Justin

The next morning takes me back in time.

Just like the morning of my first surgery, I'm required to shower using these special bars of soap. They're pink and make me smell like the hospital. I also need to choke down my meds. And, even though I want to eat something for breakfast, I'm not allowed anything but water.

The early hours of the morning pass by too quickly and I find myself walking the familiar halls of BC Children's Hospital too soon. If it weren't for Addie's hand, my toque, and having familiar faces around me, I would've run by now.

Am I crazy for giving them a second chance after they failed to do their job the first time? Am I crazy to believe in that small bit of hope that this is actually going to work?

I can't figure out the answers because my mind is spinning.

I know the pre-surgery shit too well, and I'm not a fan of it.

But no matter how badly I want to run, something keeps tugging me forward. Hope is like a small flicker of flame - it can either be snuffed out or it can ignite and create the biggest blazes. And I think my hope is currently level with the latter option, just at a slower rate.

Once we're in the pre-operative holding area, I have to part ways with everyone to get changed into a hospital gown, removing everything but my socks. Next, a nurse rubs some weird white ointment on the backs of my hands that's supposed to numb the area and make it easier for them to insert the IV. It doesn't take long, so I'm quickly reunited with everyone. I'm even given one of those blankets they keep warm for their patients. I wrap that around Addie and I.

To be honest, those heated blankets are really the only perk about this place.

As we're waiting for the next step, my stomach growls. Addie nudges me. "Why can't you eat before surgery?" she asks.

I shrug. "I actually don't know," I reply, realizing it myself. Huh. You'd think I'd know after going through this process once already.

"That would be because when you're under anaesthetic, your body's reflexes are temporarily stopped. So, if there's food and/or drink in your stomach, there's a risk of vomiting or regurgitation."

Addie and I both look up at an older nurse that's standing in front of us. She's wearing dark green scrubs and her greying hair is tied up in a bun.

"Ew," Addie says, wrinkling her nose. "That's disgusting."

"Understandable," I say at the same time.

The nurse smiles. "Are you ready for some more preparation?"

"I guess," I reply nervously. It's not like I have a choice. I signed the papers. I'm in this whether I like it or not. "Can Addie come?"

The nurse nods and then motions us to follow.

When we come to a padded chair that has space on either side to place my arms for sturdiness while the nurse finds a vein to insert the IV into. I sit down on the chair, handing the blanket over to Addie. She takes it, but doesn't pay any attention to it because she's too focused on everything that's happening. No wonder she wants to become a nurse - this stuff fascinates her.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asks when I set down and expose my arms. She reaches out and grabs one of those rubber bands they always tie way too tightly around your bicep when trying to find a vein.

"Fine," I reply, my voice a pitch higher than usual.

The nurse chuckles. "It's okay to be afraid."

I glance at Addie. "So I've been told."

She gives me a genuine smile and then turns to watch the nurse wrap the rubber band around my left bicep. "So you guys do that to cut off the blood flow and make the veins appear larger, right?" Addie asks.

"That is correct," the nurse replies, glancing at Addie as she taps a vein on the back of my hand. "And you don't necessarily need to see the vein, just be able to feel it." She moves her hand away. "Test it for yourself."

Reaching out, Addie carefully runs her fingertip along the bulging vein in the back of my hand, sending shivers down my spine. Her blue eyes widen. "Wow. That is so cool."

I do my best to go along with her excitement, but it's hard considering how much I despise hospitals and their staff. Which is unfair of me in some ways - a lot of them are really nice people. I just hate their jobs.

The nurse gets to work again, wiping the back of my hand with an antiseptic wipe. "Are you thinking of becoming a nurse?" she asks Addie.

"Yes," Addie replies, looking down to pick at her nail polish. "My mom is a nurse and I would like to follow in her footsteps and help people as much as I can."

"Well," the nurse smiles, "I think you'll be a great nurse, sweetheart."

"Thanks," Addie replies.

The nurse finally removes the rubber band and steps back. "There you go - you're all set."

I blink, looking down at my hand. Either that numbing shit really worked or I was just too busy staring at Addie to feel a thing. I'm going for the latter option, but you never know. One thing about BC Children's Hospital that I like is that they make sure their patients endure as little pain as possible. "Wow," I say. "That was fast and it - surprisingly - didn't hurt."

All the nurse does is smile before telling us we're allowed to return to the waiting area. The walk back is silent and tense. We both know that that was the final step before I'm supposed to be called in for surgery. Normally, they'd be shaving my hair off at this point, but Addie already did the job.

Speaking of me now being bald, when I glance up at my mom, Addie's mom, and Chris, I see a faint look of shock on my mom's face. I give her a weak smile. To be perfectly honest, it shocked me this morning almost as bad as it shocked her last night. According to Addie, Mom burst into tears.

I can't really blame her. The scar is extremely visible now, especially under this gaudy fluorescent lighting.

Mom smiles back at me as I sit down beside her, Addie on my other side.

"How did it go?" Mom asks.

"Fine," I shrug. "Didn't hurt at all."

"Yeah," Addie cuts in. "He didn't even notice! And the nurse even explained some stuff to me." She looks over at her mom. "It was so cool, Mom! I'm going to have to come and spend a day at work with you or something."

Mom catches my eye as Addie goes on and on about why they use a rubber band before inserting an IV, and smiles at me, giving her head a slight shake. I smile, too. It's the first time I've come in here without putting up a fight and trying to feel the smallest amount of independence. I want the freedom to make my own choices, even when it comes to dealing with the doctors, so normally I'm arguing with them. This time, though, I haven't argued too much. And Mom and I both know it's because of Addie.

She's a light I've always needed. I honestly don't know where I'd be without her. There are a million reasons why she should leave me, but she always turns her head and looks for the reasons why she should stay.

For ten minutes, we all socialize with each other, talking about anything but what's about to happen to me. To all of us, actually. I can't imagine what it's like sitting and waiting for hours upon hours while I'm in there. This part is easy for me. It's the recovery that's slow and painful. But I'm hoping it will be a little easier this time. I know what to do, know what to expect.

Finally, the nurse comes back. "We're ready for you now."

It suddenly feels like the wind has been knocked from my lungs, and before I can stop myself, I grab Addie's hand. Everyone reacts as if I'm having a partial seizure, but I know for a fact that I am not. This is pure fear. I don't want to go back into the operating room. I don't want to reexperience going under; I hate the feeling of losing complete control of everything by simply breathing in some type of gaseous substance.

"Justin," Addie whispers, pulling me into a hug. "It's going to be okay."

"Stay with me," I quickly whisper back. "You're allowed to walk with me to the operating room. Please, Addie. I need you."

She nods and gets to her feet, pulling me up with her. "You don't have to ask, Justin. Let's go."

I force myself to stand. I force myself to walk. Everything for the next couple minutes feels forced - even my breathing.

When I see the door ahead, I almost freeze in place. Thankfully, Addie is there to pull me forward. "You can do this," she says, squeezing my hand. "And I can't stay with you the whole time, but just remember that my thoughts will be with you."

The nurse, who has been watching our little exchange with pitiful eyes, says, "You can come into the room if you'd like to. Stay until the anaesthetics have worked their magic."

Addie looks at me.

I look at her.

"That'd be great," Addie says. "Thank you."

With the nurse's approval, Addie steps into the room with me. The operating room is smaller than I remember it. But maybe it's because I'm so much older now. In the middle of the square room, there's a weird bedlike thing with an equally as weird-looking mattress thing. Before I can chicken out, I climb up onto it and lay down. Beneath me, the mattress moulds to my body, keeping me in place. It's a strange feeling, but it's comforting in a way. At least I know I'm not going to fall to the floor during surgery.

I look up at Addie. Her eyes are big and filled with wonder as she looks around, from the alarmingly bright light above to the medical tools on a nearby metal table. She even presses her fingers against the mattress to see how squishy it is.

Around us, people bustle around the room, getting the remaining things prepped.

"So, Justin," says the familiar nurse, holding up a mask. "We're going to give you some pure oxygen now."

My heartbeat picks up. I know this bullshit. It starts off as oxygen and then they ask me to close my eyes and count down from ten. Last time, I barely made to seven before I was locked in a deep, dreamless sleep.

I glance frantically at Addie as the anxiety builds and the tears start to burn. There has to be another way. Isn't radiation supposed to help get rid of tumours? Why can't they use that instead of sawing my skull open and poking and prodding at things that don't belong to them?

"Justin," Addie says softly, resting her palm against my cheek. I close my eyes at the warmth of her hand. "You're okay. Take a deep breath."

I listen to her and take a big, deep, calming breath. "Kiss me," I blurt. "One more time."

I open my eyes and look up at Addie. She looks shocked for a moment, but she does lean down and press her lips to mine in the end. It's a simple kiss, full of future and promises and hope. Something I need desperately at this moment.

When she pulls away, I nod. "Put the mask on."

As the nurse does, I make a promise to myself. No matter what happens, I can get through this. If my body is strong enough to heal after such a major surgery, then I am strong enough, emotionally and mentally, to get through this.

When the mask is on, I take a few more deep breaths, trying to calm my jittery nerves. The whole time, my eyes never leave Addie's. I can tell she's doing her best not to cry, but a tear does eventually slip down her cheek. I want to reach up and wipe it away, but I'm beginning to feel tired.

Shit. They didn't even warn me this time.

I want to tell Addie I love her one more time, but my brain is becoming hazier by the second and my body feels like a lump of rock at the bottom of the ocean.

With one last look at Addie's face, I grasp onto that hope I need and fall into a familiar dreamless sleep.