"Knock knock..." I said, looking down at her sweet, gaunt face.
My daughter's eyes slowly opened, and for a brief second, it looked as if she was going to smile.
Lying in the hospital bed, Amy looked so small. She'd been in this room for over three weeks now, and slowly but surely, she was wasting away in front of her mother and I. It was hard to watch, but how could we not spend every waking second with her? Taking shifts, we made sure that as often as possible, someone was at her side.
"Who's there?" She scratched out.
"Orange."
Her eyes lit up.
For the last two and a half weeks, we had tried to think of every way possible to get more potassium into our little girl. The doctors had her on regular IV's, but for some reason, it just wasn't taking. Our little girl was dying of some form of heart disease, and all we could do was try to get as much into her system as possible, even if meant we were only putting off the inevitable.
Two weeks ago, I got the idea to try to give her bananas in a playful manner. She was too old for the 'airplane coming into the hanger' bit, but I still did alright. Some days, I'd take a bite of my own for every bite she took of hers. Some days, I'd take two or three. Anything to get my baby girl to fight for herself.
Three days ago when I entered her room, trying to fight to put a smile on my face, I got an idea.
"Knock knock..." I had said.
"Who's there?" She replied.
"Banana." I said.
She looked at me quizically. She was tired of them already, but this was an approach she wasn't used to. She asked me "Banana who?" and I returned with "Never mind. It'll make sense later."
She had stared at me, confused, for a few seconds that day - but ultimately she ate the banana.
Two days ago I tried the same thing, with the same unsure response. Yesterday was no different. She hated those bananas. She didn't like them before coming to the hospital, and it was hard to watch her force herself to eat them this far in. Sometimes we wanted to do anything to make her comfortable. Sometimes we selfishly wanted her to keep fighting just so we could have a bit more time with our daughter.
But today... I knew I had a way to make her smile. All of the confusion and 'dad, you're weird' looks I'd gotten would be worth it.
So, "Orange" I had said. The look in her eyes told me that she had fully expected me to say "Banana" again. Good.
She looked at me like I was about to give her a birthday and Christmas present at the same time. She struggled to sit up a bit further in the bed.
"You really have an orange??" She asked, the eagerness in her voice competing with the strain it took for her to talk.
"You have to finish the joke..." I said, smiling at her.
"Orange... Orange who?" Tears were welling up in her eyes.
"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?" I said, pulling a perfect looking orange out from behind my back.
Three days ago, the doctors told us that she was failing and that our days were numbered. I'd made sure every morning after that that the cafeteria had oranges on hand.
This morning, they were positive. Today would be her last. My wife was on the way with her little brothers - I was going to be damned if the last thing my angel ate on this earth was another stinking banana.
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