An excerpt from the diary of Amy Dumas, 31 years.

December 23rd, 2006

"There are two inevitabilities in life: taxes and death. We know when taxes are going to come along, but most of us don't know when death'll jump out from under its invisibility cloak and attack us. I've given a lot of thought to death and I still can't work out how I'd like to die – the doctor says it'll be my heart that does it, but I'd bet all my savings that it wont be. I try not to dwell on how I'll die but what I'll do before it. And I know this. I want to go out with a bang. I want people to remember me. Not that sick girl. And I'm going to prove that I can do anything…"

Not many people give much thought to how they'll die: for some, it's pre-planned; they know in advance exactly how and why it'll happen. For some of these, this is because they've planned it themselves, be it through euthanasia or suicide, but for others, they have no control over what's going to happen but they're well informed by their doctors on just how this disease or injury will kill them. And this is the story of one woman who falls into the latter category…

It was almost nine thirty and the live taping of WWE Raw had just finished, fans jostling through the doors all excitedly talking about the newest twist in the plot line, the latest character to turn face and the jaw dropping diva's bra and panties match. It was always the same, really. Every Monday night, fans would leave, discussing the show while the superstars retreated to their locker room, the showers and then, one by one, back to their hotels, tired and weary after a hard show. Barbara Blank who, under the ring name Kelly Kelly, had recently become involved in a strange love triangle between Randy Orton and Kane, was waiting outside the arena, hoping that fans would not notice her and that the ones who did would not make too much of a fuss. Her ride had not shown up. Or, more precisely, he had left without her.

"Where are you, Randy?" she muttered and hugging herself. It was a cold, January evening and the bitter winds nipped at her face leaving it red and sore. For the past few weeks, Randy had been more absent minded than ever - forgetting his lines during promos, botching moves in the ring and now leaving without her. He knew she needed a lift and, seeing as they were working together much more closely now, he had offered to be a chauffer of sorts for the following weeks. But now, with her blonde locks whipping around her menacingly and tangling in her lip-gloss, Barbara began to wonder if she should ever have accepted the offer.

"You know, people get locked up for talking to themselves?" Standing in a plain Nike shirt and jeans, John Cena was a million miles from his on screen persona. There was very little 'thuggish' or 'rapper-like' about him and it was perhaps this which brought a smile to Barbara's wind-chilled face. "You're waiting on Orton, huh?" When the blonde before him nodded in return, John's face fell. "He's, uh, not going to be able to give you a ride, Barbara…"

The young diva frowned. "How come?"

"Amy's sick. I mean…real sick. And he's kinda worried, you know?" John's shoulders seemed to sag and it was clear that this was a rather sensitive topic. "I can give you a lift back to the hotel if you want, though. I mean, I know it ain't a luxury car like Orton's but my Impala is pretty hot." The smile returned to the Massachusetts native's face, but Barbara registered that it was not as sincere as before. Nodding her head once more, the blonde hoisted her bag back up onto her shoulders and followed John to a blue Impala, the door of which he opened for her before walking to his own side, the two casually sliding into the car.

"What's wrong with her?" Barbara spoke before she realised it and it took her a moment or two to add, "If you don't mind me asking."

"No," John said, slowly and absent-mindedly as he turned on the engine and began pulling out of the parking lot. "It's uh…its congenital heart failure. It's pretty bad…" His voice trailed off into a sigh as he pulled onto the main road in front of the arena.

"Is it terminal? I mean, will she ever get better?" Barbara frowned. Amy, better known as Lita, had been around for her first few months in the company and had always greeted her with a smile – sure, it wasn't much, but in a company full of bitches and liars, it was more than a friendly gesture.

"It's…I guess you could say it's conditional," John replied, has palms sweating. Amy was a good friend of his and it was painful to talk of her in such a fragile state. "I mean…it comes and goes but its getting worse. If she doesn't get a transplant the next birthday she celebrates will be her last. She's convinced she's gunna get better – I think that's what gets Randy down so much, to be honest. She's dying but she refuses to see it…"

Hearing the sniff come from the driver's side, Barbara sighed softly. "I never knew…" she breathed, shaking her head.

"Not many people do," John replied his voice strong again as though he was willing himself not to cry. "I mean, we all know she's got a bit of a problem with her heart – that's why she had to leave, see? Her heart couldn't take it any more. She could barely take on a normal day without passing out, never mind getting into the ring and kicking ass. She lost the title to Trish, remember? She wasn't supposed to. She was out cold for over half an hour. The ref realized what had happened and got her out the ring quick…Let the EMT take her through the back. Everyone was so preoccupied with Trish, they never noticed.

"Orton did. I never saw him react like that before…" It was as though John had forgotten Barbara's presence and was simply thinking aloud. "He was frantic; refused to go out to the ring that night…Ads had to go it alone. Rated RKO and DX were the main event but they had to change it to Ads versus Paul because Randy was off to the hospital. And, that night, she woke up and asked if they could order takeaway for dinner because she had a sore head and didn't want to cook. She wouldn't accept that it was her heart, at all. Said Trish had been too forceful with her Chick Kick. No one believed her… But now, she can barely leave home. She's in hospital right now, getting tests done. And he'll be half way to St. Louis, to be with her." Pausing only to draw breath, John laughed. "Coulda still told you he wasn't gonna be here though…"

Barbara nodded slowly, reaching down to fiddle with the dial of the radio. She had never been good with illness. Even when her grandmother had died when she was only seven years old, she hadn't cried. Her parents had claimed that this was simply because she didn't fully understand what was happening, but she understood. She knew fine well what had happened; she just felt no emotion towards it. Later in life, during her teens, people would come and go; get sick, die, but still there would be no tears. Many called her a heartless bitch but Barbara would insist that she wasn't heartless and that she simply didn't know why she never got upset. The pain just never hit her. "John?" she said, quietly, unsure as to whether she should ask this. With a nod of his head, John acknowledged her and the blonde tried to diplomatically choose her words. "Isn't Orton being a little selfish? He should be at home, with her, looking after her. But what's he doing? He's jetting around all over the world and wrestling, acting as if nothing's going on."

John slammed heard on the breaks, the seat belt cutting into Barbara's shoulder as her body strained against it. "You think he wants to leave her?" John spoke through gritted teeth and his knuckles seemed to pale as he gripped onto the steering wheel tightly. "You think he likes leaving the woman he loves? A woman who, in two years time, will be dead and buried? He has to Barbs. She won't accept she's sick and believes he doesn't need to be there. That and the fact that…her health care aint cheap, Barbs…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend…"

"Well yah did," John paused after snapping, taking deep breaths to calm him down. "I'm sorry," he continued after counting backwards from ten. "Look, it's not your fault, yeah? You just…shouldn't assume shit about people. Randy'd die for that girl. He offered to, not so long ago. Wanted to kill himself, give her the heart, Wasn't the right blood type and we knew all along, that even if he had been, she wouldn't have accepted it…He was that far in…" John sighed, restarting the car much, the angry drivers of the cars behind him yelling abuse at him. "He's a good guy, Bee. A real good guy…"

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