Dead Daisies

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have healthy lungs? Lungs that wouldn’t wince in pain every time you searched for air. Lungs that don’t need constant surgery just to keep you breathing. Well I have. Every day for 8 months. And no matter how much I wish for them I still wake up the next day to the sound of air fighting its way through my nose and wheezing its way back out again.

2 hours, 37 minutes and 15 seconds. Till what? Every time the doctors say “This surgery is to remove your lung cancer” but the uncertainty grows in their voice ever so slightly like frost creeping its way over a helpless leaf. My eyes fall onto the picture beside my hospital bed of Papa Losy and I. Our smiles full of ice cream looked like they would’ve lasted forever. I still remember the afternoon it happened. He was meant to pick me up to take me to my checkup. Mum was there instead. I didn’t need her to tell me why, her eyes full of pain and sorrow revealed it all. It was a heart attack that took Papa Losy away from me. It has been 7 months since then but the longing urge to see him again and tell him I love him never goes away.

The lifeless, bleached walls encage me. Their presence becoming more and more oppressive. It’s cold, yet my body is damp with anxiety. The constant tap of the clock bouncing off the empty walls echoes its way into my head.

“Now spencer, we are going to put you under general aesthetic.”

I try to give a slight nod to show I understand her but my whole body is frozen solid. It’s crazy to me to think that you are expected to just trust a random person with your life. I feel her put a mask over my face. Cold, earie air inches its way into my nose. I know this feeling all too well.

“Alright can you now slowly count backwards from 10 for me?”

My lungs snatch at the air.

“Ten…Nine…Eight” Wait what comes after that? Oh yeah

“Seven…Six” That light sure is bright, they should really turn it down.

“Five” The once surgeons are now black smudges on a canvas of white.

“F-f-fou…” Everything spins away.

No surgeons, no lights, just empty. Not like the empty when you lose a loved one, but a kind of peaceful empty like when you sink to the bottom of the ocean and look up, seeing the rays of light torpedo through the blue space.

The sweet aroma of daisies and salt fills my nose. I inhale deeper to enjoy it for a little longer. The curving recall of waves lapping against the shore invites me to open my eyes. Blue vibrant skies framed with deep green stems topped with white excited daisies greet me. I sit up. The dancing daisies, the respiring waves of clear blue water, it is perfect. Giggles of excitement bubble up my throat as I brush my hand along the promising daisies. They’re exactly like the ones Papa Losy used to bring after my surgeries.

I spin around aimlessly, letting my arms fly free. My giggles flow out of my mouth. One of the daisies invites me to dance. I accept his offer and begin the waltz.

“Oh, Sir Daisy you are quite the charming gentleman.” The daisy twirls me around.

“You are too kind Miss Spencer.” Our dancing slows.

“I am terribly sorry Sir Daisy, but I have grown ever so tired. I might go sit on that beach.”

“Thank you for that dance I ever so enjoyed it. Its not everyday a humble flower like me dances with a fine lady like you.”

I continue to sway as I make my way towards the beach, humming a nostalgic tune Papa Losy used to sing to me. The warm sand hugs my toes while the clear waves sing to me. I stand in awe at the beauty of the folding ocean that stretches out, beyond the whitewashed walls of the hospital. My eyes pause where the ocean kisses the sky. This is where I want to be. No doctors, no medicine, no wheezing, just free.

I sigh with contentment and lay down on the fine-grained sand. My eyelids become heavy and close. Peaceful emptiness washes over me.

A tune flows through my ears. Its Papa Losy singing to me! The hazy voice twists and changes. No, it’s a woman. What is she saying? All I can make out is the soft spill of an ‘s’ followed by a defined ‘pen’...

My eyes fly open. Blinding unnatural light floods my vision. My eyes take a minute to adjust then I see mum sitting on the frail leather seat in the corner of my hospital room. Her face lights up when she sees me respond. My eyes search in desperate hope to find at least one pile of sand. There’s none. I just want to go back.

I look down. Cords spin their way from my body to machines. The only thing missing in the web is a spider. “The doctors say the surgery was successful.” I can hear the uncertainty Mum tries to cover up. The least I can do is pretend I believe it, for mum.

The cold soggy scent of peas, stale bread, and meat loaf sludge its way up my nose. My eyes meet with the familiar dish sitting on the bedside table. Mum hands it to me along with polished cutlery. “Mum, I think I might go to sleep now.” Her forehead wrinkles, but she knows it’s for the best. “Ok, you rest and I will be here when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

The rhythmic beep of the machines tucks me in and wishes me sweet dreams. Like clockwork the room fades away, leaving me to dive into the endless possibilities of my subconscious.

All that's left is ash and burning shrubs. I hear a weak voice “Oh, Miss Spencer. I want to say one last thank you for that dance, it meant the world to me.” He stumbles to the ground and with one last effort blows me a kiss with his burning leaf hand. His body crumbles and blows away in the cold fierce wind. He's gone.

The grey sky grumbles in anger, digging talons into the ocean. The ocean winces in pain. Waves roar up, lashing out at the clouds. I run down to the inky waves on the beach. For a moment I think it's over, but now the waves are coming for me. My lungs search for the air to scream but my wheezing worsens. My frozen legs ignore me yelling to run. Waves of solid brick hit me, forcing me under, prying me off the beach. I can't die here. My lungs want to give up, letting go of hope and embracing the water.

My eyes shudder. The darkness of my room engulfs me. The flashing light of the machines breaking its thickness. It was just a dream. But I still can't breathe. I feel like I'm drowning, the black water still thick in my lungs. In a desperate attempt I cough to break the torturing dream. The struggle heightens. The choking sound of my gurgles whisper for help.

“Please someone. Anyone. I can't breathe.”

The metallic goo, now poisoning my mouth, begins to spill onto my hands. It's blood. The same blood filling up my lungs. My shaky hand seeks the button to call the nurse. It's too far away. I lean over in one last attempt and lose balance, falling to the ice touched ground. Blood grasps my throat and closes its fingers, strangling me and my last fragment of hope. I want to live. I want to beat cancer. 14 years isn't enough. The last of my tears run down my cheek as I lay drowning in my own blood. Goodbye mum. I love you.

A gentle breeze whispers through my ears. Soft petals paint my body with contentment. My eyes flutter open. I'm back. The happy little daisies excitedly wave to me like old friends. The waves excitedly run up the sand to greet me, until they run out of energy and are pulled back again. The air is filled with the familiar aroma. Everything looks the same. Everything smells the same. Yet somehow, it's different. Like this time, it's real. I died; I remember. The feeling of running out of air is not something to forget.

My eyes scan the scenery. I see a figure of a boy about my age sitting on the beach. I slide onto the sand next to him. He is humming a tune. Something is so familiar about him, maybe it's his dark brown eyes or floppy brown hair. No, it’s his smile.

“How do your lungs feel Spencie?” There is only one person that calls me that... Papa Losy. I fall into his arms squeezing him tight.

“I missed you so much my little Angel.” His shirt muffles my tears of happiness.

“What if they miss me?”

“Don't worry, I'll make sure they're ok.” Unlike the doctors I know he's telling the truth. I can feel it.