Trust And Hope

Chapter 18

I sat in my wheelchair, balancing a bowl of cereal with milk in my lap. My leg had decided to hurt that day, and I couldn't handle crutches. To my left, lounging on the couch were Gabby and Sadie, watching Liv and Maddie on Disney Channel. I tried to tune out the incessant "Bam whats" that I had to admit I was obsessed with at Gabby's age. But I'm fourteen and the "Bam whats" are exceedingly annoying and the whole Liv and Maddie being twins doesn't feel great to me.

So I sat there eating cereal and petting Shasta, who laid at my feet like she always did in the mornings.

The show ended and Sadie scrolled through our Netflix, no doubt looking for Julie and The Phantoms. She stopped and looked at me. "Did you want to look?"

I held out my hand for the remote and she deposited it in my hand. I scrolled through and clicked on Stranger Things, earning a groan from both Sadie and Gabby. I didn't care. 

Just as I turned it on, Mom and Dad walked in, turning off the TV.

I frowned. "Oh come on! I had to watch two episodes of Liv and Maddie and one episode of Austin and Ally for that!" I complained.

"Sorry, sweetie," Mom said, not looking sorry at all. She and Dad sat down. "So we were thinking."

"About what?" Sadie asked skeptically.

"Do you girls want to go to the mall today?" Mom asked. "We didn't get to go back to school shopping since Richelle was in the chemo, but we have the chance now since we're all more or less back to normal. Do you want to go back to school shopping?"

Gabby and Sadie's eyes went wide. "Yes!"

"Awesome," Mom said. "Then get ready."

We spent the entire day at Penn Square Mall, going from shop to shop, accumulating so many bags, they started hanging them off of my wheelchair.

We'd been at the mall for about three hours. I winced as phantom pain began to spiral down my leg. It felt like someone had started slowly shoving a piece of metal into my big toe. I resisted the impulse to cry out like I had for the first month after amputation.

"Hey girl," Mom said, putting her hands on my shoulders. "You good?"

I looked up and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?" Mom asked, her brow furrowing.

I nodded again. "Yeah."

Mom looked skeptical, but she nodded. "Okay. As long as you're not in pain."

That was everyone's question  these days. Doctors, nurses, parents, teachers, siblings.

It was all 'how are you doing?' with a forlorn look at my leg or 'does it hurt?' or sometimes the occasional 'what does it feel like to have one leg?' To that one, I'd always reply, 'what does it feel like to have two legs?' I didn't know what it felt like to have one leg. Sometimes it felt eh, sometimes it felt okay.

Sometimes I woke up after a good dream, threw off the covers, looked down and was like, 'oh look, one leg, where'd that come from?' Then I'd see the crutches  and the wheelchair beside my bed and I'd remember it all. Sometimes I was like, 'fine, universe, if this is my life, I'll live it' and other times I'd just sit down and have a good cry before everyone got up and started their day.

Why? Because, with one leg and an osteosarcoma survivor poster above my bed, I was allowed to do that and no one would question it. They'd just give me a pitying look, mutter 'it's so sad' and get on with their day.

I liked being invisible before. I liked being unseen and just recording conversations when no one noticed me. I can't do that anymore because it seems like everyone notices me whether I want them to or not. It sucks.