The author, Ann Graham, moved into the pediatric ward for a year of treatment:
"Then I became one of
them: No hair. Giant, treacherous scar. Wheelchair. Ever-present IV
pole, and dusty-rose colored kidney-shaped bowl to throw up in. These
were all outward signs of a fraternity of warriors that no one wants to
belong to. They all were enduring the same grueling treatment I was --
only they were, on average, 10 years old.
This fraternity of
Cancer Avengers was wise in ways beyond their years. When faced with the
courage and bravery of these little superheroes, I had to give myself
the "Put your big girl pants on" speech more than once.
On my first day of
treatment, while I was scrolling through my Facebook feed by the fish
tank, two boys next to me started discussing their Make-A-Wish requests.
Adam, about 12 years old, had just returned from a rainforest trip and
asked what Sam's wish was going to be. Sam said they couldn't give him
what he wished for. Adam disagreed, enthusiastically conveying that any
wish could be granted. Sam stood firm: It was not possible.
Well, what is it that you want anyway? Adam wanted to know. By now, I also wanted to know.
"I want normal," was
Sam's answer. "I want to go to school and basketball practice, complain
about my parents and homework and turn 12.""
What do adults talk about whenthey ahve cancer? They talk about cancer and obsess about it. Children are different:
"I never got depressed with the Cancer Avengers. They never talked about cancer. They talked about friends, music, sports and Spiderman. Hope prevailed in Pediatric Day Hospital."
They have hope. They are wise beyond their years.
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