Positively Beautiful by Wendy Mills

It’s to help keep her hair from falling out,” Sherry says.
    Mom’s doctor has told her the type of chemo she will be taking could cause her hair to fall out. She had it cut short last week, and we’ve looked at wigs but she’s waiting to see if she’ll need one.
    Mom sucks on a lemon drop as Sherry threads a catheter into the port in Mom’s chest and sets up a bag. Sherry stays for a while and chats, but she’s holding a medication box and she is studying Mom closely as she talks. The doctor mentioned that some people have bad allergic reactions during their first chemo treatment. After a while, Sherry seems to decide Mom is going to be fine and moves off. I’m left holding Mom’s hand while the IV
drips … drips … drips …
Mom downloaded
Dirty Dancing
to watch on her tablet, but the medicine they gave her to help with the side effects of the chemo seems to have made her drowsy and she lies with her eyes closed.
    At one point a bell rings and I turn to see a pale, puffy-faced woman with a scarf tied over her head pulling a rope attached to a bell mounted to the wall.
    People clap, and then cheer, and Mom and I look at each other in bemusement.
    â€œYou get to ring the bell when you’re done with yourchemo,” Sherry says as she drops a goody bag on the table beside Mom.
    Inside is some hand sanitizer and more lemon drops, as well as a book called
Not Now, I’m Having a No Hair Day
, and Mom and I giggle over the cartoons until she dozes off.
    When we are done, Sherry helps my mom up. “Remember, we have pretty good drugs to control the side effects of chemo. Not like the bad old days. Some people are able to go back to work the next day. But others feel it more. You need to take it easy until we see how you’re going to react,” she says.
    As I drive us carefully home, Mom gets ashen and clammy and finally asks me to pull over. She throws up and after a while we drive on.
    Then she has to stop to throw up again.
    And I see chemo isn’t going to be easy for my mother.
    Not one little bit.

Chapter Fifteen
    The day after my mom gets her first chemotherapy treatment, I go for my first flying lesson.
    â€œLet’s go.” My instructor, Stewart Call-Me-Stew, points at a small tin can with wings. It reminds me of a VW Beetle, somehow, round and yellow and like maybe it was built right there in the seventies. It’s a four-seater, but it’s hard to believe that four normal-size people could fit into it.
    â€œGo?” I ask.
    â€œFlying. You thought we were maybe going on a picnic today?” Stew is bitter wrapped up in a soft taco of sarcasm. In his fifties—sixties?—he’s got short gray hair and sunglasses, and he’s dressed like he’s expecting someone to give him points on anal-compulsiveness, all ironed and buttoned tight over his substantial stomach.
    â€œI figured we would be … in a classroom today?” I say. “I didn’t think …” Seriously, I didn’t think we would actuallybe going up in the AIR already. My stomach starts doing somersaults.
    Stew is driving me in front of him, clapping his hands, like he’s Lassie and I’m the dumb sheep. My phone dings and I check to see if it’s from Trina. She knows I’m flying today, but we haven’t talked since she called yesterday to ask how my mom’s chemotherapy had gone and to ask if I was
sure
I didn’t mind if she went to Faith’s party tonight.
    â€œAre you kidding me? What’s with you kids? Can’t you go for more than two minutes without looking at your phone?”
    â€œUh … sorry?”
    I slip the phone back in my pocket, but not before I see the message is from Ashley, who I’ve been e-mailing a lot this past week.
    flying high?
    The words make me smile. At least someone is excited about my learning to fly. My mother doesn’t even want to hear about it, and Trina