If I Should Die Before I Wake (3 page)

T
he wheel on the bookmobile was stuck. “Rats!” Deanne muttered as she struggled with the uncooperative cart. Her arms ached from fighting with the thing. She wasn’t even half finished with her rounds on the third floor.

“Come on, cart!” she said aloud. “Have some consideration.” But the large portable cart stopped short as its wheels refused to turn.

“Problems?” Deanne heard Mrs. Sanders ask from behind her.

“No,” Deanne answered, a little too quickly. “It’s just being stubborn.”

“Let me see,” Mrs. Sanders said, taking over the bar handle of the cart. With effortless motion the cart slid forward. Deanne only stared in disbelief. “Seems to be working fine, now,” Mrs. Sanders said with a sniff.

“I guess you have the magic touch,” Deanne mumbled weakly. She glared at the cart as Mrs. Sanders continued crisply down the hall.

Deanne got it into a room. Sara Miller smiled broadly as Deanne came through the door. “Hi, Miss Deanne!” the little girl grinned from her hospital bed.

“Good afternoon, Sara. Need a book today?”

“What ya got?” the child asked.

“Want a good mystery? Or, how about a horse story?” she handed Sara a greencovered book about horses.

“Yeah!” Sara smiled. “I love horse stories.” Deanne filled out the patient’s name and the book title on her information chart.

“You gonna be down at the rec room for arts and crafts?” Sara asked.

Deanne checked her watch. Oh, my goodness . . . it’s less than an hour from now. I’m not even half finished with my bookmobile rounds, she said to herself. “Of course I am, Sara. Let me get rolling here and I’ll be back for you in an hour.”

Deanne tugged the cart out the door and back into the hall. The wheel stuck again. “Drat!” she said. Then she gave it one big push in disgust.

The wheel released, suddenly. The
bookmobile leaped out of her hands. Deanne watched in horror as it swung around crazily, careened toward the wall and hit with a sharp THUMP! Books flew everywhere! Nurses came running. Kids came to the doors of their rooms to see what had happened.

“Oh, no!” Deanne cried. She scrambled to pick up the books.

“Now what happened?” Deanne looked up from the floor into Mrs. Sanders’s face.

“It got stuck,” Deanne said weakly.

“Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders began. “I always seem to be looking at you on your hands and knees.” She tapped her toe as she spoke. “If the bookmobile is giving you a problem, may I suggest you call a custodian. He would gladly oil the wheels for you, and you could be about your business with fewer mishaps.”

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Sanders only looked down her nose and sighed.

* * * * *

Clare Coffman, the Child-Life Program specialist, showed the eager group of children how to fold, cut, and paste a colorful tissue paper flower. Deanne, Susan, and two other VolunTeens, Kathy and Chris, watched closely. They would have to help the kids make the flowers during the two-hour recreation period. Since this was the favorite part of Deanne’s day, she found it easy to pay attention.

“That’s it, kids,” Clare smiled broadly. “Now, have a go at it.” The kids all began talking and working at once.

Deanne hurried from child to child, supervising the activity. “Nice job, Kenny. Wait, Alan, I think you’re supposed to fold it like this first. That’s right, Sara, you’ve got it,” she said. The time flew. She couldn’t believe that two hours had gone by when Clare called a halt to the work.

The VolunTeens wheeled the patients back to their rooms. Then they returned and began to clean up the scraps of paper and sticky paste messes.

“Thanks a lot, girls,” Clare said to the four helpers.

“It was fun,” Deanne told her.

“I wish they all had your attitude, Deanne,” Clare said. “You’re the best help I have.”

Deanne blushed. Then she said, “Tell Mrs. Sanders. She thinks I’m Klutz of the Year.”

Clare looked over at her. “Oh, but I have told Mrs. Sanders,” she said.

Deanne almost dropped her cleaning sponge. “What?” she gasped. The other girls listened intently.

Clare threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, honestly. . . don’t act so shocked. Whenever I have good help, I let people know. You do a fine job. Plus, you really seem to like doing it.”

“Oh, I do,” Deanne said. “It’s . . . oh, you know. . . Mrs. Sanders sees me falling all over myself so much. How’s she going to believe you?”

“It’s been my experience, Deanne, that Mrs. Sanders only pushes the ones she thinks are good. Believe me, it would be worse if she just ignored you.”

“HA!” Deanne scoffed.

“I mean it,” Clare continued. “We need sensitive, caring volunteers. These kids need people who can make them feel less scared— people who can relate to them. You’re lucky because you can.”

After Clare left the room, Deanne thought about what she had said. She really did care. She loved her job and she liked the people she worked with.

“Well, that’s it for me,” Kathy said, pushing her hands against her back. “I’m going downstairs for lunch.”

“Yeah,” Chris and Susan agreed. “But why don’t we sit for a minute first,” Susan sighed. “My feet are killing me!”

They all plopped down onto the floor and stretched out. It felt good to relax. “Just think,” Deanne piped up. “We get to do it all over again in two hours.” The other three girls groaned.

“Haven’t you girls got anything to do?” the voice from the doorway asked. It was Mrs. Sanders. The girls jumped to their feet.

“Oh, sure!” Kathy said. “Lunch, you know.”

“Fine,” Mrs. Sanders said. “Then get to it. We’ll be needing some of you to strip and change beds this afternoon.”

They all nodded and headed toward the door. Each wanted a fast escape to the cafeteria. “Just a minute,” Mrs. Sanders called. “Miss Vandervoort, I’d like to speak with you for a minute.”

Deanne froze in her steps. Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes, Mrs. Sanders?” she asked, turning toward the stern-faced nurse.

“I want to give you a special assignment. You too, Miss Pyle.” Susan stopped next to Deanne.

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders?” she also asked.

The other girls left the room in a hurry. Deanne and Susan waited for Mrs. Sanders to speak. Finally, she said, “I’ve gotten some good reports about you two girls, about your hard work and initiative.”

They waited for her to continue. “They’re short-handed upstairs in oncology. The Child-Life Program there needs some volunteers.” She stared at them until they each nodded.

“As you know, these cancer patients have their own recreation areas. We need VolunTeens to help out and I’m personally sending you two up there. You’ll report to Renee Stewart. She’s the R.N. in charge during the day shift. She’ll tell you what she needs you to do.”

Deanne and Susan stood there and stared at Mrs. Sanders.

“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Sanders asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders!” they chimed in unison.

“Then get moving, please,” Mrs. Sanders said as she turned to leave.

The girls dashed for the elevators and pushed the button for the fourth floor. Deanne’s heart was pounding. She didn’t like this one bit. She felt nervous about being around kids with cancer. And she didn’t like Mrs. Sanders “volunteering” her to do it.

* * * * *

The oncology floor looked like every other floor of the hospital: a central nurses’ station, rows of rooms, and a large rec room at the end of the hall. The first person Deanne saw when she got off the elevator was a ten-year-old boy. He was very thin, and he was pushing a portable IV stand. Two bags of IV solution hung from either side of the stand. Long clear plastic tubes ran from the bottles to the needle in the back of his hand. Deanne turned her head and walked quickly toward the nurses’ station.

“Mrs. Stewart?” she asked. A green-eyed woman dressed in crisp white looked up.

“Yes?” she asked.

“We’re the VolunTeens Mrs. Sanders sent up,” Deanne continued.

Renee Stewart smiled. “Good. I’ve been waiting for you.” As she stepped out from behind the desk area, Deanne could see that she was tall and very pretty.

“I really need you girls to help out in the rec area. Some of the younger kids have a lot of pain, and it helps to be distracted with games and such. Some of the older kids just need someone their own age to talk with. You know what I mean?” Renee asked.

Deanne and Susan nodded. Deanne wished she could be down in the cafeteria, eating lunch with Kathy and Chris. She really didn’t want to be on the oncology floor.

Renee led them into the rec room. She chatted all the way, giving them some details about the kids’ schedules. “Larry has to be taken down to radiology at one o’clock. He’s in room 404, bed C. Kyla needs a chemotherapy session at two o’clock. She’s in room 416, bed B. And we need someone to help write letters for Karen, room 423, bed A. She’s just had an operation on her eyes and the bandages are still in place.

Deanne listened. Every kid on the floor had some form of cancer. It was hard to believe and she felt nervous. When they reached the rec room, they went inside. It looked a lot like the rec rooms on the other floors. Three video games lined one wall. Patients stood and worked the controls. They seemed unaware of everyone else. Some were dressed in pajamas and robes, some in T-shirts and jeans. Most were between ten and fifteen years old.

Some were bald. Deanne knew that their hair loss had been caused by the treatments they were receiving. She swallowed hard and walked over to one tall boy bent over a video game.

She watched him move the controls and stare intensely at the video screen. “Hi,” she said casually as soon as one of the video ghosts ate his electronic player.

He turned to her. She found herself looking into two beautiful blue eyes. They were set in a thin, pale face that was framed by a mass of thick brown hair. Somehow, he looked very familiar. “I’m Deanne,” she said nervously.

“I’m Matt,” he answered.

Suddenly, she knew where she had seen him before—in the lobby last spring! His whole family had been standing around his wheelchair! That had been several months before and he was still here! She felt her voice catch in her throat.

“You want to play this?” he asked.

“Against you?” she asked.

“Why not?” he shrugged his thin shoulders and pushed the button for playing doubles.

She watched him as he took his turn. Deanne felt a little shaken. He was a very good-looking guy. He was tall and she guessed he was about sixteen. It was hard to believe he’d been sick in the hospital for so long. She wanted to know more about him.

“Your turn,” he said.

She took the controls and concentrated on the game.

“Y
ou seem a million miles away,” Susan
said. Deanne glanced over at her
friend and stopped twirling the straw in her
soda.

“Oh, I don’t know. . .” Deanne’s voice trailed off.

“Those cancer kids really got to you, huh?” Susan asked.

Deanne dropped her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s such a bummer, you know? Getting cancer when you’re just a kid.”

“Are you going to tell Mrs. Sanders you want off the floor?”

Deanne shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Even though I hate the way she ‘volunteered’ me, I think I’m going to hang around up there.”

“That Matt is pretty cute, huh?” Susan asked, leaning over the table in the hospital cafeteria.

“He sure is,” Deanne smiled. “I wonder what’s wrong with him? You know, what kind of cancer does he have?”

“I don’t know,” Susan shrugged. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

Deanne looked at the clock. It was already four o’clock. “Dad usually leaves around six o’clock if he’s not tied up. I think I’ll just wait for him.”

“I’ve got to catch the bus for home in twenty minutes,” Susan said.

“Well,” Deanne said as she stood up. “I think I’ll go back up to oncology. Maybe I can talk to Matt again.”

“Have fun,” Susan urged. Then she added, “See ya tomorrow.”

Deanne went up to the fourth floor and began looking for Matt. She found out at the front desk that he was assigned to room 438, bed A. But he wasn’t there.

“He’s down in chemotherapy,” Renee Stewart offered. “I’m glad you came back on your own time, Deanne,” she added. “He should be up shortly. The treatments often make him sick to his stomach. Sometimes it’s nice to have somebody to talk to or play a game with . . . you know. . . to keep the patient’s mind off the nausea. Can you wait for him?”

“Sure,” Deanne nodded. “I’ll be glad to hang around and wait. I’ll get some board games out. Maybe he’d like to play something.” Deanne paused. Then she cautiously asked, “He seems like such a nice guy. He is getting well, isn’t he?”

“Matt Gleason?” Renee asked. “He’s one of the nicest kids on the floor. Always has a smile and a friendly word. Do you know he sometimes sits for hours with some of the younger kids after their treatments when they’re real sick, just so they won’t be alone. Matt’s a real giver; no matter what he’s going through.”

“As for him getting better, well, this is his third relapse since he was diagnosed with cancer five years ago. He’s getting some new drugs, experimental medicines that have been useful against his type of malignancies. When he first checked in, we didn’t think he’d make it through the summer. Now, we just don’t know.”

* * * * *

“You up to a friendly game of Scrabble?” Deanne came up to Matt as he sat in a wheelchair in the rec room.

He looked up at her. Her heart skipped and her stomach fluttered. He looked so pale and ill. “You up to me beating you?” he asked weakly, trying to smile.

“Beat me?” Deanne cried in mock horror. “I’ll have you know, I could beat you, blindfolded.”

“You sure talk a good game,” Matt whispered. He gripped the arms of the chair as a spasm swept over his body.

Deanne hurriedly sat down at the table and began spreading out the Scrabble board and letter holders. “Here,” she said, offering him the bag of letter tiles. “Let’s draw for first.”

His hand was shaking, but he pulled out a letter. “It’s a C,” he said. “Can you beat that?”

She rummaged through the tiles and pulled out an X. “Hmm,” she said. “I guess you’re first.” She paused, “But I’m still going to beat you.”

“I want you to play your best,” he warned. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me and let me win.”

“Are you kidding?” Deanne protested. “I intend to trounce you. After all, I am a Vandervoort. I have a tradition to uphold.

We Vandervoorts show no mercy.”

“Good,” Matt smiled weakly. “Because we Gleasons are fighters. I like being the underdog.” He leaned closer toward her. “It makes the pretty girls feel protective of me.”

Deanne blushed. “I am not a pretty girl,” she said. “But I am a smart one. And I can’t play my word until you play yours. So, get going.”

They played for almost an hour. It was a good game. Deanne found him to be both competitive and smart. But she did win. “Not too shabby,” Matt commented while she put away the board.

“Thanks,” she smiled. “You weren’t so bad yourself. You almost killed me with ‘zither.’ You got thirty-six points for that word alone.”

“Are you going to give me a chance to get even?” Matt asked.

“Of course I will,” Deanne smiled. “I work tomorrow. I’ll be up here for the afternoon rec program. Maybe we could play then.”

“Suits me,” Matt said. “Maybe I’ll read a dictionary before I go to bed tonight.”

“Hey! Gleason! The supper trays are coming up. You eating?” A dark haired nurse called from the doorway.

“I don’t know. . . ,” his voice trailed off. “I’m kind of tired.”

“You need to eat,” the nurse chided.

“I have an idea,” Deanne said quickly. “I need to eat supper, too.” Her mind raced. If her dad wasn’t ready for another half-hour, she could stay with Matt and encourage him to eat. Her mother would kill her for not eating at home, but it would be worth it if Matt would eat some of his food.

“Why don’t I get a sandwich out of the machine and join you for dinner?” Deanne asked. The nurse caught on immediately.

“Great idea!” she added. “I’ll even bring you a can of pop from the floor’s private refrigerator.”

“I could have my tray in here,” Matt said thoughtfully. “I hate to eat alone.”

“Good,” Deanne said, jumping up. “It’s settled. Let me go down to the sandwich machines and I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll bring in your tray,” the nurse told Matt.

Out in the hall, she turned to Deanne and said, “Thanks a lot. It’s really important that he eats. After chemotherapy, it’s kind of hard to think about food. It’ll help to have you eat with him.”

“Sure,” Deanne said. She felt happy inside. She was glad to help Matt any way she could. But more than that, she realized that she liked him a lot. He was so nice.

“And he has cancer,” she told herself quietly. But she didn’t want to think about that right now. She just couldn’t.

* * * * *

“But, Deanne, it’s July Fourth weekend. The Cortlands have invited us to their place at the beach. We’ll have such a good time,” Mrs. Vandervoort said happily.

Deanne squirmed on the Victorian sofa and twisted her hands in her lap. She hated the formal living room, the Victorian sofa in particular. The fabric was scratchy and uncomfortable.

“I know, Mother,” Deanne said. “But Dad can’t go. He’s got to stay at the hospital.”

“All the more reason for you to come along,” her mother stressed. “We’ll go swimming and sailing and we’ll play tennis. Besides, Judson will miss having someone his own age—”

“Mother, Judson doesn’t even know I’m alive,” Deanne said. “No. I just don’t want to go. The hospital will be short of volunteers and regular staff, too. They need me.”

“Deanne, you can’t lock yourself away in that stuffy old hospital all summer! You’re there morning, noon, and night already. This whole summer is slipping away and you haven’t done anything that’s fun for a girl your age. Now we both have the chance for a wonderful, few days vacation,” said her mother.

“But, Mother,” Deanne said as she stood up and began pacing around the room. “Honest, I’m having a terrific summer! I have tons of friends at the hospital. You know my best friend, Susan. And all the nurses—and some of the patients—they’re all my friends. I LIKE working at the hospital. I’d just be thinking about everybody the entire time I was away! What kind of company would I be at the Cortlands’ anyway?” Deanne paused to catch her breath.

“There won’t be anyone here, Deanne,” Mrs. Vandervoort tried again. “I can’t come running to pick you up. You’d have to be on your father’s schedule. If he’s stuck there at the hospital, then so are you.”

“That’s all right,” Deanne said eagerly. “I know everybody. I can get in the cafeteria, rest in Dad’s office, even shower and change if I have to.”

“Oh, honestly!” Mrs. Vandervoort said, throwing her hands up in defeat. “How can I convince you that your entire life is slipping by and you’re not having any fun?” She paced across the plush carpets and stopped in front of the colonial fireplace.

“All right, Deanne,” she said. “I’ll discuss it with your father. If the two of you want to stay here over the July Fourth holiday, then fine. I’m going with the Cortlands and I plan to have a wonderful time!” Her mother turned and left the room.

Deanne plopped back down on the sofa. She felt tired, tired of always arguing with her mother, tired of being forced into a mold she hated. The hospital was all she really cared about, the hospital and Matt. He was a good friend. So was Susan.

But Susan wasn’t “socially acceptable” and Matt had cancer. Her father understood when he wasn’t too busy to listen. He knew what it was like to be involved with people.

She asked him about Matt one day, about the treatments and his future. “I’m not personally acquainted with the case,” her father had said. “But the first rule of nursing and doctoring is to never get personally involved with your patients. Sometimes it happens. But, the rule is: Don’t do it.”

Deep down in her heart, Deanne knew that she had broken the first rule.