miakielsenwrites

[miakielsenwrites]

Stage Four, a Monologue by Mia Kielsen

About a year ago, I was diagnosed with stage 4 melanoma.Which is weird because, I only just graduated high school maybe a month before my diagnosis. Ever since I got out of high school, I’ve been on the road. I mean, I took the liberty of packing not just my whole room, but my whole life into boxes within the span of just a few short hours, took a drive down to the-middle-of-nowhere Arizona where I stared down at the sunset from a high cliff. I set up a folding chair just outside the camper. (Tries to sit down.) Ow! What the—

I discovered a weird lump at my side that I hadn’t noticed before. I climb back into the trailer and pull down the sheet mirror. Ooh, that looks bad. I remember being maybe twelve years old. I remember struggling into my dress for Kerry Junior High’s annual Snowball Dance—I was pulling it up from the bottom and it kept getting stuck on something. I let it slide off and I turned to face my mirror. My right hip was just barely wider than the other. That wouldn’t have affected how the dress fit, though. I think I just bought it a size—or two—too small.

I brushed it off as some kind of genetic deform, but in my trailer mirror, when I peeled down my leggings, I was genuinely afraid to look at it. It was this… blue, bulging thing. It was like some kind of alien parasite attached itself to me. The only thing it was missing was the glow that alien parasites in the movies would have.

I took the chair in and I drove. I drove to the nearest city. Questions shot left and right like ping-pong in my brain. What is that thing? How long has it been this bad? Why is it blue? One final question entered my head at the end of my drive; Is it… cancer? I slam the brakes hard. I’m here.

I check in at the E.R.

“Mmhmm…. And what is your purpose for this visit?”

“I..” How was I supposed to struggle—to stutter the words I think I have cancer, when I can’t even be sure that’s what it is? The desk is low enough. “This,” I say, holding down my waistband. The look in her eyes that previously said I don’t get paid enough for this shifted instantly to that of pure terror. She stood up and beckoned urgently to a nurse who was just coming out of the back. She whispered one word to him and immediately I was escorted to a room. I had fifty questions being tossed at me left and right—these doctors wanted to know everything about everything. Someone threw a hospital gown into my hands. I changed, then some doctors took a look at my… lump. Next thing I knew I was lying down on the flat, cold metal bed, the one that gives you chills the second your butt touches it. The bed went slowly into the big white tube. My first MRI scan. Good thing my mom wasn’t there to see this, or else she’d be taking pictures I did not need pictures of and posting them to Facebook.

I was sitting on one of those green patient beds with the thin paper for what felt like hours. I sat alone, too. I drifted in and out of sleep. Finally, I was awoken by a doctor who cut to the chase and admitted that I had stage 4. She showed me my MRI results and circled areas where the cancer had spread. Some in my thighs, my arms, and the biggest collection of cancer were, of course, on my hip. She prescribed some kind of topical cream, I got my clothes back, and I went back to my trailer. What I have is incurable. My death is inevitable, but now it is sooner than I ever considered it to be. I was told I’d be lucky if I had a year left.

I had to cheer myself up. It’s difficult to take your mind off of something so painful. But I had to try. I found myself in the parking lot of a bar. I open my trailer door to let in what was left of the outside light and unpacked the boxes of supplies and other clutter from my home.

Okay. All food goes in the mini fridge, ice cream at the top, closest to the ice maker. Left cabinet; blankets are on the bottom, clothes in the middle, sheets on the top. Under the sink, towels and soap.

I’m almost done unpacking when I hear (knocks on trailer.)

“Hey, need some help in there?” I hear from outside.

“No, I’m fine,” I reply, shakily. I push the door a bit more open to reveal a guy with wavy shoulder-length hair and a lilac shirt.

“Are you sure? Are you okay? I think I heard… crying?”

“I’m fine.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that. Why don’t I buy you some food and we can talk about it?”

Is it weird that I didn’t find it odd that a complete stranger was offering me dinner? Over our meal I learned that he was also a recent high school graduate, and I guess you could say it was love at first sight. His name is Adam. A generic boy name, but I had never met anyone named Adam before. The name definitely suits him; Adam means ‘earth,’ and with the collage of hazel, blue, and green in his loving, gentle eyes, they definitely remind me of the earth.

I stayed in that small city in Arizona for a few months before he finally decided he wanted to live in the camper with me. He’d been looking for a place to stay since his parents made him move out post-graduation.

The first night he spent with me in the camper, I had a terrible realization; I never told him about the cancer. The night we met I told him I had gotten a diagnosis but I never told him what it was.

“Adam,” I spoke. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. About—about the diagnosis I had a while back. (Beat.) I have stage four melanoma. And I was told I might not even have a year left. That was nearly three months ago. I’m so sorry, I was just so focused on putting it out of my mind, that I—“

I was on the verge of tears and yet he held both of my hands and told me that he wants to be by my side for the remainder of my life, however long that may be. He told me that I was the first person who ever really cared about him. He understood how much he means to me, and reassured me that he wouldn’t leave just because of a medical mishap.

That was when I realized; I found him. It’s every girl’s dream to find their Prince Charming, whoever that may be. But not every man and surely not every woman will stick around when something—something such as cancer—something chronic or life-threatening gets in the way of plans for the future. But Adam promised to stay with me for every waking minute of it. Only the true one will stay with you through it all. And I found him.

A few days ago we got engaged! I parked the trailer on some cliff overlooking the beach in California. We were watching the sun rise, and he dropped to one knee, right there. And then that same day we talked for hours about what the future might be like if some miracle potion fabricated itself into existence to cure me. We thought about wedding after wedding, having kids, in which I imagine we’d have a boy and a girl, probably twins. We fantasized all of the wonderful beautiful places we could take them all the sights we could see together as a family, from sandy beach sunsets to quiet, cold, echoey caves with the little water drips in the background that’ll really relax you. Adam would be the one to struggle to zip up our daughter’s dress for senior prom night and I would fix our son’s tie—and I’ll be watching from the front row when our daughter is walked down the aisle. And, with whatever job I’d end up with, there’s always a retirement party waiting for me at the end. Me and my own husband would finally settle down, likely in the very city where we met, and toss the keys of our beloved camper to our children, who will start this cycle all over again.

But now, I suppose I will never get to experience any of that.

[miakielsenwrites]

The Supportive Mother, a Monologue, by Mia Kielsen

I remember the day my daughter, Krystal, graduated high school. I remember her face beaming in the bright, white spotlight. I remember how the shimmery makeup that I helped her apply in the car reflected her beauty like a mirror, down to... me. It was as if she was trying to highlight the one woman, the only woman in her life that stood by and held her hand through all these years. I would know; I was there for every class musical, every dance recital, every talent show, every choir concert, every soccer game, trying to get above the crowd and get the best photos possible of my daughter... I swear she was the best at every activity she could get her hands on. And, yes, there may have been some motherly bias at play, but I can say for certain that she made me proud to be her mother, even as we struggled through a devastating situation over her gap year.

~

Krystal never had a father; she was a donor baby, like her brother, Bryan, who was only a few years older than her. Though, unlike Krystal, he never graduated regular high school. He dropped out in the middle of his very last year because he couldn't quite keep up with his classes. And when he told me he was going to drop out, I saw his eyes were almost strawberry red, and wet. No matter what he would have told me that day, I wouldn't have had the heart to yell at him. I said, "Do what makes you happy. I will always be supporting you."

That very next day I stood tall with my son in that counselor's office, and we filled out all the forms together.

There's one question I hear over and over from my peers, mostly from mothers, 'what kind of crazy mother would let her SON drop out of SCHOOL?'

Well, he wasn't dropped out of the school system entirely. In exchange for dropping out of the local high school I enrolled him in an alternative online program so he could work at his own pace and still get a high school diploma.

When Krysta was five and her brother seven, I took them to our neighborhood's playground for the first time since moving in.

"Here's your toys--"

"But mom, Bryan's gonna take my purple princess doll first!"

"But mom, Krysta's gonna take my nerf gun and shoot me!"

I sighed, "The purple princess doll is for Krysta, and the nerf gun is for Bryan. Got that? Now go play."

I sat and watched them for a few minutes before I noticed another family that appeared to be having the same issue, until I overheard,

"But mom, she gave me her pink princess barbie doll, so I gave her my fire engine!"

The young mother, who looked to be around twenty years old, was visibly upset. Her hands were curling into fists. I was about to go over and help, I even started packing up the day bag, until--

Smack! ... Smack!

I was... baffled at the sight. The sound reverberated across the entire playground. Every family, every child stopped everything. It went completely silent. (Angrier) This woman just hit both of her children, who didn't even look half of Krysta and Bryan's age. And over what? Because they willingly traded toys?

She ripped the barbie and fire engine out of her childrens' hands and said, "GIRLS PLAY WITH BARBIES. BOYS PLAY WITH FIRE ENGINES. This is the LAST TIME I'm going to tell you that. Ugh! You two started a scene! You're embarrassing me!"

At this point, both Krysta and Bryan were close at my side, tugging at my jeans. We waited until the vile mother and her two poor children were out of sight.

"Why don't you take turns sharing your toys? Krysta, you can play with the nerf gun if Bryan can have a turn with your purple princess doll."

From that day, I vowed to change everything I had ever thought about parenting, to be the good mother, to be the supportive mother, to never ever be comparable to that thing.

After Krysta graduated, she stayed at home for her gap year as she looked for apartments online.

"How about this one? Or this one? Ooh, maybe even this one?"

I couldn't help but sit there and smile at her.

"Mom?"

"It's your choice honey. As long as you're happy with it, then I am as well."

Krysta worked the early shift. Every weekday at around 6:00 AM, she would ring the wind chime outside--the indication that she was home. It would wake me up every morning, and I loved it. The wind chime often confused neighbors, as our town never saw enough wind for wind chimes to be necessary, but it was one of Krysta's graduation gifts from her grandmother, and she thought it was the most beautiful decoration in the world, with the colorful carvings of birds and angels, so we hung it up in the front.

It wasn't about until halfway into her gap year when I slept in, and woke up at around ten in the morning. Did the chime just not wake me up? I got out of bed to see if maybe Krysta had even come home, and there she was, sitting perfectly still on the living room couch with her head in her hands. I sit next to her. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't speak, and she doesn't show her face. She hesitated for a few seconds, until she handed me...

"It's positive! I don't know what to do!"

I urged her to calm down and take a deep breath, and she explained to me what had happened. She had been seeing a boy in secret for a few months and he ghosted her as soon as her pregnancy test came back positive.

"I don't know what do do! I--"

I eventually managed to settle her down and I made her favorite dessert; lemon meringue pie. I shaped the crust when the thought crossed my mind, at least she's out of high school.

She made me promise not to tell any other family for fear that they would be disappointed in her. Much of my family were extremely religious, unlike us, and would have been enraged at me as a parent for letting this happen. I swore to keep her secret for the time. I eventually sat her down and gave her the talk. I explained her three choices.

"If you want to keep your child, you can go to college and I can help take care of them until you're ready. If you feel like that's too much, you can give your baby to one of millions of families who want children. But if you don't want to have this child at all, we can have a procedure done and--"

"Mom, I'm not ready to make this choice."

"It's okay. You don't need to answer me right now. Take as much time as you need."

She eventually made the decision to keep the child. I was glad at how brave she was and how well she was taking it; I could read the fear in her eyes like a book yet she played such a confident façade that it would have even tricked the best of lie detectors.

For every decision my daughter made during her pregnancy, I was always there to help. I was the one to disassemble the bed frame in the guest room to make space for the crib. I was there for every, "Mom, let's go shopping for baby clothes!" and every "Mom, can you help me get my shoes on?"

Months pass and baby Lucas was born. Many months had passed, but not enough. As a result, Lucas had several issues relating to tissue development and breathing problems. I don't think I ever saw Lucas come out of that clear box without all those tubes and needles piercing his delicate red skin.

Four more months passed and Krystal was in the darkest place in her life that she'd ever been though. She slept on the couch next to the hauntingly empty crib. As an early birthday present for her, I decorated the nursery a little more with some alphabet posters and added a plush white rug in the center of the room.

The doctors made it clear that baby Lucas had no chance and that they had run out of options. They were giving up. Krystal wouldn't allow it; she screamed at those doctors, "SAVE MY BABY!" until security had to drag her out. For the next few days she shut herself into the nursery, and I made another lemon meringue pie to try to get her out. (Pulls a pie out of oven.) "Krystal, pie's ready!" (Beat.) "Krystal?" (She walks to the nursery, standing in front of the door.) "Krystal?"

(Sobbing) "Go away!"

"I'm not going to do that." I opened the door. In that moment I noticed three things; toys were spread out across the floor, framed photos shattered and... "Krystal, put the gun down."

I don't even know where she got it from. It could have been Bryan's, but he's not home. My daughter was holding the gun under her chin and she turned around to face the crib. "I'm sorry, mom."

"Krystal? NO!"

I stood there in that moment, not processing what'd just happened. I was pinching my wrist so I could wake up from this nightmare. But it did nothing. I stood, frozen, like a robot that had been powered off. Then it all came rushing back to me; the shattered photos, the gun, the BLOOD!

(Falls to knees.) "KRYSTA!"

I looked down at her lifeless eyes that were perfectly fixed to look into mine.

"KRYSTA! PLEASE WAKE UP, PLEASE!"

In that moment, I prayed to the god that I never believed in, and I put my fingers just above her collarbone.

Just like that, I lost a daughter and a grandson... on the same day. Even now as I speak to you all in this church, as I stare at her cold, lifeless body in that casket, at least I can say I did the right thing. I supported her every decision throughout her pregnancy because that's what a good mother is supposed to do. She was nineteen. Even if this had happened four years before, not a single intention in my heart would change, because that's what a good mother is supposed to do. That's what a good mother is made to do; to support her children with every step. And that's exactly what I did.

#ten minute monologue #acting #speech and debate #theater