Zoe details the multiple activities that take place on different days. Water polo, canoeing, volleyball, golf, and horseback riding are just the start of what’s on hand. A handful of kids are sitting under the trees and reading while most are splashing water in the lake.
Zoe is chatting about how Strawberry Fields caters for thirty kids when I stop, needing to catch my breath. She doesn’t realize until she turns and sees me leaning against a tree for support. “Oh, my god! Am I walking too fast? I’m so sorry.” She runs over, concerned.
“It’s okay. I just…my leg. It hurts sometimes.” My limp has returned since I stopped taking the drugs. Not as bad as before, but when I overdo it, it reminds me that it’s winning at life.
Seeing as Zoe and I will most likely be working together over the next three months, and I don’t have anything to hide, I see no point in being evasive. “So the answer to your question as to why I’m here…I have a brain tumor. Inoperable. I’ve tried many different drugs. Nothing worked except a trial drug, but that too ended up being bullshit.” I can’t help but be bitter. “The doctors said I could go at any time, but no one knows their fate.”
When Zoe blinks once, I quickly backtrack. “Sorry. That wasn’t incredibly depressing or anything. I just wanted to be honest.”
She wets her lips, shaking her head. “No, it’s not depressing. It’s uplifting and inspirational that you want to come here and share your experience with kids who could really use your strength. What you’re doing…you’re making a difference, and these kids will appreciate it, even if they don’t show it half the time.”
A baseball flies past our heads while she grins.
I’ve never been ashamed of my illness, which is why I decided to come here. Getting through to children who don’t understand why they’ve been dealt such a bad hand can be tough, and I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. But being able to relate to them by telling my story—I can only hope I’ll be there for them like Georgia was for me.
Zoe is clearly interested in what I just said, and I’m happy to tell her whatever she wants to know. “So you don’t take any pills? No chemo drugs?”
“No. I don’t see the point. They give me false hope. I’m on medication to control my seizures and migraines. They wanted me to take a mood stabilizer, but I’m not interested in living the rest of my short life as a zombie. But as far as drugs to help my condition, there aren’t any. I’ve tried them all. The limp comes and goes because the tumor is pressing against my frontal lobe, affecting my movement. And just for fun, my temporal lobe is also affected, and that’s why I s-stutter occasionally.” It kicks in right on cue.
Zoe is quiet, which is a first for her.
“I need a drink,” I say out loud, needing to lighten the mood. I didn’t come here for me. I came here to help others like me.
Zoe sniffs, before letting out a strangled laugh. “Me too.” The mood settles as we walk to the house.
“Zoe, I’ve been looking for you,” says a sweet voice. Up ahead, I see a slender girl in a wheelchair veer her way over to us.
“Cassandra.” Zoe smiles and throws her arms around her neck. “I want you to meet my new friend, Lola Van Allen.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cassandra.” I bend forward and shake her limp hand, which is curled by her side. Cassandra is almost completely paralyzed from the chest down. She controls her motorized wheelchair by a joystick with her left hand.
I don’t let that stop me from reaching out and touching her because she’s not a leper. None of us are.
Cassandra smiles, and the sight is truly beautiful.
“Who’s hungry? It’s almost time for lunch,” Zoe says.
My stomach growls at the mere mention of food. They turn to look at me and burst into fits of laughter. It’s nice to laugh. Zoe leads the way.
We enter the dining room, which looks like something out of a movie. A crystal chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. The sunlight drifting in from the copious windows sends mini rainbows across the room as it strikes each dangling gemstone. A vase of roses sits in the center of each table, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.