Beautiful: Truth's Found When Beauty's Lost Part 12

The doctors and nurses did the usual horrific and painful extraction of the skin that tried to heal. If they left that on, she'd be scarred beyond repair for life. By peeling off the healing skin and reopening the wounds, there was hope that one day her scars wouldn't be so p.r.o.nounced.

Ellie didn't want to see herself. She tried to a.s.sess the damage and the healing by the expressions of the nurses and doctors, and by her family when they saw her. Megan had to go back to school and Dad back to teaching. The holidays and school break were over, though Ellie hadn't been fully aware that it was a holiday. She mostly ignored Christmas and New Year's, as they were just bitter reminders of her confinement, her pain, and the life she no longer had. She only thought of her injuries, of Stasia and the accident. What did she look like now? What did Stasia look like now? The horror of that thought gave her nightmares.

"Ready?" Dr. Crane asked one afternoon after she'd returned from physical therapy torture. Walking had been the first step, but now they pushed her to do anything and everything that was past the limit of her pain threshold.

"I don't know." Ellie rested her fingers close to her skin, or to where her skin should be.

"You don't want to hear this, I know. But there's a lot to be grateful for."

Ellie liked that he talked to her straight. It did bother her how others had said she should be happy to be alive, reminding her of Stasia and her family. But Dr. Crane could make such statements without offense because he understood. He'd seen enough to speak it as truth.

"Other than the obvious, that you might have lost your life, you can be thankful that you aren't blind in the left eye and you have no permanent handicap from the accident. Your scalp wasn't damaged to the extent that your hair won't grow back; in fact, it's already started. You do have scars from the burns; there's no doubt about that. You'd be leading your school rallies by now if not for the fire."

Ellie gave him a frown. School rallies sounded so far, far away, nearly like some childhood memory. The past months of pain were like a progression of years.

Dr. Crane reached for her hand and led her toward the mirror.

On the right, she looked exactly as she'd always looked. Thinner in the face, perhaps-a cheekbone more p.r.o.nounced, but nothing of great significance. Then as she turned slowly, her heart missed a beat. She gasped.

"You can see the worst damage in these areas." He pointed to her shoulder, where the gown sagged.

She'd seen the damage along the outside of her arm, but not how it moved from her neck up into what had been her cheek. The skin was gone, replaced by a raw, red, melted something.

And her face. The contrast of one side to the other was shocking.

Dr. Crane talked in a clinical tone as if he were explaining an autopsy. And in a way, she was a life cut open and a life ended. "The swelling in your face has decreased immensely."

Ellie remembered when she couldn't open her eyes. She thought they were damaged, that perhaps she was going blind. But the nurse told her it was swelling from the accident, and after a few days her eyesight was fine. The pain was with her as a constant ache, and movement sent jabs of pain through her body. But Ellie had secretly hoped that her face wasn't all that bad.

"Okay, that's enough," she said, turning away.

Dr. Crane nodded. "I want you to remember that in terms of how your injuries appear, it is severe. But you are healing very well. I couldn't be more pleased. We can start the first skin grafts in a few months."

"What exactly happens with the skin grafts? You take some of my skin?"

"Yes, the best grafting is from your own skin. At times, we use donors or even animal skin."

"I'd rather use my own," and she thought of making a joke that she could be part animal or something lame like that. But those jokes never turned out well.

"Ellie. You're still a very beautiful girl."

She laughed bitterly and limped back toward the bed. "Just call me Jekyll and Hyde."

Chapter 10.

THE OUTSIDER.

The Anonymous Blog about Life at West Redding High January 15

The brief popularity of "The Outsider" was lost with the lack of recent posts. Such is the way of such things, and a blog called "The Outsider" should beware of too much attention anyway. The new Web sites and blogs for and about Stasia Fuller and Ellie Summerfield keep us informed on what happened and how Ellie is healing-though be careful of believing much of anything those blogs tell you.

This wasn't meant to be a gossip column or an attempt to level the playing field between the Ins and Outs. It was simply a place to talk about the experience of someone who isn't as visible in the high school experience, and perhaps to vent a little too.

Now that we're in the new year, I've decided to stop writing "The Outsider." It was an interesting experience.

Ellie woke and saw her sister reading in the chair beside her. A stinging pain rang through her entire left side: face, neck, shoulder, arm, hand, hip, thigh, foot. She couldn't decipher which part hurt the worst. Her hand patted the bed and found the medication switch, then pushed the b.u.t.ton over and over again. Within seconds, the pain began to ease, though it persisted like a hundred bees continuing to sting her.

Suddenly Ellie wanted to yell or throw something at Megan. How could someone sit and read with pain tearing through the room with such vengeance?

Turning her head, she saw light along the edge of the curtains. So it was daytime-late afternoon, she guessed. A small, s.h.i.+ny tiara rested on the bedside table, turned toward her.

"That's for you," Megan said.

"Why?" Ellie's voice was laced with annoyance.

"You won Winter Homecoming Queen," Megan said with no emotion.

Ellie groaned and closed her eyes.

"A girl came by the house yesterday to tell Mom and Dad. Mom brought it-she thought it would spur you on to recovery." Megan continued staring into the pages of her book.

"I'll give my acceptance speech next week." Ellie started thinking of clever things to say. "Thank you for taking pity on me . . ."

Megan glanced at her, then back to her book.

Ellie sat up slowly in bed. "What are you reading?"

"Tolstoy," Megan said, raising the cover of a romance novel-a woman with b.r.e.a.s.t.s bulging at the top of her dress, a man raising the woman's chin seductively.

"Nice," Ellie said and realized she wasn't in as much pain now. The drip was actually doing its job for once.

"The lending library here is extensive in one genre and one genre only. But this is pretty educational."

"I'm sure. So you have babysitting duty?"

"Yeah. Mom isn't sleeping well, so Dad took her to the hotel for a while with some happy sleeping pills the doctor prescribed."

"We'll all be addicted to something by the end of this."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Megan closed the book. "So they're moving you back home, I heard."

"Yeah, in a few days. Bet you're sick of the drive."

Megan shrugged her shoulders. "Ryan wants to see you. He's been a wreck."

Ellie closed her eyes. "I don't want to see him."

"He was here a few times."

She remembered that. Remembered telling him not to forget about the organ music, and how he'd cried. Ellie turned her face away and felt the jab of pain in her neck, up through her face. "I lost Grandma's bracelet."

"Yeah. So?"

But Ellie couldn't speak. There were tears in her eyes, and she wanted to escape them, to tuck every one of them back inside of her eyes. She wanted to wipe off the scars and find smooth, flawless skin underneath. She remembered in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader how Aslan had cut away Eustace's dragon scales, deep down to a perfect new skin.

"I need to warn you. You've got a new fan."

Ellie wiped her eyes with her good hand. She felt a sudden wave of grat.i.tude and love for her sister for not trying to console her or join in her grief. Megan just continued on without making a big production over it all. That she was even here beside her so often was enough.

"A fan?" Ellie asked after a few moments.

"Lisa Grosen. Soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s. Cheerleader, and all around annoying as heck."

"Yeah, I know her. She's in student council."

"Well, she thinks she's now amba.s.sador to our family. She talks to Mom every few days for updates on your condition. She created a Web page on the school site about you, your recovery progress, your accomplishments, quotes from you-"

"Quotes from me? What kind of quotes?"

"Oh, people send them in. You've said the most incredible things over the years. You'll have to read it."

"Tell her to stop," Ellie said.

"Um, I did. Threatened to kick her b.u.t.t. She put that on the Web site-a comment about your psycho sister."

Ellie smiled at that.

"I guess your Mys.p.a.ce page was so overrun that she started a Web site all about you and for you. It's very cheerful." Megan said that as if it were the worst thing on earth. "She's planning this huge event for you. Wants to line our driveway with people cheering you on. Balloons and who knows what. She'll probably have a parade organized by the time you're ready to go home."

Ellie pictured everyone who had known her in school, and how they saw her as the strong and confident one-the "she's going places" girl. They'd line her driveway and get a shocking glimpse of the crippled half-monster she'd become.

"You have to stop her. Tell Mom. No, tell Dad."

"She wants to see you in the hospital too."

"I could tell her to stop."

"That was Dad's thought. Mom's sort of taken in by the whole thing, thinks it would raise your morale. But no, seriously, don't talk to Lisa. She'd probably tape-record the event and have it up on YouTube before the day was out. She's psycho-charity-worker."

Ellie smiled. "I think you called me that once."

"She's like fifty times you, and I'm not exaggerating."

"You never do. But I'm tired. Think the magical morphine or whatever they're giving me is kicking in."

"What should I tell Ryan?"

"What do you mean?"

"He asks me if you ask for him. I'm supposed to tell you that he loves you, which is too much information, thank you. And that he's sorry for what happened. He thinks it's his fault, you know."

That woke her up a bit, though she could feel that safe, dark place pulling her downward. "Why?"

"He should have driven you home."

Chapter 11.

Ellie was transported in an ambulance to the hospital in Redding. It was the first time she'd been in a vehicle since the accident, but they gave her additional medication for the journey, which helped her to sleep.

She hadn't thought that being in a hospital could get any worse, but because she was only seventeen, she was taken to the pediatric ward and greeted by the sound of a child crying. Her parents were happy to have her closer to home, but being closer to home worried Ellie. Her friends might try harder to see her now.

Hospitals, Ellie decided, were like their own little countries. The different divisions like ICU, ER, the cancer center, the burn unit, pediatrics, and maternity were like states or cities within that country.

There was a hospital language that everyone spoke. Like stat meant "to hurry or be quick"; rounds were when a doctor visited his hospital patients (or more accurately, whenever the doctor felt like coming over from his medical practice to check up on you). Have we moved our bowels today? referred to a favorite hobby of the nurses.

There were citizens of the hospital: doctors and nurses and other staff, and the patients who came for long-term care or short-term. The families were tourists who came along with their backpacks and duffel bags full of things they needed for the visit. Then there were the visitors, like rabbis, priests, and social service employees. Everyone needed pa.s.sports in the form of admissions papers, staff badges, or visitor pa.s.ses, and security in this country was somewhat tight. They even had an X-ray machine at the entrance, after a guy came into the ER with a gun to kill his girlfriend.

Mom and Dad became friends with the other visitors. Megan wouldn't give anyone the time of day. It took Ellie longer to get to know everyone. But with nothing to do, and only basic cable on TV, she began to take an interest in the people within her pediatric region.

Little Natty had come in with an illness no one could figure out, and complication after complication kept her there.

Room 6 held Jake, who had leukemia and wasn't expected to live another few weeks.