Angel

My hair was a mess and fat tears ran down my chubby little face.  I was 5 years old.  At this exact moment in my life I hated my father.  I despised my mother.  They were dead to me.  I didn’t understand how they could allow strange people to prod and poke at me.  To continuously stick me with needles until my arms were black and blue and the tops of all my little fingers were covered in bandages from the incessant iron testing these nurses kept doing to me. This time I was going to be brave though.  I held my little black bear and held my daddy’s hand. 

I hated him with a passion at this point, but he was my daddy and a part of me was hoping that he would pick me up and run out of that hospital, throw me in the car, and drive the 3 hour long car ride back home to my brother and sister, to my sanctuary, to my comfort zone. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. 

I’ve done this before.  When I was born, I was born with what was thought to be a lazy eye.  When I was three, I had “experimental surgery” to fix it.  It didn’t work.  So, here I am, again, at five years old, having another surgery, to finally correct this issue. I hugged my daddy so tight.  I didn’t want to let him go.  He did this to me, but I wanted him to be my superhero. 

My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized he wasn’t.  In fact, he was tricking me.  The ploy of the hug was to disguise the shot I was about to receive in the back of my leg.  The pinch of the needle didn’t hurt, but caught me completely off guard. I looked at my dad.  His head swelled and his eyes started to bug out.  I, being the hysterical cry baby I was, didn’t freak out, I just slowly walked back towards my mommy, clutching my black bear, and when I turned to have her comfort me, her head was floating two inches off her neck.  I was tripping on some shit, and I was now even more pissed than when I started, those jerks lied to me! 

The doctor came by me, and put his hand on my shoulder, and I went with him.  I didn’t even say good-bye to my parents, screw them, they didn’t care about me.  I was strong, I was stubborn, I was tough, until I heard my mommy say, “I love you, sweetheart.” 

I was just entering through the big steel doors that said, “Authorized Personnel ONLY”.  The tears welled in my eyes, and now, more than ever I wanted my mommy and daddy.  I didn’t say goodbye.  I didn’t say “I love you”.  What if I didn’t see them again?  My fear set in and I began to panic.  Before, we got to the pre-op bed, my doctor firmly grabbed me by the shoulders, and sternly said in his thick Greek accent, “you had better be a good girl this time, you were a lot of trouble last time, and we do not want trouble, you understand?”  I simply nodded my head in agreement, as my nose was nuzzled in my black bears head, I wasn’t listening to him, I was too ashamed to look at him, and I was scared, scared that I wouldn’t see my family again, scared that I wouldn’t be able to play with my brother and sister again. 

I crawled into the stiff white bed, it smelled like old people.  When you’re a kid, hospitals are the most overwhelming, frightening experience you can endure.  Especially when you know what’s about to happen.  I just started to cry.  Sob uncontrollably.  The nurse came in and was ready to prep me, but she couldn’t because I was crying so hard, I was shaking.  She sat on my bed and tried to reason with me, telling me the faster she preps me, the faster it would be over.  I cried some more, because I knew exactly what that mean, this bitch was going to put an IV in me.  So at this point I negotiated with her.  I promised, crossed my heart and hoped to die, that if she neglected to put the IV in, I would do whatever she told me, and I wouldn’t cry.  She smiled and pushed back my matted, wet, snot filled hair, grabbed my cheeks and told me, “I promise.” 

As soon as she left, a woman in the bed next to mine started laughing.  Still squeezing the non-existent life out of my teddy bear, I looked over.  She was so skinny, and her face was sunk in.  Her eyes looked like they were bugging out, which made me think, crap, the shot is still in effect (it wasn’t, I later learned it was the equivalent to a tranquilizer to make me “go easy”) . She was bald, and you could see the blue veins in her scalp, to match the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen, and have yet to match.  She looked as if she was dead, but her eyes had so much life in them.  I was in awe of her.  I had never seen anyone look like her.  I didn’t dare talk to her even when she told me, next time they want to stick her, she’ll have to try my negotiation manuever . 

She saw my apprehension and grabbed her IV stand and walked over to my bed.  My bed was literally 15 feet away.  It took what felt like an hour for her to get to me.  She sat on my bed and she smiled at me.  I noticed right away she had an IV in her chest, right above her boob.  This struck me as odd, because all mine were always in my hand, and that hurt like hell, so she must be in excruciating pain.  I broke the cardinal rule, I talked to her.  

“Why is that there?”  I asked her pointing at it. She smiled and told me she was really sick.  She had been sick for a long time, but not to worry, I couldn’t catch it.  It didn’t make sense, so I asked her if she had the flu.  She laughed, a big laugh, like a laugh from the pit of your soul, and with her sparkling blue eyes, she said no, that is was a little thing called cancer.  She told me she saw me crying, and she couldn’t let me go into surgery scared because I wasn’t allowed to have my mom in there with me, because of the whole sterilization bullshit.  I started to cry again, but I didn’t say anything, and she scooted over and wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me so tight, yet so fragile, and she just held me there and all I could think about is, why is she holding me?  She smells like metal!  Am I going to get her disease?  Please, just go away.  Then she sang to me, she rocked me and sang to me.  I just felt this easiness overtake my little body.  She felt so warm and I felt so loved. So calm.  So at ease, that when the doctor came to get me, I smiled at him, grabbed his hand and told him I would be a good girl, I promised. 

As we left the room, left arm around that bear, right hand encased by the rough, calloused palm of my doctor, I looked back at my new friend and smiled, and I said goodbye.  She looked at me, the grayness of her body was overtaken by the sun beaming off her face, and her blue eyes, they looked through me, and she mouthed goodbye and blew me a kiss. 

I woke up a few hours later.  I didn’t ask for my mom, I didn’t ask for my dad, I wanted to know where my friend was, and why wasn’t she in the bed next to me.  I never caught my friend’s name, so I named her Angel.  When my mommy came in the room, all I could do was talk about my Angel, in fact, I was talking so much, I almost didn’t notice the purple IV in my vein that the nurse promised she wouldn’t put in me.  Bitch lied.  I was furious that she lied.  Oddly though, I was more pissed that it wasn’t in my chest like Angel’s.  

I’m pretty sure my mom thought Angel was made up, until the nurse pulled her outside my room and told her “Angel” had passed away about an hour into my surgery.  My mom didn’t really tell me that until years later, being as I was 5 years old, how would I handle it? 

To this day, I honestly believe that Angel was there for a reason.  She gave up her last ounce of strength and fight, to make a 5 year old brat comfortable in her surroundings.  She gave me peace and in the end attained her own.  

I may have only known Angel for a small amount of time, but she has been ingrained in my brain, and is a strong testament of how much a little niceness can have such a tremendous impact in someone’s life.  Angel is the reason I will always find the good in people, no matter how bad they may seem, because I owe it to Angel, and I owe her that last ounce of my fight.