It was still bright when I next woke up. But after all that I’ve been through for the past few months, I can never be too fast to assume that it’s still the same day that I last fell asleep on. I picked up the digital watch set on my bedside table, and took a quick glance at the date. True enough, I have been sleeping for the past 16 hours.

“Weird, Sister Camille didn’t wake me up for my medications...?” I thought to myself. Then again, she might’ve done so, but it was either I was too tired to notice that I downed the pills, or I couldn’t be bothered to wake up at all. Shrugging, I lay back on the bed and continued gazing at the snow outside.

It was then that I heard some voices coming from the door. It didn’t even take a minute for me to recognize that my mom and my oncologist, Dr. Stewart, were having a conversation outside. He must’ve just came in and gave me a routine check-up. I silently got off my bed, slipped into my bedroom slippers, and walked to the door to listen in on their exchange of words.

“How is she...?”

“Hmm... How should I tell you this...?” Dr. Stewart said. I grinned as I could vaguely picture him with his eyebrows creased, and his right hand will be either ruffling his graying hair or rubbing his chin. Oh, he would be biting on his spectacle frame as well. It doesn’t take much for me to notice his subtle habits.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Andrews, I’m going to be frank with you, but you will have to be fully prepared to listen what I’m going to tell you.” He paused, and I assumed that mom gave him a slight nod because he continued without any input from her from what I hear. “Tessa doesn’t have long to live – at most until the end of winter.”

I heard mom gasp, and Dr. Stewart shouting “Mrs. Andrews!”, accompanied by some scuffling sounds. Did mom... faint? I was so tempted to open the door to see what on earth happened on the other side of the door, but I can’t let them find out that I was listening, since there is a point for them to speak outside the room with low voices after all. I can just imagine how morbid it would be if a 13-year-old found out that she was going to breathe her last when she’s not supposed to.

Wait... I’m... going to die...?

The words that came out from Dr. Stewart’s mouth began to sink in. I leaned against the door for support, but my legs still failed me and I slid down the entire length of the door and sat on the floor of the ward with my knees buckled together. My mind went completely blank. Without knowing it, tears began flowing like water from a running tap down my cheeks, staining my nightgown which felt wet and cold against my already ice-cold skin.

I wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my head on my knees as I rocked back and forth on the floor, thinking how much time I have left. It’s been a month since winter started, which means I have precisely two more months to live.

It’s not fair, I thought. There are still so many things I yearn to do, so many places I want to go. I can’t die so soon! I don’t want to die so soon!

As I was deeply immersed in my thoughts, someone opened the door, albeit unsuccessfully because I was still planted in front of the door. I numbly removed myself from the position to sit beside the sink which was just several centimeters away, and from my perspective, someone wearing white shoes walked in. It was the nurse, no doubt, trying to give me medications that won’t change the fact that I’m still going to die anyway.

“Oh my God, dearie! Why are you not on your bed?! And all drenched at that! Are you okay?! Did you lose your balance while trying to wash your hands?” I swear Sister Camille would’ve screeched if I wasn’t having this incurable disease. I didn’t feel like talking, so I just kept quiet as I remained in my curled up posture.

And suddenly I was lifted off from the floor. It surprised me, yes, but I guess I should’ve anticipated that I was so light that I’d be swept off my feet by a gust of wind, judging by my tiny, shrunken frame. Sister Camille fussed over me as if she was my mother, changing me into dryer clothes and covering the blanket over me. I never realised that the room was so chilly, as I had left the window open earlier and it had started snowing again.

“Do you want me to close this?” Sister Camille gestured towards the opened window. I merely shook my head.

“Okay, press the buzzer if you change your mind later on, alright? And don’t wander away from your bed unnecessarily. You know how frail you are.” She patted my head, and left the room once again once I’ve taken my medication.

Great, I’m a prisoner confined to my bed, I scoffed.

Dr. Stewart then came in, and tried to strike up a light conversation, and my mind starts wondering whether he’ll be breaking the news to me now. Not that I haven’t found out yet.

“Hey, how are you feeling today?” he smiled warmly as usual. His face didn’t even show the slightest hint to me that I was going to die soon.

“As crappy as ever.” I retorted.

“Aww, don’t say that my dear. You’ll be feeling better in no time, just be a little more optimistic.” He still smiled as he went on with the routine examinations.

“Yeah, the day I feel better will be the day I die, won’t it, Dr. Stewart?” I accidently let slip that I found out about my soon-to-come death in a stone-cold voice. He dropped the pen that he was using to jot down some notes on the progress chart that was hung at the end of my bed.

“Don’t be silly, Tessa. What makes you think that way?” he raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I heard... you and mom talking outside just a moment ago...” my voice trailed off as tears started trickling down my cheeks. Looks like I was wrong about me being prepared to die. It was then that Dr. Stewart finally sighed and sat on my bed, and he placed his warm hands on my cold one which was grasping the bedspread tightly.

“I’m sorry, Tessa. I knew I’ve told you that I’ll try my best to save you from this disease... but it seems that I have failed in doing so...”

“No, it’s not your fault, Dr. Stewart. It’s just that I was destined to die early.” I shook my head. I myself knew best that he has tried everything he could to cure me, but what could a mere human do when God himself wants me to die at 13?

“You sure are one tough kid, you know? Not many would stay this calm when they’ve heard that they’re going to breath their last soon, not even adults.” He smiled bitterly at me. I just shrugged.

“Well, do you have anything you’d like then? That’s the least I could do for you now.”

I pondered deeply for a short moment before breaking the silence. “Do you think... you could get me off the medications? I really, really hate them...”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tessa. These drugs may have the potential of curing you, or at least prolong your life.”

“If they could actually work properly, wouldn’t they have done their magic already?” I pouted.

Dr. Stewart smiled as he said, “There are some circumstances where they’ve worked before, so I can’t discount that fact. Something else?”

“Then can I please be allowed to go out of the room and stay in the garden every day until I get tired?”

“Now that’s a more reasonable demand. I think that letting you out of the room once in a while instead of having you face the four walls would do you some good. However, you’d have to wear plenty of thick clothing since it’s so cold out there. Can I have your promise on that?” he looked at me sternly, though I know he’s only faking it.

“Yes sir!” I grinned widely. At least I won’t have to live the final days of my life as a prisoner in a hospital room.

“Good. Now go get some rest alright? I’m sure you’ve had one hell of a day.” He patted my head, then stood up and left the room. And I slowly drifted to sleep as I’ve pondered about tomorrow.





TO BE CONTINUED...