The Cancer Room

I hate having to be here writing this. Well, not having to write this, but having to be here, in the cancer room, writing this. Well, not that I mean I hate being here. I am here with my 4 year old grandson. I love being with him. He's my little buddy. What I hate is ever having to be here in the cancer playroom. I would prefer to be in any other playroom with him. 

Just days ago we were at a park playing. He was running around like a crazy little boy who could not get enough life out of his little body. He shone bright with energy that could just not be stopped. I chased him around for about 30 minutes but after karate fighting with him for just 10 minutes I had to hit the sidelines. He so loves a good fight.  He dashed a hundred times through a small obstacle course and then bounced around between 3 sets of slides and swings. He stopped for water only for a second when I commanded that he do it and was quickly back darting around the park. His legs were like little hummingbird wings, almost invisible in their quickness. His smile was never ending. 

And then, 2 days later, we sat in a doctor's office with the rest of the family listening to the doctor say the word "leukemia". He had no symptoms of anything. A routine blood test at his doctor's last week triggered a referral to a specialist. The specialist looked at few slides of his blood and sat there looking at us and telling us what the next 3 years would be like. After the talk the doctor asked us if we had any questions. Everyone was too stunned to speak. 

We walked out to the waiting room where Andre was with my youngest daughter. Everyone was quiet and ready to leave when Andre himself lost that smile he always carried on his face, and asked with a puzzled look on his face, "Am I sick?". 

It sunk in right then and there that he was. He couldn't understand why everyone was crying. 

Everybody thinks they know what cancer is.  It's that thing you hear about one week out of the year when even professional football players don't mind wearing pink socks out on the football field. 

As it turns out it is much more than that. I won't bother here with the stupid stuff. Like the fact that in the last 70 years they still haven't come up with much better than cutting, poisoning, or burning those who have this terrible disease. The cure is what most patients remember. 

I hope only to share the stories of the people we meet in the playroom. Other kids who also have to take this journey. Already Andre and I have met kids who inspire us. Brave kids who have fought this for years and some who have just started this fight.  Sadly, after just a week and half in the playroom, we have also met kids who have passed on. Andre doesn't know what is going on or why. But he will fight. He so loves a good fight. 

God, I hate having to be here writing this.