Chapter 49 #2
“I remember a lot about the two nights I was there. Most notably, there was Dr. Adelson.” She finds him at our table. “Before the nurses prepped me for surgery, he came in and told me he was a doctor by day but a magician by night.
“He asked if I liked lollipops. Naturally, I said I loved lollipops, but he then proceeded to crush my dreams, saying the hospital was all out of them. The whole state of Colorado had no lollipops. There was a lollipop shortage plaguing the nation.”
She pauses, waiting for the laughter to trickle down.
“But then he knelt beside my bed, performed a little hand trickery, and pulled a coin from behind his ear.” Hannah smiles to herself. “He put the quarter in my palm and told me if I was really brave, maybe his magic would be strong enough to turn the quarter into a lollipop.
“I woke from surgery a few hours later and, sure enough, tucked inside my hand was a strawberry Dum-Dum.”
Richard’s shoulders bounce softly next to Lydia.
“Dr. Adelson recently told me I should call him Richard, and I don’t know if that’s because we’re both adults now or because he’s here tonight as my mom’s date which…isn’t weird at all.” The room picks up her sarcasm. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Chuckles give way to laughter. I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. I could never pick my favorite thing about this woman, but her humor ranks high on the list.
“All jokes aside,” she goes on, “my mother and I have a lot to thank this man for.” Her gaze locks with his from the stage, a heavy look passing between them.
She forces her attention back to her speech, takes a beat to breathe.
“Ten years after my appendectomy, Mom and I returned to Boulder Children’s to oversee the medical care of my best friend.”
The crowd sits transfixed as Hannah tells the story of how Lydia and Gwyn met in birthing class, how she and Maddy were born the same day.
How Maddy felt more like a sister than a friend.
Pin-drop silence sits thick in the air, every server and bartender pausing their tasks to listen to the woman on stage.
Hannah’s emotions nearly get the best of her when she gets to the car accident. Her strength and tenacity propels her forward, though I can hear the quiver in her voice as she recounts the worst few days of her life.
“While we took some comfort in knowing Gwyn’s death was swift on impact, circumstances left little time for grief as Maddy fought for her life.
“My best friend was rushed to BCH where Dr. Adelson’s efforts in emergency surgery put her in stable condition. However, we weren’t out of the woods yet.
“Maddy spent two days in a medically induced coma. For forty-eight hours we waited. Waited for signs of improvement. For the other shoe to drop. For this course to take a turn for the better. When something finally did happen, it wasn’t the turn we’d hoped for.
“I don’t remember the specifics of Maddy’s injuries, though I know they were many and quite complex.
I can’t even say for sure what exactly went wrong that night.
But I do remember standing next to my mom”—Hannah looks to Lydia, nose scrunched to hold back the tears—“as we watched my best friend be wheeled back for another emergency surgery.”
She pauses again, longer this time, blinking rapidly down at the paper in front of her.
“Within minutes of being directed to the waiting room, Dr. Adelson arrived. He was dressed much like he is this evening, in a full tuxedo. I’d find out later he ran out of his niece’s wedding reception to help Maddy.”
Hannah speaks directly to the surgeon now. “Richard, you may not have noticed Mom and I when you ran past us. But I want you to know that what you sacrificed to show up for Maddy did not go unnoticed.” She places a hand over her chest. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Richard dips his head in acknowledgement as the room breaks out in applause. A standing ovation for this man and his efforts. He waves off the attention and glances over at Lydia. The two share a soft smile.
The crowd quiets down again, returns to their seats. A throat clears on stage and my eyes dart to Hannah at the same moment hers land on mine. It’s only a moment—fleeting—but it hits me somewhere so deep I have to force a swallow to hold myself together.
“By all accounts, it was a quiet night in the waiting room. Every so often someone would wordlessly pass by, moving from one wing of the hospital to the other—maintenance workers, doctors, nurses. Until one of them stopped.” Her voice cracks at the end, and my heart does the same.
“I’ll never forget her. Scrubs the same color of her eyes.
Big, bright smile. She didn’t need an invitation, just plopped herself down next to Mom and started talking.
Every bit the seventeen-year-old, sleep-deprived, grieving girl I was, I tuned out their conversation.
But I remember smiles. And laughter. In the midst of one of our darkest moments, she was a light. ”
A tear breaks free and Hannah quickly swipes it away. Her lips part but stall as she stares down at her speech like she’s not sure she should go on.
“Eventually, the nurse turned to me and asked if I knew how to play chess. When I said no, she pulled a small travel chess board from her bag. Right there in the waiting room, I got my first chess lesson.”
Hannah grins. “She told me I picked up the rules faster than most people. That I was a natural and should consider joining a chess club. She said if I kept practicing, I could probably win some tournaments one day. Now, I knew she was probably just blowing smoke”—okay, lies—“but I didn’t care because she made me smile. And it felt really good to smile.
“Time was a blur. I don’t know if we were there for one hour or four when the announcement came over the hospital intercom with an urgent request for O blood.” She pulls in a staggered breath, another tear falling, voice trembling. “We immediately knew it was for Maddy.”
The ballroom is silent, save for the occasional sniffle. A weighty pause stretches. Hannah stares down at the paper, then cranes her head back to the ceiling to staunch the burn in her eyes.
“Neither Mom’s or my blood type was compatible…
but hers was. The nurse with the chess board cut my lesson short to donate blood for my best friend.
There was no fanfare or big show of it. She simply stood up, threw her bag over her shoulder, grabbed both of our hands and said, ‘Don’t lose hope.
’ She was gone before we could even get her name. ”
Tears stream down my face. Mom and Bri dab at the corners of their eyes with their napkins. Lydia’s head rests on Richard’s shoulder, his hand running long strokes over her arm.
“Maddy succumbed to her injuries that night,” Hannah says, the words final but with a tenderness that only comes after years of healing.
“I, um…” She falters, takes a steadying breath.
“I know you might be wondering why I’m sharing such a sad story with you all tonight.
Because the truth is, we’re all here with one common goal: to support Boulder Children’s Hospital in their mission to help and heal every child.
But there’s another truth, a more painful one.
One that haunts so many of us. The truth that not every life can be saved.
“But behind every innocent life lost is a team of selfless people who tried their damned hardest to save it. Doctors with magic tricks. Surgeons who run out of family events, straight into an operating room because a child needs them. Nurses with chess boards who carry light into the darkest places. When and where it matters most, the people of Boulder Children’s show up.
And their impact carries well beyond the four walls of the hospital.
“I’d give anything to find that nurse and thank her for my first chess lesson.
You see, two years later, my mother called me with the devastating news of her cancer diagnosis.
I was a poor college student with no car and very little money in my bank account.
But I had just enough to pay the registration fee for a local chess tournament.
” A smug grin pulls at her mouth as she scans the room.
“Turns out she was right—I was a natural.
I won the tournament and used my winnings to fly home to be with Mom for her first round of chemo.
“If I could talk to that nurse, I’d thank her for donating blood, without hesitation and without pay, when the call came through.
She may not have saved my best friend’s life, but she tried.
Her company in the waiting room may not have rid us entirely of our grief, but it helped.
Her presence—the hand she extended—for however brief it might have been, was the glue that held us together through one of the scariest moments of our lives.
This woman has lived as a hero in my heart alongside Dr. Adelson and countless other BCH staff in the eleven years since Maddy passed. ”
Hannah’s gaze finds mine, holding it firm. “And if I could talk to that nurse again, I’d tell her all about how the universe has worked in odd and mysterious ways since that fateful night.”
She averts her eyes, panning the room. Lydia swats at a tear, attention lifting to me briefly through the flicker of candlelight across the table as her daughter goes on.
“If she were here, I’d tell her the story of the ni—” Her voice breaks and she squeezes her eyes shut, opens them, and begins again.
“I’d tell her the story of the night, six years later, when forces beyond anything I could ever begin to comprehend, threw me into the path of her grandson.
” My jaw sinks, breath caught in my chest. “How he introduced me to her husband who became a dear friend and chess buddy.” Mom gasps quietly beside me, wraps an arm around my shoulders.
Hannah looks at me again, her tears falling as relentlessly as mine.
“She never told us her name back then, and neither my mom or I thought to ask. But I know it now. Her name was Margaret Shaw.”
Bigger. Everything between us has always been bigger, and my heart’s known it all along, though I’ve never been able to define it, to explain it. This whole time, it was Nana.
“Sadly, Maggie Shaw passed away five years ago. I never got the chance to thank her personally for what she did for us. But her family is here this evening.” Hannah directs the room’s attention to our table.
“To her grandson and her daughter-in-law: on behalf of Gwyn, Maddy, my mother, and myself…words could never be enough, but thank you.”
An uproar of applause floods the room, everyone standing to their feet again.
Eyes drill into my back, my profile, from every direction, but mine stay on Hannah.
And when she tilts those lips my way, cheeks streaked from tears, I’ve never been more certain of anything or anyone in my life.
My heart knows it, so does my head. And my bones all the way down to my soul.
I was always meant to love her.