I haven't always hated hospitals. Really. I'm not saying that hospitals are happy places, I'm not naive, but I always tried to think of the positive side of hospitals: the beauty of the life that is renewed and the new life that impresses itself onto Earth every day. Renewal, beautiful. Maybe it was because I'd never been in a hospital for anything life-threatening or even near serious. Only broken bones from sports, and once to have my tonsils taken out. Memorial Hospital was never a place I could see myself for more than a few hours, stitches, maybe a cast at the most. I never thought I'd be spending weeks, maybe months here, in room 308 with the view of the gardens blooming underneath me. My father called it the penthouse suite; the best view in Phoenix.

Room 308 is much different than most hospital rooms in Memorial. It's very colorful, unlike the stark gloomy interior swallowing the rest of the hospital wing I've been bedridden to.  Not because I'm special or anything, but because I'm lucky enough to have a best friend who feels she has to decorate and make this situation a little more colorful. No pun intended. Lacey had carefully placed picture frames with drawings, photos, and notes to help me feel better. She fought with the nurses restlessly to be able to hang stuff on the walls, but the refused. So what does she do? She finds a loophole, obviously. She taped all my favorite band posters everywhere, and printed 10 pages of lyrics to songs she knows I love. What a trooper. Now Lacey was sitting in the room she decorated. The Arizona sun was pouring into the room and warming my face while it made her golden skin shimmer. She had been in the sun to get that tan for 6 out of 7 days before I was admitted here. Since then, she's visited me from the time the doors open at 8am to visitors until the evening nurses drag her out of the building at 8pm. She's currently taking a break from her schoolwork. Too much going on. It's nice to have company in such a bland place like this though. It's not like we can run around or anything, but it's definitely a good thing to have someone to make funny comments about the stupid, yet addicting, reality TV shows that plague my television set. Lacey is naturally funny, and keeps my spirits up.  These are the times I wish I were in a movie like Patch Adams: Where laughter really does cure people. I'd be the healthiest man on Earth, let me tell you.

Lacey was driving to Tucson to visit her sister for lunch when I called and told her. My timing of things has always been off. Once, at a wedding, I got into a car accident. It was  not my fault at all, but nonetheless, showing up at a wedding 2 hours late kind of takes the attention off the bride and groom, which can make for one very upset bride. Anyway, I called Lacey about 15 minutes after she left for the nearly 2 hour drive. I initially called to ask if she could pick me up some toothpaste on her way home, but instead blurted out "I have a brain tumor". She immediately hung up and cancelled lunch with her sister and drove to my apartment.

It all started on a Sunday afternoon. I was spending the day with my younger sister. It was in early March, and it was very warm out. We were on the trampoline in my parents' backyard when I lost my balance and fell, hitting the ground below with a thud. I felt fine, but my parents, being the very paranoid type, insisted that I go to the Hospital anyway, just to check. When I arrived they told me I had a small concussion, but they wanted to scan my brain to make sure everything was in order. The doctor came back with a worried look in her face. I assumed the concussion was just worse than they expected, and nothing more. Then she simply said "I'm sorry to inform you, you have a rare brain tumor that is about the size of a walnut. There is not much we can do but hope the size is not progressing". But it was. Slowly but surely. They thought maybe it was benign, but really, what kind of brain tumor is ever benign? That's my thought anyway. It's my brain, I need it to live. It was progressing in size, but the doctors predicted that it wouldn't start to really threaten my life until I was around 27. I'd still have another 9 years to live before I had to start making my will. Well, it's been a year, and obviously my condition is worse than they thought. Months, maybe. I'm not one of those crazy college kids. I'm a fantastic student, an honored athlete, and not much of a partier. I haven't experienced too much in my life yet, which is a damn shame that I'll be cut short. I've come to accept it, but the one thing I wish I had really gotten to experience is love. Sure, I've had a couple serious girlfriends, but one of them was unfaithful and the other, well, our lives just didn't fit together. I don't think I truly loved either one of them. Sure, I've had some random girls in between, but really, what will those hold significant in the long run? Oh the irony!  Damn shame, let me tell you. That's one of those things that really make me bitter. It's something that I think I deserve to experience before I die. Don't get the wrong impression, I'm not at all cocky, but being in love is something I think everyone in life needs to experience. I get so frustrated that I'd be spared from that. I could find someone in these next few months, but really, love in a hospital room? Very unlikely.

I'm feeling a little sick, and I notice that Lacey is looking at me strangely. She asks me if anything is wrong, and I tell her I'm feeling ill, but it's been happening a lot lately. She goes to get a doctor to make sure everything is alright. Of course it's not alright. I'm a nineteen year old who's dying of a brain tumor and never experienced the one thing I've always wanted to understand. I guess some things have to stay a mystery to some people. I'm one of those people and love is that mystery. Goddammit. A doctor I don't recognize comes in and does the usual routine I go though. Blood pressure, heart rate, breathing patterns. Repeat every 4 hours. But this time something is different. The doctor looks very sad, and tells Lacey that I'm fading. For the first time since that day in early March when I first found out, my eyes well up with tears. So do Lacey's. She tell the doctor that I can't leave yet, it's too soon. The doctor apologizes and leaves apathetically. She's done this millions of times. I begin to feel tired, and my eyes begin to sink. Lacey's makeup is running and I'm crying for her. The last thing that goes through my mind before I fade to black is "What was I thinking? Love is right here with me"