Wishful Thinking, page 2
Clasping our two hands together, I say, “Promise.”
In that moment, a shooting star passes above us. “Did you make a wish?”
She doesn’t immediately respond. “Yes, but I don’t think it’ll come true.”
“In that case, you can tell me what it is you wished for,” I tease, trying to lighten her darkening mood.
“I wished that every wish made on a star would come true,” she sadly says.
“Reaching for the stars on that one, Dani,” I laugh out.
She sighs before she says, “It’s all wishful thinking, then?” Quickly she adds, “Every kid deserves to have at least one wish granted.”
“Not every star grants a wish, but that’s what I’m here for,” I say, making us both laugh.
“You can’t grant every wish,” she teases in return.
“I grant yours most of the time, don’t I?” I say, referring to how I managed to sneak us out of the house tonight because she had wished to play hide and seek below the stars like we used to.
“You did get me my chocolate cake for dessert last week,” she says, referring to when she had wished she could just have a piece of cake after seeing one in a magazine one day. She had been denied desserts, my parents claiming it may upset her stomach because of all the medication she was on. Unfortunately, it did, but she claimed it was worth every bite.
To be honest, Dani compares every request she makes nowadays to a wish. It’s all she can do since she’s been forced to be confined to a hospital room most days. The first request she made before leaving the hospital was for me to plan on how to sneak us out of the house on her first night home.
“Do you remember when we were kids and we used to think we were invincible?” Her question interrupts my thoughts.
“Yeah, I guess we never did receive those super powers,” I respond.
“We did, only mine are slowly fading away.”
Her admission stings, but I cannot dare to tell her we never did have superpowers, because if we did, she would have never gotten sick.
“One more round before we head back in?” she suggests.
Knowing it will make her happy, I give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be it again. Just don’t make it so easy for me this time.”
Her eyes light up with her smile as she sits up. “Count slow, then.” She giggles before releasing my hand to try to stand. Standing first, I have to help her up the rest of the way. Before she rushes off, she pauses to add, “Thank you for all my wishes, Lexie.”
Smiling, I pretend as if I’ve closed my eyes, but lower them down to a slit so I can watch her slowly walk away. Taking my time to mentally count as she has asked, I wonder to myself: How many more wishes will I get to grant her before she’s gone? What will be her last wish? But most of all, will I be able to give her my word and keep it?
Looking down at my palm, now marred with a red tint, I answer myself, “No matter what her wish is, I will make sure she gets it.”
Present day…
I’M WORRIED, ACTUALLY MORE like panicking at this point. The UPS guy was supposed to be here half an hour ago—his usual scheduled time. If he doesn’t get here soon, I won’t have sufficient time to heat it up and get it to Ashley on time. She isn’t allowed to have anything to eat after 6 P.M. tonight.
Looking back at the clock on the wall, I recall the specific conversation.
“So you want extra mushrooms, but what do you want it stuffed with?”
“Stuffed?” Confused out of my mind, I wonder since when do pizzas come stuffed?
“Yeah, you need to tell me what you want inside,” he clarifies. Looking to the website on my laptop, I now understand why he’s asking.
“The basics, I assume?”
“So everything?”
Shit. I did not know ordering a pizza could be this difficult. “I guess,” I hesitantly answer.
The guy on the other end begins to laugh. “You’ve never ordered from us before, have you?”
“No,” I admit. “It’s for a patient of mine. She really wants one of your pizzas before her surgery this week and to be honest, I have no clue what she wants.”
“How about I make you our most popular one and make sure it has enough mushrooms she’ll be wishing she didn’t ask for them.” If he only knew it may be her last wish, he wouldn’t be thinking the same.
“Sounds good,” I reply. “It says here I can pay for overnight delivery. I’m going to need that please. Just in case.”
“You make is sound like this person’s dying any day now.”
Without thinking, I answer, “She may.” It came out dryly, because there is no teasing when it comes to my patients’ health.
“You serious?” he asks, sounding alarmed by my admission.
“Yeah, she has a tumor.” I usually don’t disclose so much information, but as long as I don’t mention her name, I’m fine.
The man is silent on the other end. “Hello?” I ask, worried he may have ended the call.
“I’ll make sure it gets there to you ASAP, no extra charge.”
“Thank you.”
The knock on my door brings me back to the present. Practically running to the door, I yank it open to find a cheerfully smiling UPS delivery driver, but I’m not as happy as he. “You’re late,” I scowl.
“Sorry, there was an accident up the street blocking my way,” he says, holding out the device for me to sign. Scribbling my signature across the screen with the attached pen, I take the box offered then practically slam the door when done. It’s rude to take my anger out on him, but dammit, I may end up being late now. I’m already cutting it close. The guy on the phone gave me specific instructions on how to heat this thing and if it isn’t heated long enough it will be frozen in the middle.
Thankfully, I’ve had the oven preheating this entire time. Impatiently yanking open the box, I begin the task of heating this sucker up. Time is not on my side at the moment. I’m down to the wire, as usual. Just when I thought this would be the easiest freaking wish to grant, it’s proving to be just as big a challenge as any.
Shoving the large, deep dish pizza into the oven, I close the door and pray I will make it on time.
I’m running. I rarely run. If I am running, it is because of a situation like today. I have somewhere to be and I need to get there quickly. Add seven flights of stairs and I think I’ve done enough cardio in this one day to last me the month. Maybe the year, but that might be pushing it.
If it wasn’t for the damn accident on the 405 on my way to work, I would have had plenty of time. Apparently, my oven is a superstar and the center of the pizza had reached its recommended temperature fifteen minutes quicker than the estimated time, but it still wasn’t enough of a buffer due to Los Angeles traffic.
Making it to my floor, I yank the door open and speed down the hall, straight past the nurses’ station, yelling on my way, “I’ve got it!”
“Didn’t think you’d make it!” Jacob, the current nurse still on his shift shouts from behind me.
“Then you shouldn’t have doubted me!” I yell back.
I don’t need to see him to know he’s laughing, or to know he’s most likely shaking his head at my response. Slowing myself to a walk as I near Ashley’s room, I take a moment to catch my breath before lightly knocking then entering. Pushing the curtain aside, I notice the weakness in her eyes, but from the smile she grants me, I know she is still full of spirit.
Holding the box up as if it were a trophy, I say, “Who ordered a deep dish pizza with extra mushrooms?”
“Seriously? You got it?” she excitedly asks.
“You made a wish, I deliver.”
Even her mother’s eyes light up, only hers are glassy, while her father’s are full of amazement. Pulling her food tray closer to her, I place the box down directly in front of her before opening it. The mouthwatering aroma of the deep dish pizza overtakes the room.
“God, it smells just like I remember,” Ashley says.
“Hopefully it tastes as good as you remember,” I joke, handing Ashley a set of utensils. She takes them from me, her eyes never leaving the meal in front of her. “Even if it doesn’t, I don’t care. Anything is better than what they feed me.”
The thought of knowing Ashley hasn’t eaten a complete meal in over a month worries me. Her parents weren’t exaggerating when they announced she was a picky eater. Even though we have a very excellent kitchen staff, she had no appetite for what we provided. She would mainly stick to protein drinks when she was able to stomach anything. “Ashley, remember to take small bites and stop when you feel full, regardless if you want more,” I warn, knowing it has been a while since she has had solids.
I can tell she’s ignoring me, which causes me to pull the box from her reach when she’s about to chow down. She peers at me with scorn-filled eyes. “You promised, Ashley. I don’t want you overdoing yourself.”
She sighs, remembering her promise. “I know.”
Pushing the box back in her direction, I allow her to dig in. She struggles to cut the first bite, but her father takes over, handing her the fork once he has the serving on it. She lifts the first bite up to her mouth, her lips enclosing around the plastic fork with a contented groan as she closes her eyes and savors the taste.
Her mother reaches out for my hand. “Thank you.”
Those two words I’ve gotten used to hearing, but they are always appreciated, even if unnecessary.
“You’re welcome.”
As if realizing she is being rude, Ashley pushes the box in our direction. “Here, have a piece,” she offers to everyone.
Shaking my head, I say, “Thank you, but I am going to pass. This one is for you and your parents.”
“Come on,” she protests in her typical teenage tone. “You don’t know what pizza taste like until you’ve had deep dish pizza,” she proclaims.
I’m hesitant, but she insists, so I eventually relent. “One bite, then I have to go.” I grab a fork along with her parents and begin to eat. It’s not my usual, thin slice of pizza. This one is messier and much more fulfilling. Chewing around the piece in my mouth, I say, “It’s good,” surprised at how amazing it tastes.
“And it has extra mushrooms,” Ashley happily points out.
I swallow the last bite before replying, “Yup, I made sure.”
She rewards me with a smile and I reach in for a hug. “Good luck tomorrow, kiddo.”
When I pull back, tears are filling her eyes. “Do you think it will work this time, Lexie?”
It hurts to have to answer, but I will never lie to her. “I don’t know.” It’s all I can tell her.
Tugging on a strand of hair that’s taken a while to grow out, she says, “It better. It feels like forever for it to get this length, and all for them to just have to shave it off again.”
Ashley once had long, beautiful blonde locks. She would always claim her hair was her best asset, but I always disagreed; it was her eyes. She has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Whether they are sad or happy, they always illuminate in color. Her smile is a close second. When she pouts, her lips form a perfect heart shape. Most of all, it’s her personality that makes Ashley such a radiant person. Her upbeat persona and habit of making everything into a joke is her strongest feature. It wasn’t until recently I’ve managed to convince her that it isn’t your outside that makes you beautiful, but what’s on the inside.
Reaching out, I grasp ahold of her hand. “Maybe we’ll try red this time,” I suggest with a wag of my brows. This makes her chuckle.
“Yeah, black wasn’t my color,” she says, referring to the brief time she wore a black wig, wanting to rock the jet-black look. It wasn’t long until she was sporting a blonde one similar to her natural style, but it was more out of vanity to avoid the pity she was receiving from her remaining friends.
“Regardless of what happens, I’ll make sure to come check up on you first thing tomorrow before my shift starts.” A frown appears on her face as she seems momentarily lost in thought.
“If I wake up,” she replies, sounding uncertain.
Ashley is part of an experimental procedure to try to remove as much of the cancer as they can, but it’s one of the most complicated surgeries to ever be performed. Her tumor is in her brain, and one wrong move can leave her brain dead. There is a chance she may never wake from the surgery.
Her chemotherapy failed the first time, so her parents opted for another route. She’s now one of the candidates to see if this procedure will work. Upon researching the risk of her surgery, I knew it was time to ask for her wish. I was pretty surprised by her answer. All she wanted was one last taste of home: a deep-dish pizza from Chicago. It’s where she was born and raised until her father transferred for his job to Los Angeles two years ago. She’s been longing to sink her teeth into the deep concoction of cheese and sauce for over a year, so no imitations would do.
This was a simple request that could have easily been granted by her own family, but she asked me, and knowing I could have fulfilled something much more elaborate, it is an honor to grant her the wish.
She returns to eating her pizza and her faint smile returns. Knowing Ashley is content and her spirits have been raised a little until tomorrow, I begin to exit the room with another promise to check on her before she falls asleep.
“Lexie.” Ashley’s father stops me in the hallway. “I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for everything you do. Everything you’ve done for us, for Ashley, since the first day we got here…” He swallows hard. “It really means a lot to us. You always manage to brighten her spirits. It’s been hard on her.” He sighs.
Nodding in understanding, I think back to how Ashley has isolated herself this last month, refusing to allow her friends to visit. Her only form of contact with them is via text messages. She’s still a typical teenager with insecurities, and those feelings are exasperated more so now since her illness has stolen her once vibrant appearance. It has taken me almost the entire month she’s been here to get her to understand it isn’t your appearance that makes you who you are, it’s your spirit. She’s finally making progress in that aspect, but will she be able to prove to everyone that she has a cheerful spirit after tomorrow?
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Turner,” I relay, trying to lift his spirits as well. He smiles faintly at my answer.
“If there is anything I can ever do for you, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”
I laugh at his offer. It’s not uncommon. They all say pretty much the same thing, but I could never be selfish enough to ever take any of them up on it. He must see my trepidation from his statement. “You a Dragon Knights fan? I can get you tickets. It’s their last concert before they take a break to start recording their next album.”
Mr. Turner is one of the main coordinators for the Staple’s Center and the Dragon Knights are due to put on one of the biggest concerts of the year soon. It’s been a sold out show from the day the tickets went on sale. There are fans offering to sell their souls to get a spare ticket.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Turner, but I don’t have time for rock stars,” I kindly decline.
This earns me a chuckle. “It’s for the best you don’t. You’d be too distracted and wouldn’t have time to make everyone smile.”
“Exactly,” I tease. “I’ll see you guys later. Go enjoy your daughter,” I command. He gives me a curt nod before turning back in the direction of Ashley’s room, allowing me to make my way to the nurses’ station.
“Did you save any for us?” Jacob asks as I approach the station in the center of the floor.
“You know the rules,” I remind him.
Another nurse sitting by his side disappointedly shakes her head. “You really are something, Lexie,” she replies with a hint of a smile. “You put us all to shame around here.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel guilty, Gina.”
“Damn right, I am.”
I can only shake my head at her. “Do you have Ben’s chart?” I ask, wondering how he is doing.
“Girl, you’re not on for another forty-five minutes. Go take a break,” Jacob lectures, trying to shoo me away.
“I just want to check on him for a little while before my shift starts.”
Jacob hands me his medical file, but it’s with a frown. Opening it up, I see why. His most recent test results are in and they aren’t good. It’s spreading. We’d predicted as much from his symptoms, and the reason why he’s been admitted again, but discovering the truth is never easy.
“Do his parents already know?”
Gina is quick to answer, “The doctors delivered the news this morning. His parents have opted for another round of radiation.”
My heart grows heavy knowing it’s not what Ben wants. He’s only twelve years old, but this poor child has been through so much already. He hated every step of the way the first time. I can’t imagine the fight he’ll put up this time around. It’s a nightmare that is all too familiar. It’s not going to be as easy as the first time. He knows what to expect and there will be no sweet-talking him this time.
Closing his chart back up, I hand it back to Jacob. “Wish me luck.”
They both give me a nod of approval. Ben is a small firecracker. If he is in a foul mood, he’ll fire at anyone. He wasn’t always this way, but for a boy who is slowly beginning to give up hope, it’s to be expected.
My leaded steps echo between the two white walls of the hallway leading me towards his room. It’s only been minutes since I left one patient, whose future is in the hands of fate, while heading to another in the same predicament. It shouldn’t be this way.
Pushing all resentment aside, I enter Ben’s room since the door is already wide open. Sanitizing my hands before I take any more steps, his grandmother greets me with a plausible smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hello, ma’am,” I greet before looking for Ben as I take the remaining steps in. He isn’t quite aware I’ve entered as he has his earphones in his ears and eyes locked onto the iPad in his hands.
“His mother went down to the chapel to pray,” his grandmother explains.
