Page 85 of The Forever Gift

I’m wobbly, trying to sit by myself for a few seconds. Mam places her hand on my shoulder and eases me back. When I’m supported by a mound of soft, fluffy pillows I realise how uncomfortable I’ve been all night.

‘Just for everything,’ I say.

‘Listen to me, Kayla.’ Mam suddenly becomes very serious and I think she’s about to cry. I wait for her to excuse herself for a second. She thinks I don’t notice when she goes outside the door to take some deep breaths or dry her eyes.

‘None of this is your fault. None of it.’

I want to believe Mam but I know itismy fault. If I’d just told Mam when my leg first started hurting last year my cancer wouldn’t have spread and I’d probably be better by now like some of the other kids here. But I was so obsessed with basketball. I didn’t want to miss a single game.Look at me now.I’ll never play a game again.And I’m starting to worry I might never even leave this room.

‘Some water?’ Mam asks.

‘I’m not really thirsty,’ I say, my eyelids starting to droop. I think I’m ready to go back to sleep.

‘Kayla, you really need to drink something.’

I pull a face.

‘You heard what the doctors said last night.’

I stare at Mam blankly. I don’t remember the doctors coming in and I definitely don’t remember them saying, ‘If she doesn’t drink orange juice, she has to drink water.’

Mam stops fidgeting and sits down again, taking my hand. She squeezes it gently.

‘What did the doctors say last night?’ I ask, not sure I really want to know.

‘Ah, you know, this and that.’

‘Mam. Please?’

‘It’s the chemo,’ Mam’s voice crackles. ‘The doctors aren’t happy with how it’s working. It’s making you really sick…’

‘Chemo makes everyone sick,’ I say, pausing to take some breaths as if I’m puffed out after scoring five baskets. ‘Sean threw his guts up in the games room a few days ago. It’s was so gross. All bile and carrots?—’

‘Kayla…’

‘Why are there always carrots in puke? Like, always. Even if you haven’t eaten carrots in ages, I just don’t get it?—’

‘Kayla,’ Mam repeats, gently.

I finally look up at Mam and her eyes are so serious and teary.

‘Kayla your kidneys are struggling,’ she finally says.

‘And…?’ I ask, not really that surprised. The other kids in the games room talk about stuff like this all the time. Everyone is affected in different ways. Everyone loses their hair like me, obviously, but one of the girls on the ward had blonde hair all her life but when it started to grow back after chemo it was black and curly. I thought it was nice but she was completely freaking out. And one of the younger kids is so skinny I’m afraid to touch her but she’s always so smiley and running around with lots of energy. I guess wonky kidneys is going to be my thing. I wonder if that means I’ll have to pee more, or maybe my pee will change colour – that would be weirdly cool. Maybe I should bring Mam down to meet some of the other kids. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind talking to her about how their treatment is going. It might help her to understand and freak out a bit less.

‘Kayla,’ Mam says again and I realise I’ve zoned out trying to think of everyone’s chemo schedule today and wondering who’ll be in the games room later for a game of Fortnite. I still haven’t got a win and it’s bloody mortifying. There’re six-year-olds kicking my arse for God’s sake.

‘Kayla, sweetheart, the doctor’s want to stop the chemo,’ Mam whispers.

‘Oh my God, really?’ I say, suddenly more energetic than I have been in days. ‘Really? Really?’

Mam shakes her head.

‘What?’ I ask. ‘This is good news. I mean chemo is over. I think we can deal with all the kidney stuff as an outpatient. The girl with the blonde-now-black hair only comes in once a week or something like that now.’

Mam’s face is blank.

‘It means we can go home soon, right?’ I ask, scared that the doctors are talking to Mam about serious stuff and leaving me out of the conversation.It’s always bad when they leave me out of the conversation.

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