A Place In This Life

Chapter 15

Even the most crowded places hold secrets, especially when there is little sound. Each corridor, every room, holds a person experiencing the compartmentalization of their young lives. Some say that the illness is chosen, even though the victim is not aware that they've even made a choice. Others argue that it's the PCBs in plastics that cause the cancer. My cause, as I walked down the hallway with Todd, was to support him on his quest to free himself from the leukemia that lived in his blood.

It seemed peculiar that the hospital was this hushed, especially given that it was filled with children. It could have been the early morning, allowing the children to sleep and recover from the previous day. The waiting area outside of the lab was not unlike a jolt of caffeine in a sea of herbal tea, with children and parents lined-up awaiting test results that would send them home or to the infusion center.

"There's usually not this many people here in the morning," said Todd, sitting next to me in a hard, plastic chair.

A few little kids were playing with handheld video games and toys, every bump and curve of their skulls on display. Parents sat waiting with their children, their smiles unable to hide behind the gray pallor of their faces. The stress and trauma of seeing a loved one through an illness was almost unbearable, and I could only imagine if that loved one was my own child.

For now, though, my loved one was Todd. Not a child on the outside, but definitely a little boy inside who was scared of the needles, the medication, the vomiting. His machismo masked his fear quite well, and I could tell he was counting the things that he saw in the waiting area like floor tiles, light bulbs and patterns, just as I did.

"Did you know that you're counting stuff?" I asked. He looked up at me, distressed that I'd broken his pattern.

"It calms me," he said, looking at me for a brief moment before staring at the tree painted on the wall in front of us, with its many leaves begging him to begin the count.

"I do the same thing, just so you know," I said, sharing my pattern of disturbing behavior. Or, at least I found it disturbing at times.

"Guess we can count on each other," he said with a little smile. "Pun intended."

There was more silence until a nurse dressed in clown-covered scrubs came to fetch Todd, leading him back for the test that would determine how the day would go.

I picked up where Todd left off in the counting department. I kept track of how many pairs of earrings I saw. The amount of pens in the cup at the desk. The amount of circles each waiting room chair had at the end of its legs.

Todd walked back through the door and sat down, reaching for my hand, running his thumb back and forth in my palm. He kept silent as he mentally prepared for what came next.

His blood showed that it was good enough for the chemo, and we were guided to an outpatient area for the infusion. Dressed in a gown, Todd lay down on the bed and I sat in a chair at the foot of it, waiting for what was going to happen next.

A nurse appeared, wearing a rubbery covering and wheeling a basket of medications, swabs, and cloths over to the bed. She chatted with Todd, her voice light and airy, as she prepared the first chemo infusion.

"This is Sharon. She's my favorite nurse," said Todd, smiling. Sharon flashed me a quick grin before getting back to work. Her cherubic face was framed by short dark hair, gold hoops peeking out from underneath. Her berry-colored scrubs hung out from under her rubber suit.

"We'll start with Vincristine today, Todd," said Sharon, hanging a bag of clear liquid from the IV stand.

"Ahhh, it's good to see you again, Christine. Baby, where have you been?" he said with a laugh.