A Step Of Faith Part 10

"I'm glad you're here," I said. "Thank you for coming."

"There's no way I was going to let you go through this alone. Besides, I kind of like you."

I smiled. "The feeling's mutual."

"Night," she said. "Sweet dreams."That night I dreamt I was kissing McKale. When I pulled back, it was really Falene.

CHAPTER Eight

Looking at someone's brain is a little like looking at the outside of a movie theater.

Alan Christoffersen's diary

The morning of the nineteenth my father drove us to the hospital several hours before my scheduled surgery time, so we'd have plenty of time to wind our way through the labyrinth of admissions. After filling out a pile of forms, we sat in the waiting room for nearly an hour before I was called to the preoperative holding area, where they put me in one of those ill-fitting, tie-in-back gowns, then sent at least a dozen people in to see me in my humbled state.

"You look cute," Nicole said, lifting her phone. "I'm taking a picture."

"No pictures," I said.

She brought out her phone. "I'm taking one anyway."

"No pictures," I said again.

She snapped a picture. "Too late."

Shortly before surgery a young man came in to shave my head, which, considering the length of my hair, was no simple feat. When he was done, I just stared at myself in the mirror.

"I'm bald."

"As a bowling ball," Nicole said.

"A billiard ball," my father corrected.

"They're both hairless," I said.

"Like you," Nicole said.

"Thanks. Are you going to take another picture?"

"No." She held up a lock of my hair. "But I'm keeping this."

"You know, they didn't have to shave all of it," my dad said. "They could have shaved just one side."

"What do you do with half a head of hair?" I asked. "That's like half a mustache."

"Or one eyebrow," Nicole said. "Then again, you could have had the mother of all comb-overs."

"Being here reminds me of when you were seven," my father said. "You had to get your tonsils out. That used to be considered major surgery."

"I remember," I said. "Mom read me a story about a baby whale. And I got a stuffed Snoopy doll. I wonder what happened to it."

"I probably left it in Colorado," he said.

My father and Nicole were still at my side when the anesthesiologist came in to introduce himself and make sure I was properly prepared for surgery. He told me that they would come for me in five minutes. As he walked out, Nicole began crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I'm just a crybaby. I get so worried."

"Everything is going to be all right," I said.

She wiped her eyes, forcing a smile. "I know."

A few minutes later two surgical techs arrived to take me to the operating room. Nicole kissed me on the cheek. My father, in a rare show of affection, took my hand. "You'll be fine," he said, sounding more as if he were trying to convince himself than comfort me. I think I was the least worried of all of us.

The techs wheeled my entire bed to the operating room, and Nicole and my father followed me down the hallway until we came to the NO PUBLIC ADMITTANCE doors of the surgical center. Nicole was teary-eyed again and blew me a kiss. I smiled at her and touched my lips.

Once inside the operating room, the anesthesiologist put the mask on my face and told me to count backward from ten. I only made it to nine.When I woke in recovery, my father was sitting by my side. He was reading a Popular Science magazine, but set it down when I stirred.

"Welcome back."

My head felt thick and my words came slowly. "Thanks."

"How do you feel?" Nicole asked.

I slowly turned my head to look at her. "My throat hurts."

"That's from the breathing tube," another female voice said. A nurse leaned over me. "Alan, I'm Rachel. I just need to check a few things." She lifted a small flashlight. "Let me have you look forward." She shone the light at my pupils. "Can you tell me what day your birthday is?"

"Are you planning a party?"

She grinned. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor. Do you know when it is?"

"June fifth," I said.

She looked to my father for verification. He nodded.

"Very good," she said. She got up and walked to the foot of my bed. She lifted the sheet, then cupped my feet with her hands. "I want you to push your feet into my hands."

"Why?"

"Just for fun," she said.

I must have done a good enough job at it because she wrote something on her clipboard, then left. After she was gone, I turned to my dad. "Do we know the verdict?"