The Dance of my Life

Bad Test Bad Dreams:

We start our first day of testing with a regular checkup: check breathing, heart rate, weight, height, ears, etc. after we did those tests, I went in for blood work and an X-ray. The results take a few hours to return to the doctor, so I decided to call Oliver.

"Hello." I said into my IPhone.

"Hey, why were you not at school today, and why did you not call?" He is a great friend. He always seems concerned, but I could understand why. If he fainted on stage and didn't wake up a few hours later, I would be concerned too.

"I'm still at the hospital doing a couple of tests for Doctor Stout. I was going to call, but I needed sleep, at least that's what the nurses told me."

"Oh, do you want me to come to the hospital, or is your dad there to protect his little princess?"

"First of all, he does not call me his Little Princess, he calls me his Buddy, and no, I'm just waiting for my blood test results to come in from the lab and some x-ray pictures."

"Do you think anything is wrong with you?"

"I don't think so, I may have just got overly excited and my body couldn't handle the pressure."

"100%?"

"101%" I say with proudness and a bit of sarcasm. "Hey, I'll call you later, the doctors just came back into the room. Byee!!" There is not a time I don't drag out bye when I end a phone call with Oliver.

"Miss Smith," Doctor Stout said.

"Doctor Stout."

"Sit please, you have a DBSS and your lungs have shrunk at least one and a half centimeters. "

"What's DBSS?" I ask him concerned.

"Double Blood Sugar Syndrome, your blood sugar is very hard to control and keep stable, we will have to implant an automatic insulin pump."

"Have you told my father yet? Because I think I should tell him." I am not going to tell him, no way.

"No, he is unaware of your illnesses. Should I make a phone call for you?"

"No. I can call him and explain everything." In a million years.

"Maddie, you're going to need surgery."

I can feel the trickle of tears fall from my eyes onto my cheek. I wipe them away and some of the makeup I was still wearing from the play.

"I'll let you be, I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you." He pats my hand and walks out the door without a word.

A nurse walked in as soon as he left with a tray of food. I quickly wipe away the falling tears from my chin. She walked out and left me with a steak, peas and jello. I feared I would complicate the surgery if I had eaten to much, so I ate a spoon of peas and jello, leaving the perfectly seared steak on the plate.

I was alone to sleep on the horrifying news I was given.

I woke to a stomach that should I have been given more food, but the fear of my affecting the surgery still haunted me. I couldn't even brush my teeth, eat breakfast, or drink water until the surgery is successfully completed. I walk down the hall following my doctor to OR. He tried to talk to me, but I ignored him because on the outside, game face, on the inside, fear. We enter the room and I put on this stylish hospital gown that makes my butt hang out-not that it's big or anything-so I held the back of my dress closed. They gave me some nasty syrup that tasted like a skunk jellybean. I was asleep in about eight minutes. My guess is that they immediately started the procedure.

I dreamed while I was under my medication. 'My dad and I are at one of mom's big recidals, but not any big recital, a Broadway recital. We were sitting on the front row watching her preform the dance called 'eternal life'. Well, during her performance, she fell straight to the ground and wouldn't move or open her eyes. We rush to the hospital. I'm crying, and Dad is trying to talk to Mom; she just didn't respond. We make it to the hospital, hour after hour we sat in the waiting room when Mr. Pierce returned with a slip of paper that he gave to my dad. It was a slip of my mother's  time and date of death. The last thing I see every time I have this dream is little Maddie crawls into her daddy's arms and stares at him as he cries.'

I wake myself with tears soaking my pillow. I'm back in my room. A successful surgery with and  unsuccessful memory.