The Ultimate Bond

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I crept out first. Then, it was her turn. Back and forth we played this game, slyly jumping in and out of each other’s hospital rooms. Back and forth. In and out. Eventually, we both locked eyes and let out a smile, accompanied by a quiet, “hello.” But before anything else could occur, our faces turned red, and we returned to our rooms giggling.

That didn’t last.

We were at it again.

This wasn’t just a game. Or a pass time. But two people—only two of a thousand—that share one common condition.

What both made us feel empty and alone before, was now our connection. Though our ages—8 and 4—were different, it didn’t matter. From now on, we were in it together.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Both of us snapped out of our zone, amazed we were no longer alone. Dr. Beth walked in, and my new found friend’s face fell. I knew that face. Afraid. Nervous. A look of reluctance. Expecting pain, I understood. This came across my face each time, too—even though I endured this for eight years now.
She was stuck in a trance as Dr. Beth and her mother were talking. This wasn’t my turn, but I grabbed her hand anyway. I wasn’t planning on leaving her.
Together, we walked into the room greeted by the humming noise of the laser. This was nothing new to either of us—it occurred every six weeks since we were born. Her face was taken over by fear, as she swallowed hard. Admittingly, fear shook my body, too. But, that only made me stand taller for her.
Packed into the chair, both of our procedures were completed. Together. Back in our own rooms—with ice packs covering our skin—both of us locked eyes, cracked a smile, and laughed.
Though we were to stay in our rooms, I crept to hers. Together wrapped in fuzzy blankets, we sat watching “The Parent Trap.” When her ice packs fell or needed repositioning, I fixed them in between fixing mine, almost instinctively.
Putting my arm around her, I insisted on showing her that. It was in that instant, that something special was created. The bond still lasts, though thousands of miles separate us.
The complex meaning of what was really going on faded in that moment. The unnecessarily lengthy name of the condition—Cutis Marmarata Talengiectatica Congenita—was over-looked. Though the bad blood vessels, which could cause many problems, were destroyed with every procedure, we were not.





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