A Rose for Melinda Read Online Free PDF Page B

such therapy myself, so I'll give it a try.
    I can't believe this is happening to our child. Cancer. The word alone sends shivers of pure terrorthrough me. But Melinda is such a brave little soldier. She goes through every treatment without complaint. I believe it's due to years of discipline from ballet. Ah … her ballet. She gets upset with me if I even mention it. Competing and losing a part to another is one thing; having your dream snatched away so cruelly is quite another. She doesn't deserve this.
    I must stop thinking negatively. Melinda WILL dance again. She WILL beat leukemia. She absolutely, positively WILL. I can't afford to think otherwise. Lenny has his job to keep his mind occupied. But my job, my joy, has always been Melinda. How ironic that in my “volunteer” mode, I chaired events that raised thousands for this hospital. Now our Melinda is a recipient of all that effort and money. And me? I feel “out of work.” How can I let Melinda know that I want her to need me as much as I need her?
    MELINDA'S DIARY
    July ??? (Lost track of time, but it seems like forever.)
    I felt pretty good today. No nausea, and the food even tasted all right. (Some of the meds I take give food a funny—like peculiar, not ha-ha—taste). I can't believe all the presents and flowers and cards I've gotten! My friends from school, dance class, relatives … Mom had to take stuff home. Dad sent me a HUGE bouquet. Bailey gave me a white teddy bear with a red heart sewn into its fur. But my best present is a whole dozen pink roses from Jesse. They are so beautiful. His card said, “Roses go to the prettiest flower of all. From a Rose (admirer).” Isn't that sweet? I'd like to see him face to face … (before my hair falls out—if it does).
    Bailey says she and Jesse e-mail each other regularly to “discuss” me. I'm not sure I like that too much. But it sounds petty to say anything about it, because both are my friends and I know they just want to help. Bailey brought me pictures of Zorita and I got a big lump in my throat because I want to go home and be normal again.
    Will I ever be normal again?
    Felt rotten today. Threw up all my supper. Refused ice cream for bedtime snack. Sleep is all I want.
    Mom practically lives here at the hospital with me. Sometimes I wish she'd just go away. Other times, I want to crawl in her lap like a baby with a boo-boo. I haven't written Jesse in days, because I just don't feel like it. He probably hates me.
    A new horror started today—sores inside my mouth from the chemo. They hurt so bad, I can't eat anything. I HATE my life!
    Some therapist visited today. She taught me about imaging. I'm supposed to imagine my white blood cells “eating” the cancer cells. Tonight I played a video game with some super-graphic, kick-butt woman wiping out a nest of robotic aliens. I pretended she was ripping through my bloodstream destroying cancer cells. I got the second-highest score according to the chart of those who've played the game in the past month. Hail, Melinda!
    Woke up this morning and found a huge clump of my hair on the pillow. I cried. I guess I won't be one of the “lucky ones” who keep their hair. Mom said that because my hair is so thick it's hardly noticeable, but I notice it! I told her I want it all cut off.
    Mom brought her hairdresser, David, to the hospital today and he sat me in a chair and cut my hair into a super-short pixie cut. I look so different. But at least now if it all falls out, I'll be used to seeing it short. Plus, now there won't be as much to fall when it leaves my head.
    Bailey came up and went on and on about how “cute” I looked. She said the new cut makes my eyes look huge. I told her thanks. I think it makes me look like a refugee from a concentration camp. Maybe that's because I've lost twelve pounds in two weeks. But I just can't eat anything!
    July 30
    Dear Melinda,
    I've given up sending you e-mails because you never answer them. The only news I get is