Augustus died six months ago. It was hard not spending time with him in the Literal Heart of Jesus with a metaphorical cigarette hanging out of his mouth, but I tried not to dwell on it so I wouldn't seem too depressed. Classes at MCC had started up again and they were a good distraction, though every time we read a good poem, I wished that I could recite it for him, no matter how awkward I felt when I did it. My parents attempted to distract me from his death even more, but the slightly desperate attempts had more of an opposite effect. Even Kaitlyn made and effort to spend more time with me, even though no one is a good replacement for Augustus Waters.
One afternoon, I was reading the eulogy Augustus wrote for me for about the hundredth time, when it felt like a nuclear explosion went off inside my head. The pain was so intense that I couldn't comprehend that it was probably due to lack of oxygenation. I screamed for my mom who immediately flew into a flurry of panic, helping me to the car while calling my dad to meet us at the hospital. Mom drove at the speed of a NASCAR driver while I rested my head on the backseat and wished that I could pass out. Or die. Anything to escape the unbearable pain.
When I woke up in the hospital, I was entangled in the usual tubing that came with having liquid pumped out of your lungs and oxygen pumped into them. It took a moment to recognize it was the ICU because usually I was not allowed visitors all the time and Mom and Dad were standing next to the bed looking like their daughter was about to die, which with me, was probably the case.
"Honey, they've noticed something different with your tumor. Dr. Maria isn't positive, but she thinks it may have grown," Dad said. He covered his face so I wouldn't see him cry, but I knew the shrapnel-tears were pouring down his face and I couldn't help thinking that I was a grenade. Now the pin was pulled. Miracle drugs can't save a hopeless case forever.
"So are they keeping me here?" I asked.
"Well now that you're awake they're going to move you to a different room, but they're keeping you in the hospital," Mom replied. My parents were making an exhausting effort to keep it together for my sake. Even without my parents grief and my oncoming death, a pang of sadness hit me when I realized that the last time I was here, Augustus was in the waiting room. He even snuck in to watch me in my passed out state. But there was no Augustus this time.
My mom reached over and pressed the red call button and a youthful nurse as well as Regular Dr. Jim strode into the room. They asked me how I was feeling and I told them I was just fine because life is swell when you have crap lungs and a growing tumor. They the proceeded to wheel my hospital bed, complete with beeping machines through the hospital to where my new room was.
Like many of the rooms at Children's, the walls were painted with a scene of a horse farm, but instead of making me feel better, it just reminded me that I was stuck in a hospital room while they were roaming in an imaginary pasture. It's a sick joke really, because they're supposed to be a metaphor for the freedom we'll have when we get cured but there's no chance that my tumor will die without killing me too. There was a knock at the door and Mom opened it to reveal Dr. Maria.
"Hello, Hazel. I assume that you've heard that we suspect that your tumor may have grown," she said. I nodded. "We want to run another PET scan just to make sure, so we are going to do that now if you don't mind." How could I mind? She and some nurses wheeled my bed to where I would get the PET scan. If the tumor were growing, that would mean that death was near for me. The funny thing was, I couldn't get too upset about it because maybe, just maybe I'd get to be with Augustus again. It was a silly thought, but it was my only hope as they set up the scanning machine.