Friendship is like good health; you take it for granted until it’s gone. My name is Aubrey, and I was fifteen when I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a cancer of the blood. I was an elite gymnast when I was diagnosed, and gymnastics was my life. Since I went to public school, I only practiced twenty seven hours a week, which was a tiny amount for an elite gymnast, most of whom were homeschooled. I trained four hours after school, and then seven hours on Saturdays, so Sundays were my only day off. I didn’t have much time for socializing; I can’t say that I’d been to many parties, or gone to the mall with friends on a weekend.
No, my life consisted of flipping upside down doing tricks that people could only dream of doing, working out 6 days a week at the gym, and peeling pieces of skin the size of quarters off my palms. There was nothing I loved more than running my hand through a bucket of chalk, getting buried head-first in the foam-pit, punching off the ground with such power that I my rebound was two feet off the ground, and flip backwards on a four-inch piece of wood four feet off the ground. I had more leotards than t-shirts, and I probably used chalk more than I used soap.
Cancer was the last thing I expected, so when I went to the doctor for a routine checkup, I got blood taken to check my iron levels, and got back results that I was not prepared for in the least. two days after I’d gone to the doctor, my mom got a call saying the whole family should come down together as soon as possible. A few hours later, we were being checked into St. Brown’s Children’s Hospital to begin treatment.
Little did I know that the “treatment” they spoke of, was chemotherapy, and would cause me to lose my hair, lose weight, lose appetite, and lose hope. The chemo caused me to be sick all the time, and I was an in-patient at a hospital two hours away from my house, so I was sick without my family there, and had only the company of the staff and nurses.
Since the hospital was so far away from my house, my family could only come down on the weekends because they had to work more hours to pay for treatment, and all of my friends were gymnasts with me, so they couldn’t take time off to come visit me unless they came down on Sundays, their one day off. They came down a couple times, but only for an hour or two of awkward silences and polite chatter. Nobody knew what to talk about; they didn’t want to talk about gymnastics in front of me, so as not to upset me, but for God’s sakes, we were elite gymnasts, we didn’t do anything else!
So they started coming for less and less, until finally all I got was the occasional forwarded text message or email. Only my best friend, Bailey, showed up loyally every Sunday to visit me. Bailey and I had been on the same gymnastics team since we were three years old and started Tumbling for Tots at the gym after preschool, and we clicked instantly.
Every Sunday, Bailey showed up at my door at 11:00 on the dot, religiously, armed with candy, nail polish, and the latest gym gossip. Bailey was the only person who didn’t treat me like I was fragile. When Bailey got her front tuck beam mount, I was the first person she came and told. When Bailey buys a new leotard, she brings a picture to show me. When her hands are raw and chaffed from rips, she shows them off to me, proud of her hard work. Bailey was the only one who didn’t change the way she treated me.
Bailey looked through the frail bones, skeleton-like, pale arms and legs, bald head, and bruised arm forearms from IV sticks that I was now, and talked to me like I was the same tanned, toned, blonde girl with the six-pack and the floor skills of an Olympian. Bailey was the rock in my life; the wall that I could lean on, the person that I could count on to always be there. About ten months into my treatment, my kidneys started failing. The chemotherapy treatment has to make you sick to make you better, and one of the unfortunate side effects in the long-term is kidney failure. My skin had a yellow tint to it, and there was a place on my arm that I’d scraped raw from the constantly itching skin that kidney failure causes.
It was when my kidneys started failing that death and I started seeing each other. We’d flirted some, exchanged numbers, but now we were in a real relationship, and I didn’t know if I was ready for something so serious. Before my kidneys began failing, I always knew I’d get better- I had to, right? I was fifteen- just a kid! Kids don’t die; it just doesn’t happen. But when I started having kidney pains and showed symptoms, I realized for the first time- I’m probably going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but if I didn’t find a donor for a kidney, I wouldn’t live past eighteen, maybe nineteen if I was lucky.
But in order to have a successful transplant, I needed to find a perfect match. A donor whose kidney would be nearly identical to mine, so that my body wouldn’t reject the new organ. It’s safest if the donor is family; those are the best chances of having a match, but everyone in my family was tested, and none of them were eligible. Most fifteen year old girls daydreamed about finding the perfect guy; I daydreamed about finding the perfect kidney.
It was a month after my sixteenth birthday when on Sunday, Bailey showed up to the hospital with a big smile on her face, and I knew something was up. “What’s with the giant smile plastered to your face?” I grumbled, curled up against my pillow as a wave of nausea crashed over me. I glared up at the IV bag of chemo, moaning. “Oh, nothing, how’s your day been?” She asked cheerfully. “It sucked, and I don’t buy it- what’s going on?” I barked, grumpy from fatigue and nausea. “You probably don’t want to hear about it, it’s not a big deal,” She said casually.
I sighed, “Humor me,” and she beamed, “I got tested to see if I’m a kidney match and I’m perfect! My mom signed the papers last night, you’re getting a new kidney!” She squealed, bursting from the seams. My heart stopped dead, and not just from my low blood pressure, “No. No. No. Get the idea out of your head, I am not taking a kidney from you! Have you even thought about this, Bailey?! This is risky surgery, it’s not some simple procedure where you’re awake the whole time, people have died on the operating table!” I exclaim, horrified, and her smile twitches a little, and she’s obviously disappointed, “Of course I’ve thought about it, Aubrey, I did my research and I’m doing this! It’s not up to you, it’s up to your parents, and they’ve agreed, they think it’s a great idea. I’ll only have to stay out of Gym for a week, and the odds of dying on the operating table are extremely rare. Aubrey, let me do this for you.” Bailey pleaded, exasperated, her eyes widened as she leaned towards me. I shake my head, slowly, “Bailey, if anything happened to you, do you know how guilty I would feel? What if you can’t do gymnastics anymore? Bailey, you could go to the Olympics! Why would you risk your life for that?” I insisted, and I honestly wanted to know. She looked at me curiously, “Aubrey, you’ve been my best friend since we were five. I practically live at your house. I love you- do you not know that? There is nothing that I wouldn’t give for you.” She replied as if it was obvious, and I lied back on my pillow, stunned. Aubrey wasn’t an especially affectionate person, so hearing her say something like that was weird.
“If you’re really okay with it…. I guess I am too,” I sighed reluctantly after a few moments of silent thinking. She squealed, and jumped onto me into a tackle hug. I grimaced as he IV in my arm was pulled a little, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment for her; Wow, you’d think the reactions would be opposite.
The weeks leading up to the surgery were fast; There was paperwork to be signed, tests to be run, preparations to be made, and a few days before the surgery, Bailey Skyped me from the gym so that I could sit in and watch practice. It was a lot of fun seeing how much people had progressed in my absence, but I can’t lie, it made me a little sad.
Then it came- the day of the surgery. Aubrey and her family had slept at the hospital so that she could fast with me, and although I didn’t have an appetite anyways, Aubrey complained around dinnertime, but stopped shortly after I started throwing up. “Sorry,” I’d murmured weakly, but she shrugged, “S’Okay.” She replied.
About halfway through the night, Aubrey climbed up into the bed with me, and though she thought I was asleep, I smiled to myself, happy to have company. They took her away to get ready for surgery before I woke up, so when they wheeled me back to the operating room and put on my paper gown, I saw her as the anesthesiologist walked in. She smiled at me. I smiled back. “See you on the other side,” She grinned, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Ok, now close your eyes and count down from one hundred,” The doctor told me as he put the mask on my face. I breathed in, slowly, and inhaled the fumes that smelled of chemicals- not a bad smell, but not exactly like roses. 99…98…97…96…95……………………….. and then I fell asleep.
After Surgery
I blinked, groggily, as my vision swam into effect. I was in the Recovery wing, and I looked around, where my and Aubrey’s families sat around my bed, some asleep, some looked as if they were praying. I started to sit up, but a sharp pain in my lower abdomen exploded, and I winced, immediately dropping back onto my pillow. The movement caught the attention of my family, and my mother gasped, “Oh, thank God, you’re awake!” she hurried over to me and gingerly adjusted the pillow I leaned on.
“How do you feel?” She asked nervously as she hovered around me like a moth and a light. I shrugged her off, “Fine, how long has it been since the surgery?” I asked, and looked around. I realized, suddenly, that Aubrey’s family wasn’t praying, they were crying. Even her older brother, Jake, who I’d never seen cry, had tears shamelessly poured down his cheeks. Aubrey’s mother laid her head on her husband’s shoulder, sobbing silently, and his usually wry smile was replaced by a grim line, and his eyes were glassy.
“Mom, what happened? Why are they all…?” My voice drifted off, and my mind began going a thousand miles a second, thinking up all of the different horrible situations. Aubrey’s mom choked out another sob as I said this, and I looked at my mother. “Mom… tell me what’s wrong.” I hissed under my breath, locking eyes with her. She grimaced, “Aubrey… she just… she just wasn’t strong enough to do it… it’s not your fault, baby-“ I cut her off, “Aubrey’s dead?!” I exclaimed, horrified. Aubrey’s mother wailed, and my mother nodded solemnly.
I didn’t know what to think. I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them up again rapidly, willing myself to wake up, because this had to be a dream. But it wasn’t. My mind went blank as I took in the news, and I didn’t speak for 9 days. My parents tried to comfort me, but I wouldn’t see anybody. I stayed holed up in my room, and as much as I hated self-pitying people, I honestly felt so terribly for myself.
How could I live with myself knowing that my best friend gave up her life to save mine? After days of burrowing down in my room, I had to come out for the funeral. The morning of the funeral came, it was beautiful. The sun was shining out, and it was a perfect seventy three degrees. I got out of bed, and got dressed, numbly, prolonging it until all that was left was my black combat boots, which I zipped up with finality. Aubrey’s funeral wasn’t like any other funeral service I’ve ever attended; people wore white, and I didn’t see one ounce of black fabric, so my black combat boots made me stick out like a sore thumb. As if I weren’t already the talk of the town- I felt people staring at me all day, I’d see people whispering, looking at me, and when I made eye contact, they quickly averted their eyes. I didn’t speak much at the funeral, only the occasional necessary nod of the head to be polite. Today was about Aubrey. I couldn’t pout like a little kid.
The actual funeral service was a little bit fuzzy; I remember thinking it was beautiful; it was on the beach, which was her favorite place. A lot of people from gym came, and my old coaches and teachers. I didn’t say much to them. Aubrey was cremated, and her ashes were sprinkled in various places; some in the sand on the beach, some on the gym’s front sidewalk, some at her house, some at mine. I think that by the funeral, I was all cried out. I mostly sat there, solemnly, emotionlessly.
It wasn’t until weeks later when I was looking at her Facebook wall, moping, that I saw the last status update that she’d put:
Don't be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetime, is certain for those who are friends. ~Richard Bach
It was probably silly of me, but looking back, that was probably the thing that pulled me out of the deep black hole that was my sorrow. When I saw that quote on Aubrey’s status, something inside me clicked. Get up, Bailey. Aubrey wouldn’t want you to suffer like this. Get up and live your life to the fullest, because she couldn’t. So I got up, brushed myself off, and went about my life. Four months after surgery, the doctor declared I was in remission. I got permission to start gymnastics again two weeks later, and began working out with a twelve hour per week training schedule, and picked school back up again.
With all of the work that I’d been able to do in the hospital, I was still eligible to graduate to eleventh grade at the end of the year. I started my training out with just conditioning to replace the muscle I’d lost, and worked on the basics, so that I could slowly get my skills back. There’s a bench outside the Gym with a plaque in honor of Aubrey. I hung a picture of her on my bedroom wall in a frame that had her quote engraved in it. It was the last thing I saw when I went to sleep, and the first thing I saw when I woke up. Aubrey wouldn’t be forgotten. I would make sure of it.
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