Mark would do anything for his girlfriend Sarah, but he never realized that the running prank that Sarah and her sister would pull on him by painting his nails blue when he fell asleep would lead to a whole new way of life!   Blue Nails by Emmie Dee Copyright © 2000, 2010 by Emmie Dee All Rights Reserved.

Chapter 1

Tuesday, June 17

NOW AND THEN

I just can’t start this story with today. There’s too much background you have to know first.

We were sitting on the big sandstone outcropping at the scenic pullover on the old state road, looking down over the valley. It was a sunny crisp Saturday last October. We just sat and held hands. Then we spoke.

"I will always love you, Sarah Beth Holding."

"I will always love you, Mark Andrew Jansen."

Since then, we have said to that each other just about every day. And we believe it. Hopeless romantics, I know. I didn’t realize, though, what we would have to go through between then and now, and how that love would be tested in some tough ways, ways that would change us forever. There would be lots of laughs, but more tears. Through it all, our love for each other has grown stronger.

As I sat here, trying to think of how to start this journal, I knew it had to start with that October day. Without it, the rest of the story wouldn’t make much sense. I don’t have much to do in the evenings, so I thought it would be a good time to preserve these memories. Maybe someday, if things work out like I hope, our kids will laugh and cry to read them, and it will make them happy to know how much their parents love each other. Maybe if the worst comes about, I’ll find comfort and memory in them in my lonely old age. But the love for one another will still be alive. So here I begin the rest of the story. Now, my long, bright blue, acrylic airbrushed fingernails click on the keys. I reach up with one of those nails to tug some strands of curly blond hair away from my eye, and pat it back into place. My hands still in my hair, I pull out the long ribbon that winds through the curls and lay it on the table for the night. That done, I look down past my Minnie Mouse tee, toward my laptop computer sitting appropriately on my laptop, partially covering my pink shorts. I stretch out my legs and see my darker blue toenails and toe ring. I look over at my love, stretched out in bed, sleeping soundly at 8 PM, exhausted after a long day of therapy and chemo. I smile, just glad to be here.

If someone else ever reads this, it may surprise you to know that I am Mark Jansen. Sarah Holding is the one asleep. Why do I look the way I do? You’ll find out later. I have to go to sleep myself, now.

THEN

Sarah and I have always been friends. We used to live in the same neighborhood and have always gone to the same school. We even go to the same church together. Like Corey and Topanga on Boy Meets World, we’ve just always felt that we were always going to be together. We both just finished our junior year of high school. We’re just ordinary kids, the kind that blend into the crowd at high school. I’m 17 and she’s 16, we’re not officially engaged or anything, but we’ve both assumed for years that down the road, after college probably, we’ll be married, and we will stay married until we die, and we’ll raise lots of cute and funny kids. Funny thing about assumptions, though. Things happen that you never anticipate. Like her getting cancer. Like me being here with her, pretending to the world that I’m her sister.

Her sister, by the way, is Julie Annette Holding. Julie’s 18, and just graduated from high school. ,At 5’9" she is just about my height, and about four inches taller than her younger sister. She’s a jock, or jockette, and was one of our school’s better basketball players and track athletes. To keep herself in shape between sports seasons, she races bicycles. Actually, so do I. We’re on the same racing team, the Ocelots. Lots of people who see us bicycle racing, or at school, think we’re brother and sister.

The area where we practiced and raced our bicycles was near the Holding house, so it was convenient for me to go there after school, and for Julie and me to go biking. My parents both work in an electronics factory here, and don’t get home until nearly 6 each evening. Mr. Holding drives a truck and Mrs. Holding works at the same factory as my folks, but has an earlier shift, so she is home by the time we get home from school. So both sets of parents were happier with Sarah and I being together with people around at her house than alone at my house, even though we’re pretty trustworthy kids, by and large. Anyway, Julie and I always tease each other and give each other a hard time. I kidded both the girls about having a nail fetish. Julie would wear hers short, but always painted, during basketball season, but get long claws put on the rest of the year. Sarah didn’t wear hers long, but they were always nicely groomed, and the two girls were always doing each others nails. Julie even works part time as a receptionist in a nail salon.

One day last fall, when I arrived at their house, both girls had their nails painted bright blue. I teased them about having circulation problems–perhaps I carried on too much about it, but that was the mood I was in. Later, as was my habit, I fell asleep in their easy chair. I didn’t discover until I got home later that night, after bike racing, supper, and homework, that they had slipped my socks off and painted my toenails blue, then put my socks back on after they had dried! I had thought I felt Sarah massaging my feet while I was dozing, which felt kind of good, and I didn’t think anything about it until that night. My mom doesn’t do her nails, so I had to wait until the next afternoon at the Holding’s house to get at some nail polish remover. Good thing I didn’t have PE that day! Of course, since it got a big rise out of me, they had to do it again. And again. It wouldn’t happen for several weeks, and when I’d just about think they outgrew it, bang. Blue nails. Sometimes toenails, sometimes fingernails. Always blue, no matter what color polish they were wearing.

A couple of months ago, I said that I would be glad when that bottle ran empty. Julie gave me an evil grin and said they had already brought a new bottle, just for me. See, doesn’t that prove they have a nail fetish? Of course, I played a few good tricks on Julie, too, but we won’t get into those here.

One day, I was dressed in my racing togs and had a bandana on top of my head to cushion my helmet and catch sweat. She had painted my fingernails while I napped, and now she looked me over, up and down, from my shaved biker’s legs to my blue nails to my bandana, and said, "You really ought to let us dress you up as a girl sometime. You could almost pass as one right now." Sarah had the nerve to agree. "You’d be totally cute," she said.

My jaw dropped. "Now listen," I said, "Don’t go there. I’m a guy, and that’s fine with me. I don’t want to end up on the Jerry Springer episode of ‘Guys who get dressed up as girls by their girlfriend’s sisters.’"

"I’d help dress you up, too, if you’d let us. It would be fun." Sarah grinned mischievously. I love the way the freckles on her cheeks seem to move when she smiles. "Since you’re an only child, I guess you never played dress-up as a kid, huh? Seriously, you would look kind of cute. How about Halloween?"

"No, I never dressed as a girl at home, or on Halloween," I replied uncomfortably. I hadn’t even thought about it before, but deep down, the idea kind of intrigued me. I’d never admit it, though. I have sort of an ordinary face, not too soft but not ruggedly masculine, either, so I suppose I would look alright.

"No," Julie said, "I wasn’t asking about your past. I meant, how about we dress you up next Halloween?"

I sort of agreed, "Well, maybe. I’ll think about it." I wanted to get them off this subject. I was blushing.

"We’ll come up with a costume," Julie grinned. "Something that will go with blue nail polish. You’ll be really foxy!" What chance does a guy have, blindsided between two women, one of whom he loves madly? Maybe they’d forget about it. Not likely, though.

NOW AGAIN

So here I am in costume, and it’s months from Halloween. Hope Haven is a residence center for sick kids who get treatment at the children’s hospital in our state, and for their family members. It’s our new home away from home. It’s a cool place in some ways, kind of scary in others. Why am I here? I’m a family member–sort of. I’ll get to that. Right now, I’m tired and want to get into my nightgown. Geesh. I never thought I’d be the type to wear a pink nightie.

Wednesday, June 18

Our fourth evening here, Sara’s second straight day of chemo. Thank heavens that from now on she only has chemotherapy on MWF. No hurling yet, but you can tell it takes about everything out of her. Today, I’m wearing a matching yellow short and top set. But let’s catch up on the past some more. Sarah didn’t even stay up for supper, so I have the whole evening to write. Maybe I can get things caught up to date.

THE BREAK

About two weeks after the girls had offered to give me a Halloween makeover, on a bright spring Day, our world began to fall apart. Sarah and I had biked out to the same overlook where we first said "I will love you forever." Again we sat there, ate a snack and sipped pop, and generally daydreamed and talked and kissed. When it was nearly time to start home, I slid off the rock ledge down onto the parking lot, about an eighteen inch drop. I held my hand out for Sara. She took my hand and jumped down, but as she landed, her right leg collapsed out from under her, and she went down, me hanging on to her, trying to help her keep her balance. I thought I heard a snapping noise. Sara’s face contorted and she shrieked. "Mark! My leg! I think it’s broken, clear up on my thigh." She’d been complaining about pains in her thigh, but the doctor had assumed it was just tight muscles. Now her leg was bent at a weird angle. What could we do? It was ten miles back to town. Fortunately, some tourists from Nebraska pulled in with their minivan. I flagged them down, and they used their cell phone to call the ambulance.

"It’ll be okay, don’t worry, they’ll fix it up," I chattered nervously, holding her hand. Tears ran down her face. She cried, "I never had anything hurt like this." It seemed like hours before the ambulance came. The nice people in the minivan followed, bringing our bikes. As we entered the emergency room, they took her back for x-rays. I told the staff what had happened, and then I called her family. Soon her mom and sister were there with me.

Finally Doctor Phillips came out, a worried look on his face. "She has a nasty break of her right femur, not at all consistent with such a short fall. Are you sure nothing else happened?" I insisted that nothing had, other than the bike ride. I told about her earlier complaints of a sore thigh. "We were able to set the bone temporarily so it won’t do any more damage, but there are some things on the x-rays that we don’t like. She really needs to be seen by some pediatric orthopedics specialists at the university hospitals. I’d recommend the helicopter ambulance. There’s too much potential for damage if we try to deal with it here, and I have concerns that something more serious may be involved."

Within an hour, my sedated girl friend was flying the ninety miles to our state university city, with her mom and sister with her. I drove the ninety miles in my old jeep.

I finally tracked down her family in the operating waiting room at the children’s hospital next to the big university hospital. None of us could figure out how her leg would break so easily. After what seemed like hours and hours, a doctor came out in scrubs, and she ushered us into a tiny visiting room. "I’m Dr. Wilcox, chief of pediatric orthopedics. Sara’s still on the operating table, but I need to talk with you before we go on. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the leg broke because of a large bone tumor. It will be examined more closely in the labs, but I would be surprised if it wasn’t malignant." At that, we all lost it.

"Please," she said. "Things aren’t as bad as they might seem. A few years ago, this would have meant an automatic amputation, partly to keep the cancer from spreading, and partly because the bone would be so damaged. So far, we’ve removed the obviously tumorous portion of the bone, and what we can see of the other parts of the tumor. What we propose to do is to replace the infarcted part of the bone with a titanium prosthetic femur, that will go from mid-thigh to her knee. We anticipate that there will be some nerve damage, so the leg will never function quite as well as it used to, but she’s young and strong, and will learn to compensate, if you give her a lot of love and support. Of course, if the tests come back positive for malignancy, she will need chemotherapy to make sure we destroy the cancerous cells."

As we asked questions, she tried to be reassuring. Yes, she would walk again, but with some slight difficulty. Yes, chances are great that if it was cancer, it was treatable, and she would likely live a long, productive life. She asked permission to continue with the bone replacement. Her folks signed the paper, and Dr. Wilcox left. We were stunned. We had no idea it was that serious. But at least she wouldn’t lose her leg. As we waited for the completion of the surgery, we talked. I remember saying that no matter what happened, I’d be there for Sara, and for them.

"I know, Mark," Mrs. Holding said. "What you and Sarah have is very special, more than just a boyfriend-girlfriend thing. You’re really a part of our family." Then she cried. They cried. I cried. We hugged a soggy hug. Finally, Dr. Wilcox came out with good news and bad news. The prosthetic bone had been successfully attached to her own, and the tumorous portion was cleaned out. But preliminary tests confirmed that the tumor was cancerous. She introduced Dr. Hawkins, an oncologist, who explained the whole bit about chemotherapy. They would give Sarah a couple of weeks to heal, and then have a six-week treatment regimen. They would do physical therapy at the same time. It would be demanding to do both together, because each one was exhausting, but not to begin the therapy would cause the leg to atrophy. Not to begin chemo could be deadly.

Sarah didn’t really come out of the anesthetic until the next day, and she was still sort of woozy. The doctors discussed the treatments ahead. "Chemo–will I lose my hair?" She asked. Sara’s not considered a real fox by most of my classmates (they have poor vision, I’d guess), but everyone agrees she has great hair–long, curly, thick, the color of ginger snaps.

Dr. Hawkins explained gently that most patients with the treatment they were recommending lost all their hair. Since Sara’s hair was thick, she might retain some. But it would grow back, probably about a month after the treatment stopped. Tears rolled down Sara’s cheeks. Mine too. I clutched her hand. "Hey. It’s okay. Bald and alive is better than the alternative. I’ll still love you, no matter what. You know that. You’ll always be beautiful to me."

I had to drive back the next day, because the end of school was coming up. Julie and her mother stayed on. As a senior, Julie had finished her classes early. It was hard to think about my course work. I’m a good student, and my grades would hold up okay, but that wasn’t important to me right now. Our principal convinced me that Sara’s being sick wouldn’t cause her to flunk out, either. She was excused from finals.

The day finals was to begin, I got a call. Sarah was sick, and had a high fever. I jumped in the jeep and went, leaving mom to call the principal to explain. When I got there, Sarah wasn’t in her room. Neither was Julie or their mom. The nurse looked really concerned, and directed me back to the OR waiting room. Julie and her mom looked like zombies, kind of gray-like and in shock. Julie mumbled. "She’s lost her leg."

"How? What happened? The docs had fixed the bone with the cancer! Please! No jokes! It can’t be!"

Mrs. Holding took my hands and looked straight in my eye, tears streaming down her cheek. "Mark, it wasn’t just the cancer. She wasn’t feeling good yesterday, and we just thought it was flu or something, since she’s so weak. But her fever kept rising. Her leg was really hot. They pumped her full of antibiotics, and kept running tests. It was a severe infection around the bone. Staph, of some sort. They worked all night with it, but this morning they told us they would have to remove her leg or the infection would kill her. Her whole leg was toxic, full of poisons. Not just the new bone."

"Remove? Amputate? Dear God, no. How high up?"

"At first, they thought about half way down her thigh. But it was worse than they thought. They ended up taking the whole bone, clear up to the hip. It would have been better had they just cut it off earlier where the cancer was. At least she would have had something there."

I could hardly conceive what that would be like. "Will she walk again, ever? I mean it doesn’t sound like there’s anything to attach an artificial leg to." How could such a wonderful girl have to spend her whole life in a wheelchair, or on crutches, with just a single leg? Memories of Sarah biking, dancing, running, leaping, filled my mind. Would they only be memories now?

Mrs. Holding said that the doctor had told her that yes, they could give her a prosthetic leg. Even people who have had cancer in their hip, and who have lost their leg, and part of their pelvis and hip have walked later. Of course, it would be more difficult. But she should be able to walk.

She had been taken to the recovery room, and we got to go in and see her for a few minutes, wearing breathing masks. I thought I was going to throw up in it, when I saw how deathly pale she looked, and the way the sheet caved down alongside her left leg, now her lonely leg. I managed to keep my stomach under control. She drifted in and out again, then she looked at me and smiled. "Hi. I’m glad you’re here, Mark."

"Any excuse to get out of finals," I said. "Sara, no matter what happens, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’ll be there with you and for you. No matter what, okay?" She just smiled, and winced, and drifted off.