Summary: She gave up her boots, her closet, her childhood, and ultimately, her heart – so, it only made sense that she should be the one to give this up, too. Never underestimate a woman in love.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey, Arnold! or any relating plots or characters.
The Art of Losing
By Ardent Ly
Arnold struggled to lift his eyelids, instinctively cringing away at the intensely bright lights overhead. As if sensing his pain, the light winked out and the world was suddenly dark again. An incessant beeping at his side alarmed him and he jumped up, only to be held back by invisible cords attached to various parts of his body. Panic and distress must've shown on his face as he felt a reassuring hand cup his shoulder, trying to ease him back down onto the soft surface he rested on.
"He's responding well to the light, so I think it's safe to say that we're making some progress. Now, Arnold, you might feel a little disoriented at first, so don't try to rush it." A detached voice cautioned. "Just open your eyes nice and slow." Following the unfamiliar voice's instructions, the blond teen relaxed his face and attempted to pry his eyes open once more. Accomplishing this, he swivelled his head slowly, trying to determine where he was. Everything around him was all one big blur with hazy colours and indefinable shapes, increasing his anxiety.
"Where… where am I?" He asked, though it sounded like nothing more than gibberish to his ears. His voice was surprising groggy and there was a dryness in his throat that made it itchy and irritated. Inhaling deeply, his nose crinkled at the clean, frighteningly sterile smell. The outlines before him began to shift rapidly and it pained him to watch the frantic movements. He shut his eyes quickly, covering them with one hand.
"You're at Hillwood Hospital's intensive care unit, Arnold." The voice replied soothingly. "My name is Dr. Benson."
Arnold coughed, vehemently trying to get moisture into his mouth. "H-hospital? What? What's going on? What happened?" He stirred only to be pushed down again.
"Holy jahozafat, he's got amnesia!" He heard the unmistakable voice of his father cry out.
"Hush, Miles, you'll frighten poor Arnold. Arnold, darling, we're right here. How are you feeling?" His mother's usually comforting tone was tinged with worry, and Arnold found that he didn't like it at all. Something cold pressed against his lips and, after realizing that it was a cup, he drank deeply and gratefully.
"Mom, what happened to me? Why can't I open my eyes?" The dread began to rise in his throat. A hand weaved itself through his tuffs of hair in an attempt to calm him and Arnold grabbed it instantly, desperate for any kind of anchor.
"Your eyes are open, dear," replied Stella in a dejected voice.
The poor boy was in full panic mode now. "What? What's going on?"
"You had an accident, man." Gerald's weary voice drifted to his ears. "Sid and Stinky were mixing chemicals in class and it combusted. I have no idea what they were using, but whatever it was, it ate through your goggles. God, Arnold, don't ever do that again!" After the scraping of a chair against the floor, another comforting hand found his shoulder.
Arnold grinned weakly, a poor attempt to console his friend. "How long have I been here?"
"Just a little over four weeks." Came Dr. Benson's answer. "We put you under some pretty heavy meds to keep you from feeling any pain." Arnold tried not to flinch as gentle hands prodded the tender areas around his eyes. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions, so feel free to ask."
The blond boy didn't hesitate. "Did anyone else get hurt?"
Gerald laughed, emitting a sound that was half relieved and half frenzied with exhaustion. "Glad to see you haven't lost your Good Guy-ness, man. And no, it was just you. I guess you saw what was going to happen and pushed Sid and Stinky out of the way. You got a face full, though."
"Oh." Was all he could say.
"Any medical questions you'd like answered, Arnold?" The kind doctor inquired.
Arnold pondered for a moment, and then, "Nothing I can think of on the spot, Doctor. I mean, everything seems to have turned out okay, it's not like I went blind or anything." There was a deadly silence. "What? What's wrong?"
Miles' hesitant voice broke through it. "The thing is, Shortman, you did go blind."
His father's admonition had Arnold shaken. "What?"
"By the time you were brought to the hospital, the chemicals, which we suspect may have been alkaline, were soaked into the corneas of your eyes." The gray blob he now identified as Dr. Benson explained. "It was far too late to save your eyesight and so for the first few days, we worked just to keep you as comfortable as possible."
"But, that doesn't make sense. If it was too late, then how come I can see now? Well, not see see, but you know…"
"We replaced your damaged corneas with donated corneal tissue using a surgical procedure called corneal grafting." An unfamiliar voice of a woman sounded in. A new unrecognizable shape entered his field of limited vision. "Under most circumstances, we would have waited until you regained consciousness to discuss the surgery, but we couldn't risk further damaging the tissues of your eyes. Your parents signed the consent forms since you were still underage during the time of the surgery. Speaking of which, happy belated eighteen birthday, Arnold."
"Uh, thank you…"
There was a light laughter from the disembodied voice. "How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself. Hello, Arnold, my name is Alice Monroe," a warm hand slipped into his and pumped it gently. "I'm your ophthalmologist."
"My opathwhatsit?"
Another tinkling laugh. "Your ophthalmologist; I performed the surgery on your eyes. I'm pleased to say that it was a complete success. We are, however, going to keep you for a few more days to reduce the risk of infection and to ensure that you respond appropriately to your medication. Also, I know you probably can't see anything concrete at the moment, but rest assure that that's completely normal. You'll be extremely sensitive to light for the first few weeks, so we're going to equip you with some specialized glasses that you're going to have to wear both indoors and outdoors. We also discourage over-exerting yourself for the next six weeks, so that means no extensive exercise or heavy lifting. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
Arnold paused for a moment, and then remembered an odd detail Dr. Monroe had let slip during her explanation. "You said that my corneas were replaced with donated ones right?"
"That's right." She answered.
"Doesn't the donation process take much longer than just three weeks? How did I manage to get these corneas so quickly?"
"Excellent question, Arnold. And you're right when you say that it usually takes much longer for compatible organs to be found, varying from weeks to months. With corneal transplants, however, we usually extract the needed parts from recently diseased individuals –" He shivered at the thought of having a dead person's eyes in his own. "– but the ones we had available weren't compatible. Luckily for you, someone graciously decided to donate their corneas to your cause. We ran a few tests and found that they were a perfect match."
"So, you mean that someone – someone who's still alive – decided to give me their corneas?" Arnold asked, completely disbelieving. The thought that someone out there had given away their sight to him, of all people, shook him to the core. "But, why would someone want to do that for me?"
His best friend scoffed at his reaction. "Are you kidding, man? You've helped out nearly everyone in the city with something or the other; whoever it was probably felt that it was their turn to help you after all the times you've helped them."
"To be honest, I was pretty shocked at the donation, as well." Dr. Benson admitted. "In all my years of practice, I never once had this happen. Dr. Monroe?"
The woman answered in similar terms. "Never. You must have done something incredibly kind to have received such an amazing gift, Arnold." She finished in a wistful tone.
The boy, in turn, was wracking his brain to determine if he had done anything to warrant such kindness. He couldn't think of a single person he had helped in the past who would make such a sacrifice. "Who was it, Dr. Monroe? I need to thank them somehow; let them know how grateful I am for what they did for me." At his side, he heard his parents' hum of accordance.
"I'm afraid I'm not liable to disclose that information." She said, sounding truly regretful. "Your donor was quite adamant that their identity be kept anonymous. If you'd like, we can set up a letter exchange between you two, but that's the best we can do, I'm afraid." Arnold mumbled his agreement, all the while thinking of how inadequate a letter seemed in terms of expressing his gratitude.
Dr. Benson's glob stood directly in front of him now. "I know it's a lot for you to take in all at once, but you've got a great support system behind you all the way. Dr. Monroe and I are just going to step out for a moment and talk to your parents for a moment, if you have no more questions. " After a grateful shake of their patient's head, the four adults left the room.
"You can take off if you need to, Gerald. You sound beat." Arnold encouraged with a smile, secretly hoping that his friend would decide to stay.
A screeching sound indicated to him that his best friend was pulling his chair closer to the bed. "Naw, man, we've been waiting weeks for you to wake up, so I'll stay if you're not too tired for company."
Relieved, Arnold replied, "I definitely need a friend right now, Gerald, so thanks." He heaved in a great breath and laid back comfortably on the pile of pillows behind him. "I can't believe this happened to me. It's like something straight out of a book."
"Tell me about it, man." Gerald expelled a heavy sigh, as well. "What I can't believe is that this happened to you, of all people. You're the nicest guy I know! Heck, you're probably the nicest guy in this whole city! Why couldn't it have happened to Wolfgang or something?" The top part of the disfigured splotch in front of him was rotating back and forth, and Arnold knew that Gerald having one of his infamous "Mmm mmm mmm!" moments. "Sid and Stinky are feeling awfully guilty over what happened, so don't be surprised if they come by to visit you every day."
"I hope they didn't get in too much trouble." Arnold said truthfully, knowing that any ruckus so close to graduation would be an ugly scar on their transcripts. At the thought, his eyes widened in realization. "Gerald! What day is it today?"
"July seventh. Why?"
Arnold groaned inwardly as his fears were confirmed. "I missed graduation." He murmured sadly. He was sorely disappointed to have missed such a significant milestone in his life and he was positive his parents were, too. After returning from their decade-long adventure at San Lorenzo, his parents strived to make up for the time they had lost, attending every baseball game and swim meet their son was in.
"And prom," his friend added regretfully. "But don't worry, buddy, you didn't miss much. Just the usual stuff, you know – Sid spiked the punch, Curly got kicked out for throwing paint bombs at Herald for asking Rhonda to be his date, and Eugene pissed off the entire decoration committee when he ripped off all the streamers during one of his accidents – so you see, man, no biggie."
"Still… I was really looking forward to going." Another daunting thought struck him. "Oh man, Gerald, what am I going to do about college? I can't miss out on that, too! Not with my scholarship and everything." The blond boy groaned at his misfortune, dreading the possibility that he may not be attending NYU in the fall.
"Don't you worry about that, son," Miles replied confidently as he and his wife stepped back into the room. "We contacted the administration and made them aware of your situation. You still have a spot reserved on the admission list, but I'm afraid that you won't be attending school until January. Dr. Monroe, as well as your mother and I, believe that it's best if you take the next few months to recuperate before heading back to school."
"Mr. Monroe also referred us to a therapist in Manhattan that's going to be helping you adjust to everything while you recover." Said Stella as she wrapped an arm around his broadened shoulders. "She mentioned to us earlier that your vision is going to be blurry for about three to six months, but with a little therapy, you should be able to be back on your feet in no time."
"So does that mean that I can still move to New York with Gerald and Phoebe in a few weeks?" For the first time that day, Arnold actually felt excited and hopeful. His entire being buzzed with anticipation and he felt like a child that had been given free range in a sweet shop.
His mother fed off his delight and continued with her news. "Maybe not so soon, but perhaps in a month or two. We couldn't keep your reservation on the dorm room you had applied for, but your father called in a few favours and managed to get us a great deal on an apartment just a couple blocks away from campus." She felt her son's anxiety physically dissolve when the tension in his upper body evaporated.
"You guys thought of everything." He thanked, feeling as if he had been relieved from an invisible weight on his shoulders.
Feather light lips brushed across his temple, warming his instantly. "We just want to make this change as seamless as possible, sweetie. We know that the last few weeks have been tough on you." Arnold revelled in the comfort of his parents and best friend, only to be interrupted by an apologetic nurse that informed them that visiting hours were over. After exchanging goodbyes and securing promises that they would return the following day, his exhaustion caught up to him. Too weary to fight off the fatigue urging his eyes close, he nodded off to sleep, his last thoughts on a faceless angel that gave him another chance at life.
Hello, everyone! So, this is my second attempt at writing a Hey, Arnold! fanfic. After getting such an amazing reception from my first HA story, I was really encouraged to write more. It's not going to be very long, probably around three chapters maximum.
I did do a lot of research on the topic of corneal grafting, and I do apologize if I got any of the information wrong. Please be aware that I'm not from the United States, so I've based a lot of details in this story on third-party information. For instance, I'm not quite sure what the legal age of personal consent is for medical procedures in the United Stated, but let's just say for all intents and purposes that it's eighteen. Also, I'm pretty sure that graduation and prom for typical American high schools was around mid- to end of June, but if that's incorrect, please forgive me.
Oh, and let's just pretend that Arnold's birthday is in June. I know that he mentions in "Married" that his birthday was on the 7th, but he didn't give a month. So, for the sake of the story, his birthday is June 7th.
Lastly, this story was – again – inspired by a pre-existing piece of work; this time, a music video a friend of mine showed me. If you recognize the plot, I ask that you please not spoil it. For those who don't and wish to see the music video, please don't hesitate to send me a request via personal message or review *hint hint* asking for a link, but note that I'm only going to send it after I post up the entire story so as to not ruin the ending.
Phew, that was a long author's note. I guess I'll shut up now, haha. Please review and tell me what you think so far!
~Ardie