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From very early childhood, you were in the hospital all the time. It was awful. It helped that the doctors and nurses were kind and understanding, and your mother and grandmother never left your side, but it was still a nightmare. The pain and terror was so hard to deal with, especially in the places where your mom and grandma couldn't follow, like pre-op or hydrotherapy.
One day, when you were about four, your grandmother gave you a special gift. It was a stuffed bunny, turquoise in color with black button eyes, holding a tiny bouquet of pinkish cloth roses. It was hypo-allergenic and easy to clean, and considering how much blood escaped your body on a regular basis, that was a necessity for just about everything you owned. Grandma said it would protect you in the places where she and your mom couldn't go. All you had to do was hug it tight, and it would take care of you. You were four, so you naturally excepted this with no question.
Having it with you did make you feel better. The hospital staff was accommodating; they'd only take it away during surgery after your were already asleep, and give it back once the surgery was over. You felt safer when you had it and it helped you face the fear. You called it Blue.
Sometimes, on nights when you stayed in the hospital alone, you could have sworn you felt a gentle hand on your head as you lay there. When you looked up, no one was there.
As you got older, the trips to the hospital became less frequent, but they were no less terrifying. Being in school made it doubly hard, since you had visible scars from your treatments and kids could be cruel. You often found yourself taking Blue to school with you, just for the extra support.
Once you reached your teens, you started to get rid of your old toys periodically, but Blue seemed to survive each purge. You just couldn't bring yourself to get rid of it. At the end of your teens, Blue was the only artifact from your traumatic childhood that you held onto.
By the time your reached college, the visits to the hospitals had stopped altogether, although you still had to see a doctor regularly, and Blue had come with you to your dorm. It sat on your desk and watched you write your dissertations and thesis papers. It kept you company when you crammed for finals.
Sometimes, when you crashed at your desk, you woke up with a blanket on your back and a pillow under your face. You thought perhaps your dorm mate had done it, but they weren't that considerate.
You graduated with a masters in psychology and education, as well as an interpretation certificate, learning sign language so that you could teach it to newly disabled kids and their families. It was a good job, a necessary one, and it let you help other people, which is something you had always wanted to do and you really enjoyed doing it.
Your grown-up life was fulfilling professionally, but you couldn't deny you were lonely. Your mother and grandmother had died some years before, and you didn't really see eye to eye with your dad, so you didn't speak to him often. You got along way better with kids than with adults, since they were much easier to talk to. It didn't help that your experiences growing up made you painfully shy and you didn't like to go out that much.
