bad.”
Story. Of. My. Life. I rack my brain to figure out Giana’s vague puzzle. “Is it her or the baby?”
“It’s the baby.”
Ugh. She’s killing me. Not literally, but I can see this isn’t the time to get any real answers.
“Can I ask you something, Kate?”
I take a sip of water to finish my lunch. “Sure.”
“Why didn’t you answer the question at the party the other night?”
My hand tightens around the bottle. If I knew everyone was going to ask me about it anyway, I would’ve answered it the first time. At least then I wouldn’t have to go through this over and over again. And the strange kid two tables from me wouldn’t be puckering his lips in a mock kiss either.
Do I ever think about death? Definitely. Every night when I go to sleep. And every morning I think about life. They go hand in hand. But how am I going to focus on being happier? What’s the key behind not thinking about death and just focusing on real life every second of the day? That morning when I was so focused on Giana, I forgot about my problems. Maybe that’s the key.
And maybe answering this question for Giana will help her with whatever it is she’s going through. I set my water bottle down and look her in the eye. “I didn’t answer because it’s something I think about all the time. And it scares me.”
Giana sits up straighter. “Really?”
I nod.
She lifts her hands and I can see a surge of emotion choking her. “ Why?”
My pulse beats hard in my neck and I think of the best way to answer without telling too much. “It’s going to happen to everyone eventually.”
Tears pool in Giana’s eyes and she swipes her cheek with her palm. She sniffs back more tears and as much as I don’t want her to cry again, it’s too late. She responds through her sadness. “I suppose some will face it earlier than others.”
I stare at the tabletop and try not to think too hard about what she’s saying. It’s something that has been on my mind since I was old enough to understand the details of my disease.
Suddenly, she cries, “Oh, Ava.”
I touch her shoulder. “Is that the baby’s name?”
She nods and I find a tissue in my pocket to give her. She blows her nose and says, “My sister found out the other day that her baby has something called cystic fibrosis.”
It’s not possible. It’s too rare. This can’t be happening. My world is crashing. My heart is breaking. A thousand feelings burst within me and I can’t hold them back any longer. I’m scared for the little girl, hate that there’s no cure, and my heart aches when I think about her upcoming treatments and hospital visits—but somewhere in there I know she’ll be okay. She’ll have a special relationship with those closest to her.
The connection with my mom is one that I can never take for granted. I close my eyes and let her years of love bring me peace. Giana’s niece will be okay. I am okay. One day there will be a cure and until then, the only thing we can do is help each other.
For that one reason, I open my eyes and wrap an arm around Giana. She shakes with a sob and I tell her, “It will be okay.”
“But Mom said her great aunt had it too.”
It m akes sense since it’s hereditary. Two recessive genes equal one terrible disease.
Giana hiccups. “And her great aunt died when she was two.”
“That was a long time ago. Your niece will live longer.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
So many what-ifs. That’s the dark cloud around CF. No cure, just a bunch of hopeful dreams. But it’s those dreams that keep us going, giving us something to look forward to—like climbing the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. I lick my lips and offer a weak smile. “They probably caught the disease early enough that there isn’t any major damage done to her body yet. Now that they know she has it, they have lots of treatments and medicines that will help her. She could live to be in her late thirties. And if they find a cure, maybe
Story. Of. My. Life. I rack my brain to figure out Giana’s vague puzzle. “Is it her or the baby?”
“It’s the baby.”
Ugh. She’s killing me. Not literally, but I can see this isn’t the time to get any real answers.
“Can I ask you something, Kate?”
I take a sip of water to finish my lunch. “Sure.”
“Why didn’t you answer the question at the party the other night?”
My hand tightens around the bottle. If I knew everyone was going to ask me about it anyway, I would’ve answered it the first time. At least then I wouldn’t have to go through this over and over again. And the strange kid two tables from me wouldn’t be puckering his lips in a mock kiss either.
Do I ever think about death? Definitely. Every night when I go to sleep. And every morning I think about life. They go hand in hand. But how am I going to focus on being happier? What’s the key behind not thinking about death and just focusing on real life every second of the day? That morning when I was so focused on Giana, I forgot about my problems. Maybe that’s the key.
And maybe answering this question for Giana will help her with whatever it is she’s going through. I set my water bottle down and look her in the eye. “I didn’t answer because it’s something I think about all the time. And it scares me.”
Giana sits up straighter. “Really?”
I nod.
She lifts her hands and I can see a surge of emotion choking her. “ Why?”
My pulse beats hard in my neck and I think of the best way to answer without telling too much. “It’s going to happen to everyone eventually.”
Tears pool in Giana’s eyes and she swipes her cheek with her palm. She sniffs back more tears and as much as I don’t want her to cry again, it’s too late. She responds through her sadness. “I suppose some will face it earlier than others.”
I stare at the tabletop and try not to think too hard about what she’s saying. It’s something that has been on my mind since I was old enough to understand the details of my disease.
Suddenly, she cries, “Oh, Ava.”
I touch her shoulder. “Is that the baby’s name?”
She nods and I find a tissue in my pocket to give her. She blows her nose and says, “My sister found out the other day that her baby has something called cystic fibrosis.”
It’s not possible. It’s too rare. This can’t be happening. My world is crashing. My heart is breaking. A thousand feelings burst within me and I can’t hold them back any longer. I’m scared for the little girl, hate that there’s no cure, and my heart aches when I think about her upcoming treatments and hospital visits—but somewhere in there I know she’ll be okay. She’ll have a special relationship with those closest to her.
The connection with my mom is one that I can never take for granted. I close my eyes and let her years of love bring me peace. Giana’s niece will be okay. I am okay. One day there will be a cure and until then, the only thing we can do is help each other.
For that one reason, I open my eyes and wrap an arm around Giana. She shakes with a sob and I tell her, “It will be okay.”
“But Mom said her great aunt had it too.”
It m akes sense since it’s hereditary. Two recessive genes equal one terrible disease.
Giana hiccups. “And her great aunt died when she was two.”
“That was a long time ago. Your niece will live longer.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
So many what-ifs. That’s the dark cloud around CF. No cure, just a bunch of hopeful dreams. But it’s those dreams that keep us going, giving us something to look forward to—like climbing the stairs of the Eiffel Tower. I lick my lips and offer a weak smile. “They probably caught the disease early enough that there isn’t any major damage done to her body yet. Now that they know she has it, they have lots of treatments and medicines that will help her. She could live to be in her late thirties. And if they find a cure, maybe
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