And I knew just how to do it.
A Poem about Jamie
By Maddy Madison
(Written during massive hospital boredom)
Jamie was the love of my life
Even when he almost had a wife
But then everything went kind of crazy
When that stupid bitch said she was having his baby
Now he says he loves me but is it right?
Or when junior is born will he leave me in the night?
I don’t want to let him break my heart
But at the same time it sucks to be apart
I love him more than the elks love the does
Which is why this whole thing blows
I wanted him to give me his ring
And have a wedding where Madonna would sing
But instead I’m stuck all alone
But at least with my new job I won’t have to take a loan
Boy, rhyming is hard—it ain’t easy
And I think this poem sounds pretty cheesy
But I don’t know how else to express
My very extreme unhappiness
Because I will love Jamie until the day I die
Oh great, now I am starting to cry
I’ll end this poem right here and now
And instead read the Wall Street Journal to look at the Dow
Chapter Nineteen
“How are you feeling?”
“Like hell.” Lulu said, as she lifted her right hand and placed it over mine. She looked pale and weak lying in her hospital bed. But she was alive. That was the important thing.
Early that morning, a nurse had found my family, uncomfortably napping in waiting room chairs. She informed us that Lulu had been released from the ICU. She was awake and talking. And, thank the Lord, she didn’t seem to have suffered too many permanent injuries. Her left side had slight nerve damage but doctors were confident that with intensive rehab she’d regain full bodily function within a few months.
I leapt out of my chair and hugged the doctor. Lulu was going to be okay! I wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time. At that moment, nothing in life mattered except this. My precious baby sister would live. Not only live—but be fine. Fine! She would be able to go to the prom, apply for college, graduate high school, meet a guy. Live happily ever after. Tears of relief streamed down my flushed cheeks as I released the doctor and shared hugs of joy with my mother, my father, and even Cindi with an “i”.
“She’s a very lucky little girl,” the gray-haired physician told us sternly after the hug fest had completed. “But if she doesn’t stay off the drugs, I can’t say she’ll do so well next time.”
The statement sobered our elation. Lulu was out of the frying pan, but still in the proverbial fire. Could she resist the drugs? I honestly didn’t know. But if there was any way I could help her, I would.
My mother and father had gone in to see her first, while Cindi and I waited in the lobby. Though my parents still looked a bit uncomfortable talking to each other, they’d bonded through this common adversity. Who knew, maybe someday they’d even form a weird sort of ex-spouse friendship. But even if they didn’t, both of them had learned an important lesson about responsibility. Neither would drop the parental ball when it came to Lulu again, that was for sure.
Visiting hours in her ward were short, so after about ten minutes my parents came out and said Lulu wanted to see me before her time was up.
Walking in and seeing her swaddled in hospital bedding, her skin porcelain white and her eyes hollow and vacant made me want to burst into tears. But I knew I had to be strong. For her sake and my own.
“I was so worried about you,” I said, stroking her forehead. “If I had lost you …” I found I couldn’t form the words I wanted to say. But she knew, of course.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m such a loser, huh?” Her mouth quirked up in a weak, self-deprecating grin. “You’re not a loser,” I replied, fiercely. “Drug addiction is a disease. Just like diabetes. You had a relapse. But you can beat this thing, I know you can.” Actually, I didn’t know any such thing, but I wasn’t about to let her in on that.
“I’m glad you think so,” she replied with a snort. “I, myself, am not so sure.” She gestured to her body with her good arm. “Look at me, lying here, sick as a dog, and I’m totally jonesing for more drugs. Even though I’m positive if I were to