Operation Beautiful

I re-enter the hospital room. Everyone’s crowded around the bed, talking and laughing.

“How do you feel?” I ask, slipping into an empty spot by Emmaleigh.

“If someone asks me that one more time--” she threatens.

“How are you feeling?” A happy, bumbling nurse asks, opening the door. I just laugh and Emmaleigh blushes. The nurse fiddles with the IV.

“Dear, I’m going to have to check your blood sugar again.”

“Okay,” Emmaleigh says. But when that pen-like device comes out, she winces. Jessica leans over to grab her friend’s hand as Emmaleigh forces herself to watch. Everyone is quiet. The nurse presses down on the pen and Emmaleigh jumps slightly. Then the nurse squeezes a little, creating the smallest droplet of blood. She whips another device out of her pocket and places the blood on a small landing-strip like thing attached to the front.

“You’re a still little high,” says the nurse, looking at the display. “But that’s normal since you ate only a couple hours ago.” She fiddles with the IV bag again and then brings out a syringe. Emmaleigh’s eyes grow wide. “You did this after dinner,” the nurse says kindly. “It’s nothing new. Relax.”

Everyone but Jessica turns away to give Emmaleigh privacy as the nurse removes the blanket to inject the insulin into Emmaleigh’s stomach. Jessica grips her friend’s hand tightly.

“Okay. All done. Visiting hours are over, so I’ll need to ask everyone to leave. There’s room for maybe a person or two to stay, but that’s it. Oh. And I need someone to fill out the registration forms.”

Everyone says their goodbyes and files out, leaving Matt, Jessica and I staring at one another. Matt is silent for a long moment, counting something on his fingers and looking around the room.

“Jess,” he says finally, “you come with me. Corey, stay here with Emma.”

“I’m staying, too,” Jessica says, determined.

“No, you’re not,” Matt says, just as sternly.

“Matt this isn’t time for you to play matchmaker! Emma needs me!” The fact that Emmaleigh and I are still in the room makes this awkward.

“I’m not playing matchmaker,” Matt hisses. “I’m being realistic. There’s only one couch. Where will you sleep?”

“The bed,” Jessica replies without hesitation, despite the small size of the furniture in question.

“Oh? And risk yanking the IV out of Emma’s arm in your sleep?” he asks coldly.

“I wouldn’t--”

"Just look at that thing!" Matt snaps. We all turn to stare at the bed. It's maybe a foot wider than Emmaleigh, but that's about it. "There's not way the two of you could fit on that bed unless you were both turned sideways. And with Emma's IV in, that's not going to happen."

"But why does Corey get to stay?"

“Because," Matt says. "I need to go fill out as much of the registration stuff as I can. Then I need to find some way to contact Emma’s parents and call ours tomorrow. Can Corey do all that? No.”

The comment stings slightly, but I don’t cut in.

“I have to leave and there isn’t room for you here,” Matt finishes. “We’ll come back tomorrow, but right now we need to go home.”

Jessica turns and gives Emmaleigh a careful hug. “Bye,” she says quietly.

“Dude,” I tell Matt as the two of us stand by the door. “This is going to be extremely awkward.”

“Suck it up,” he says. His voice is tired and I can see the strain and worry in his eyes. “This is what we have to do.”

They leave and there’s an awkward silence between me and Emmaleigh. I sit down on the couch and she lies still on the bed.

“I think my iPod is on that table over there. Could you hand it to me?” she asks finally. I hand it to her and she settles down to sleep.

“Goodnight, Emmaleigh.”
“Goodnight.”

But it’s not a good night. Every few hours the nurse comes in and checks her blood sugar. I don’t make any noises, so she thinks I’m asleep, but at about three in the morning, just after the nurse shuts the door, I hear a soft sniffle.

“Emmaleigh?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead the sniffles get a little louder. I move over to the bed.

“Which side is your IV on?” I ask. She pokes me with one hand and I sit on the opposite side. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Stop asking that,” she says, her voice breaking. “What do you think?” I slide into bed next to her, moving so she’s leaning with her back against my chest. Despite the fact that she's lying partially on top of me, I'm still a sneeze away from falling off the bed. Perhaps I should have slipped in sideways.

“I’m sorry.”

She nods and wipes her eyes with her non-IV-ed hand. A few tears fall onto my shirt. I turn sideways and wrap my arms around her, keeping her straight on her back so the IV doesn’t move around. Her head falls into my chest, her hair covering her face. I move it away with one hand and wipe her tears.

“I-Is it going to be like this for the rest of my life?” she asks, sobbing now.

I desperately want to say it won’t, but I honestly don’t know. I don’t know anything about diabetes. “I don’t know.”

Her body shakes a little as she tries to steady her breathing. “Could you not be so honest right now?” Her voice is high pitched and watery. I grip her tighter, trying not to lose control of my own emotions.

“Emmaleigh, I don’t know diabetes from cancer, but everyone is going to work hard to make sure it’s not like this for the rest of your life. And that’s not a lie, either.” I hug her closer in a dual attempt to comfort her and prevent myself from falling off the bed.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

There’s silence and she sniffs a little. “Hey, Corey?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you call me Emmaleigh?”

“Well, I don’t really know you that...” I trail off as I realize that tutoring someone for a few weeks and holding them while they cry means that you do know them pretty well. “I suppose I could try to shorten it,” I say finally.

“Try,” she says, leaning into me as much as the IV will let her.

I try. “Uh...Emma?”

She giggles. “That sounds so awkward coming from you.”

“I does,” I say sheepishly. “Don’t worry. I’ll come up with some nickname.”

“Good,” she says. “Because the only person who ever calls me ‘Emmaleigh’ is my grandmother.”

“Ah. As charming a woman as she must be, I don’t really think I’m...like that,” I say, trying to make her giggle again. It works.

“No. No, you’re not.”

“Goodnight, Em.”

I feel her smile. “Goodnight.”