Just Me

So okay, I wrote this for one of my college app. It's extremely awkward (what did you expect from a pro math student?) But anyway, I thought I'd put this up. Maybe someone can fix it for me. (not that I expect everyone else to see it. There might have been like, zero visitors since I've created this blog but how cares?)

Okay so here goes...


The Patient in Room 188

It was one of those gorgeous summer days in June that made people want to go for long drive in their two week old Mitsubishi. I did exactly that. Armed in my most beautiful dress and shiny boots, I was ready to enjoy the first day of summer before my mom knocked on my door, which was never a good sign.

"Guess what?" she said with a wide smile on her face, "I just signed you up for volunteering at the hospital. Isn't that a wonderful idea?" Mom looked at me with eyes that could light up the whole city for days. I stared back at her with disbelieving eyes that could make the summer sky instantly snow.

The next day, I found myself standing in front of the white building labeled "[hospital name]." I turned and gave mom another "Mom, please!" look, but she ignored me and pulled me inside. As mom half-walked, half-dragged me to the designated room, I learned the person I was going to help was Heather Smith. She had heart cancer for almost five years now, but luckily the doctor had found a donor for her. She was going to have a heart transplant two months from now. We stopped in front of room 188 before mom gave me a kiss and left. I wanted to leave, but knowing mom, I sighed and did what teenage girls do when they receive "wonderful ideas" from parents; I sucked it up and turned the doorknob. I was surprised to see that the person who greeted me was no old lady with wrinkly skin but a very young lady, no older than twenty-five.

"Hello. Are you [name]?" she asked and flashed me a beautiful smile, revealing her pearly white teeth.

"Umm...I think so," I stuttered, "I mean... I am! Of course. I'm here to volunteer," I replied and hid my hands behind my back, not knowing what to do with them.
"Are...are you Miss Smith?" I tried again.

She smiled and nodded, "call me Heather. Come on in."

I took a step forward. Little did I know at that time that I had not only stepped into the room but also into a lasting friendship.

I ended up spending most of my free time in the hospital. Heather's optimism and cheerfulness were scarily contagious. In fact, it was so infectious that all I could do was laugh whenever I was with her.

"When the time comes, I will be ready," that was her motto. Heather was always prepared. To her, thinking one step ahead was not good enough but one step and a half so that if the situation changed unexpectedly, she would still be able to deal with it. Heather did not teach me to smile and let time heal the wounds; instead, she told me to cry a river when life is tough, then build a bridge and get over it. She taught me not to aim high but higher and that "good enough" never is. Every afternoon, we would sit together and laugh about random jokes or tell each other about our goals and dreams. Heather was literally hopping around whenever she told me just how happy she was, knowing she would be able to have a normal life after years of endless surgeries. I loved the way her eyes lit up whenever she told me about her dream-- to ride a bike. Soon, I told myself. I would not only teach her how to ride a bike but also about a better life, one that she had never had.

*************

When Heather Smith died one week before the surgery, the world shut down. Everything went from black, to blacker. I hated her, hated her for not telling me that she found out her cancer was at the last stage and that the surgery would only extend her life for another brief period of time. I hated her for refusing the surgery and letting herself die. I hated her for signing that organ donation form to give her kidney to a five year old girl, her skin to a fire fighter, her corneas to a woman, and her lungs to a father of two children. I hated those doctors who cut her open and took her apart like a machine. I hated her for giving too much of herself for some people she did not even know!

Then I remembered what she said, when the time comes, I will be ready, and I realized Heather was ready. She had always been ready. Although life took a different path against her, Heather was already a step and a half ahead with her gift of life. If living is to be happy then Heather was more alive now than ever. In one day, Heather saved more lives than a person could ever have done in a lifetime. Heather did not die; she lives within those people. Suddenly, she could do more than just riding a bike. She could see the world through the woman's eyes, save more lives through the fire fighter, and take care of children through the father, and she would be able to live much longer now through the five year old girl than she would have if she had had the surgery. Heather had taught me her final lesson through her death: do not let death interfere with finding your happiness.

Today was one of those gorgeous summer days in June that made people want to go for a long drive with their three month old Mitsubishi. I did just that. Armed in my most beautiful dress and shinny boots I started my car engine and visited the place where the woman with the dream of riding a bike-- my idol-- Heather Smith forever rests in peace...