissa gave me when I got sick."
Perfect Elizabeth.
"Well, do you what help?"
"Yes," I said grudgingly. She kindly refrained from commenting on my bad manners.


Elizabeth

Even after I went into remission, I kept writing in the diary. I was too used to it to stop. I decided once this one was done, I'd get a new one. But the cancer diary would always be the most important to me.
I went back to school in the tenth grade instead of the eighth. I dreaded it for several days, because I was two years younger than everyone else and on top of that, had no hair. I was very surprised when the kids were nice to me, although I was sure it was only because they felt bad for me.
Soon after I had returned from the hospital my mother had brought me to get a wig fitted. It was long and dark brown, like my natural hair, and it looked normal. But all day I walked around carefully, afraid it would slide off my head. I had become used to how I looked, with a soft blue cloth hat covering my scalp. It felt strange to look in a mirror and see the huge curtain of smooth dark hair circling a pale, sickly face. Since the doctors said it would make me healthy to spend time outside, I would go into the backyard as much as possible, to do my homework, to read, to write in my diary. Sometimes I would even jog, but I put my hat on over the wig to do this. I was still terrified it might fall off.
On a warm spring day I was running down the road, thinking about visiting Liana, who I hadn't seen or talked to since I got well, when I noticed two kids on bikes in front of me, riding toward me. I dimly recognized them as David Forester and Seth Martin, two kids from my new grade I barely knew. I didn't know who most of the kids in my grade were. When we were about to pass each other they suddenly tuned and crossed the street.
"Um, hi." I said nervously. I suddenly realized how stupid I must look wearing a winter hat in early May. Oh well, better than the hair falling off.
"Hi." David said, getting off his bike. "Where are you going?" He looked as nervous as I felt.
"Just running."
"Oh. Well, I'll see you soon. Bye." He and Seth rode away. I suddenly noticed Seth hadn't said anything the whole time. Feeling confused and flustered, I walked toward Rachel's house.


Anna

Life was finally getting back to normal when school let out. We got our report cards. Elizabeth got straight A's, unsurprisingly. I had gotten B's in every subject except tech ed, math and French. A in tech ed, C's in math and French. A normal report card.
Just before summer started, I found out that Elizabeth was going out with a tenth grader named David Forester. I had only met him once, but I liked him a lot. I had to struggle with my new resolution called Don't-Be-Jealous-Of-Perfect-Elizabeth.
In early June we turned fourteen. It was a nice party, and a surprise. Sheila had invited all of our friends over. Elizabeth and I never get each other presents. Instead we go to the mall or to lunch or the movies or something. We went to a little pizza place for lunch. When we got home about fifty people were there waiting for us. It was the most fun I'd had since September. Near the middle of the party, Elizabeth's wig fell off. Immediately everyone stopped talking. It was absolutely silent. I looked up. Elizabeth's lightly tanned cheeks were surrounded in soft chin length brown hair. I shrieked in surprise.
"You've got hair!"
"Yeah, I just need a haircut."
I stood there for several minutes, astonished. The cancer was really, finally gone.

In July we all went to South Carolina on vacation. We rented a small house near the beach. Sheila, Elizabeth, and I shared the bigger room and my parents took the smaller one. Brendan slept on the pull out couch in the living room. We spent two weeks doing practically nothing, and it was wonderful. On the last night before we went home my parents went out somewhere and we decided to make dinner for them.
Brendan was setting the table and Sheila was grilling hot dogs. Elizabeth and I went to make macaroni and salad. Suddenly Elizabeth gasped and fell over, spilling boiling water all over the floor.
"What the hec..." Elizabeth was still laying on the floor, not moving. I sloshed through the puddle to her. "Elizabeth? Elizabeth? You all right?"
Sheila walked in. "What's going on?" She suddenly noticed Elizabeth. "Oh my god. What happened?"
"She fell and I think she must've hit her head." Sheila had a sharp, worried look on her face. Brendan appeared at the doorway. "Get some cold water, it might wake her up."
We splashed some on her face. She sat up looking groggy, then said, "What happened?"
"You fell."
"Oh...yeah."
"Did you slip?"
"N-no." Elizabeth looked anxious.
"Were you feeling dizzy? Is that why you fell?"
Elizabeth shook her head and didn't meet meet Sheila's eyes. Sheila stood up, looking disgusted. "You're a bad liar. Go to bed so you don't fall again. Brendan, go with her to the room."
Elizabeth looked irritated but she didn't protest.
"What's going on?" I asked as soon as they were out of sight.
"It's a warning sign."
"The dizziness? Of what?"
"Cancer."
"But she's better. She's in remission."
"She could get sick again."
"No way, she's probably overtired or something." I said confidently.

Two days later Elizabeth was back in the hospital.


Elizabeth

The bruises had come back on Independence day. That morning I had been putting on a pair of shorts when I noticed a dark bruise just below my knee. I almost screamed, and then realized it might only be from knocking my leg. After a minute I calmed down and decided to wear long pants. No need to scare my family.
A week later, however, as we left for South Carolina, there was no doubt in my mind. Huge bruises covered my legs. Every day I wore long pants. I didn't need to ruin the vacation. I could tell my parents afterward, or maybe I wouldn't need to. Maybe the bruises would go away by themselves. Unlikely, but worth hoping for.
Now I was in the hospital, listening to the doctor talk in a frustrated voice, the same doctoe who'd first diagnosed the cancer.
"...must of had it quite a while. I can't believe you didn't tell your parents about this, young lady! You risked your life not to ruin some stupid vacation. You knew what thoses bruises meant, you tried to hide them! And you're not stupid!"
"I'm sorry." I mumbled, staring at the ground and trying not to cry.
"Sorry! Sorry! Being sorry isn't going to cure your cancer!"
"You... you will be able to, won't you?" asked my mother tentatively. The doctor exploded.
"I don't know! This is a life threatening disease we're talking about, Mrs. Wilson! There are no guarantees! And we didn't even catch it early on this time! And Elizabeth's still weak from her first bout of cancer!"
"But... but you know the right medicines this time..." My mother ventured.
The doctor sank into his chair, and for the first time looked genuinely sorry. "It may have changed... that will certainly be the first thing we try, but... it usually changes, Mrs. Wilson."
She burst into tears. I sat there, numbly. Unable to think.
That night after my parents had left I asked the nurse how bad it was.
"Bad." she said evasively, leaving me even more apprehensive than before. Every time someone came in, to give me my medicine, to take blood, to bring me food, I asked them what they knew about my condition. Everyone seemed strangely reluctant to give me information. When I asked why I found out they had been told not to tell me. Then I got sick from my first round of chemotherapy and gave up on questioning them.
I had stopped going into long, sick sleep from the medicine but that made it, if anything, worse. I would sleep fitfully, but mostly lie awake and suffer. I fingered the cross and recited phrases. After the first sickness wore off the doctor, Dr. Klausburg, or, as Anna called him, Colossal Burger, came to talk to me.
"Did it work?" I asked.
"No, these particular drugs don't seem to be helping." he said drily. "Elizabeth, we need to talk."
"Oh."
"Cancer is a very scary experience. Much of this is, as I said, there are no guarantees. I think that it might help if you were to see a proffessional."
"Why? I didn't last time."
"Things were different last time."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my stomach churning horribly.
"For one thing, you showed no problem accepting it." He stared at me long and hard. "For another, your chance at recovery was much higher."
I just stared. After a moment, in a weak voice, I said, "Am I going to die?"
"Elizabeth, I won't lie to you. Your condition is very critical. You have an estimated twenty percent chance of recovery at this point. Your chances of coming out of this without an amputation are very slim, less than two percent, I'd say." He turned steely, cold eyes to my face again.
"By... by an amputation you mean..."
"We will probably need to remove your left leg. We will not, of course, do so without your consent."
"Do it." I said instantly, without fully realizing what I was agreeing to. "Do it if you have to."
He looked relieved by my response. "I am glad you are handling this so well." He said, "Better than certain adults I know."
"My mother."
"Yes. She refused to sign the consent form. Your father did only on the condition that the final decision would be yours."
"When will you... do it?"
"The sooner we do it, the more chance you have of surviving. Tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow?" I could hardly manage to speak the word.
"Yes. Try to get some sleep. This isn't going to be easy for you. And I still recomend seeing a professional. This is a very difficult experience for anyone, particularly someone your age."
He walked slowly out of the room, his limp slightly more noticable than usual.