I used therapies and test results to gage my daughter’s life for about a year. I believed that my sole responsibility on her seventh birthday was to make one hospital day memorable. By the time it was over, I knew Alice had been waiting for something I was afraid to offer her.
When Superman stood next to my daughter’s hospital bed and informed her of another surprise, she was already in tears.
I was also crying.
Wonder Woman, Batman, Spider-Man, and Captain America stood all around us. Doctors and nurses who had been treating my seven-year-old daughter for cancer for nearly a year were hiding behind the masks.
Alice stared at me after wiping her cheeks.
Dr. Malcolm put one hand on her bed’s edge.
“Your mother is also unaware of one aspect of today.”
Except for me, everyone in that room seemed to know there was more to come.
I gripped the bedrail tighter.
“What section? What’s going on? Is Alice alright?
Dr. Malcolm’s face relaxed.
All of a sudden, the costumes were irrelevant.
Because Alice’s birthday celebration had nothing to do with what happened later.
Spending her seventh birthday in the hospital didn’t have to feel like another item that cancer had stolen, as I had been trying to persuade myself three hours prior.
For
Chemotherapy, needles, nausea, blood tests, and days when sitting up required more energy than she wanted anyone to witness were all part of the experience.
She was still, for some reason, the child who was fixated on making other people smile.
Superheroes were her other obsession.
Before each treatment, she selected one from a row of small figures that she kept next to her bed.
“Chemo
Spider-Man was attached to her IV pole that morning.
I had brought a little cake and placed paper stars across the space.
Alice glanced at the décor before turning to face me.
“You took on too much.”
“You have a birthday today.”
“Mom, you brought candy canes for everyone and said that about Christmas.”
“You only get to be seven once.”
After grinning, she fixed her gaze on the birthday balloon hanging over her bed.
“Do you think I’ll also celebrate my eighth birthday here?”
I immediately reached for her blanket.
“First, let’s get through seven.”
Alice nodded too readily.
She had complained about being exhausted prior to becoming ill.
I had put the blame on education.
Then there were bruises.
I put the blame on the playground.
Nothing had appeared frightening until all of a sudden.
I would never be able to forgive myself for missing the start.
I’ve now noticed everything.
I could tell whether Alice was rubbing her eyes.
I could tell if she was eating less.
I could tell if she became quiet.
I had made it my full-time job to observe her.
A nurse from Alice’s class brought in a huge birthday card that morning.
Stickers, love, images of superheroes, and names scribbled in every hue were all over it.
Alice read them all.
I did as well.
There was one missing name.
Sophie.
Sophie had essentially lived at our place prior to treatment. She and Alice got into arguments over dinosaurs, movies, and the strongest superhero.
Alice looked at the card once more.
“Perhaps she forgot.”
“She would remember your birthday.”
Alice gave a shrug.
“Mom, I haven’t attended school for nearly a full year. If Sophie has other pals, that’s acceptable.
“I could ask your instructor.”
Her gaze jerked in my direction.
“Please don’t.”
“I just want to know if everything is alright.”
“I don’t want you to.”
I gave a nod.
“All right.”
Then I sent the message even though Alice was watching TV.
“Are things going well between the girls? Alice saw that Sophie had neglected to sign her card.
I told myself I was helping at the time.
Dr. Malcolm arrived later that morning.
For the most of the year, he had taken care of Alice. He never spoke around her as if she weren’t there, which is why I trusted him.
He gazed at her superhero figures after checking on her and asking how she was feeling.
“Who is at work today?”
Alice gestured at Spider-Man.
“Today, he is my chemotherapy partner.”
“A wise decision.”
Dr. Malcolm then turned to face me.
“I have to go outside for a short while.”
I stood up straight.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, Maggie. Not at all.
I felt my heart drop as I watched him go.
Alice saw.
“You’re making the face.”
“Which face?”
“The one where you’re anticipating a negative outcome.”
The door opened before I could respond.
Superman entered.
Alice froze.
Then Wonder Woman materialized behind him, followed by Captain America, Batman, and Spider-Man.
Alice’s familiar physicians and nurses entered the room one by one, dressed as the heroes she had seen standing next to her bed for months.
Alice gazed for a whole three seconds.
Then she yelled, “No way!”
Everyone chuckled.
Alice burst up laughing as well.
Then she started crying.
She gestured to Batman.
“I know who you are! Batman, I know who you are!
Batman repositioned his mask.
“You lack evidence.”
She laughed even more at that.
I instinctively grabbed my phone.
I then came to a standstill.
I had been taking pictures of everything for months because I was afraid I would forget.
I lowered it that morning.
Without a screen separating us, I wanted to see my baby.
Then Dr. Malcolm approached her and knelt next to her while dressed as Superman.
“Your mother is also unaware of one aspect of today.”
We had returned to the scene that had tightened my gut.
Dr. Malcolm gave me a glance.
“This morning, we received the results we were anticipating.”
I held onto the bedrail.
“Alice, they are encouraging. They look good, Maggie.
Too soon, hope rose.
Before I could misunderstand, he went on.
“The course of treatment is ongoing. Alice will still require monitoring, checkups, blood testing, and medication. However, we feel at ease transferring her to the next, less demanding stage that we had been aiming for.
Alice glanced between us.
“Mom, is that good?”
“It’s excellent.”
She grinned.
I broke down in tears once more.
Dr. Malcolm was then given a backpack by someone.
It was a vivid blue, covered in greetings from Alice’s classmates, superhero emblems, and fabric marker stars.
Alice straightened her posture.
“Is that for me?”
Dr. Malcolm grinned.
“It was sent by your class.”
There was a note inside.
“Your seat is waiting for you when you’re ready.”
Alice read it twice.
She then turned to face me.
“School?”
Dr. Malcolm gave a nod.
“Not the following day. Initially, not all day. And not without a strategy. Yes, though. We can begin discussing how to get you back there. We’ll make sure the school has the necessary medical advice when you’re ready.
Alice turned to face me.
“Mom.”
Her entire face brightened.
Her smile dimmed, therefore mine must not have.
She chatted virtually incessantly on the way home.
Did the class hamster survive?
Would her cubby be the same?
Is it possible for her to attend recess?
She finally stopped.
“You don’t want me to leave.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’ve remained silent.”
“Honey, we must properly plan it.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It implies that we must first speak with everyone.”
Alice pivoted to face the window.
She understood, even at seven.
I wasn’t prepared.
I set up a meeting with her teacher and the school nurse for the following week.
I brought three pages of inquiries.
“What happens if a second child becomes ill?”
“We’ll take the safety measures her care team advises.”
“What happens if she grows weary?”
“She can take a nap or head out early.”
“What if she requires medication?”
“We’ll have the right strategy.”
“What happens if someone bumps into her?”
Her instructor hesitated.
“Maggie, kids do run into each other.”
Just that.
In one afternoon, kids went from being fine to having a fever, bumped, sneezed, and neglected to wash their hands.
It had taken me nearly a year to realize how hazardous normal may appear.
Another parent dropped off documentation during the meeting.
Alice’s name reached her ears.
“Oh. Will she return?
“Gradually,” the instructor stated.
The woman paused.
“Is it safe for her to be with the other children?”
The floor was scuffed by my chair.
Before I could respond, the nurse did.
“Cancer is not communicable.”
The woman blushed.
“That’s not how I meant it.”
Perhaps she didn’t.
However, Alice and my mother had been waiting nearby and had heard enough.
“Does she think I can give people cancer?” she later inquired.
“She doesn’t comprehend.”
“Everyone will view me in a different way.”
“Then maybe we wait,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Alice gazed at me.
It was too late for me to hear myself.
Sophie and her mother visited two days later.
Alice glanced at me as soon as she spotted them.
“You informed me.”
“I had a question for your teacher.”
“Mom, I asked you not to.”
“I was attempting to assist.”
“You weren’t asked to.”
“You were injured.”
“Yes.” Her voice trailed off. “And I owned it.”
I was stopped by that.
Alice finally questioned Sophie about why she hadn’t signed the card as she was standing close to the couch.
Sophie gazed at her shoes.
“My mother was always telling me not to discuss cancer unless I wanted to.”
“I didn’t want to discuss cancer.”
“I had no idea what else we needed to discuss.”
Alice scowled.
“We had dinosaurs.”
At last, Sophie raised her head.
“You still believe that a shark is superior to a T. rex?”
“Obviously.”
They were fighting like they used to in a matter of minutes.
I listened while standing in the kitchen.
I had attempted to handle it for Alice, but she had done it more skillfully.
We attempted a brief school visit a few weeks later when her care team gave their OK.
I included the hospital bag, drink, medication, emergency information, snacks, extra clothing, and wipes.
Alice observed me while I loaded everything.
“What is the duration of our stay?”
“A couple of hours.”
She examined the bags.
“It appears to be three weeks.”
I kept a close eye on her at school.
She eventually leaned in my direction.
“Will you please stop staring at me?”
“I’m seeing how you’re doing.”
“Every minute?”
I didn’t respond.
“You’re observing my breathing.”
That sounded nearly absurd.
I then noticed her face.
She was serious.
Alice became silent after an hour.
She was no longer as colorful.
“We’re heading out.”
“I’m alright.”
“You’re worn out.”
“Mom, I’m exhausted. However, I’m not going to die.
She gave me a direct glance.
The space appeared to get smaller.
Alice instantly had an apologetic expression.
She didn’t have to apologize because of me.
I just brought her home.
I told Dr. Malcolm everything at her subsequent visit.
the exhaustion.
The pallor.
How swiftly her vitality vanished.
After examining her, he reminded me of the indications that should prompt me to call.
“So you’d let her go back?” I then inquired.
“I know what her body is capable of doing safely.”
I held out.
“I have no idea how terrified you should be when she does it.”
I turned my head away.
He continued, “She’s going to have limits for a while.” “Having boundaries does not equate to having no life.”
Alice dozed off that nite with a notebook by her side.
The medical bag fell on the ground while I was repackaging it.
It collapsed.
She had scribbled across the top:
“THINGS I WANT TO DO AFTER MOM QUITS BEING SCARED”
Take the bus.
Proceed to recess.
Get some rest at Grandma’s.
Eat cake without my mother wondering if I’m feeling queasy.
My school photo shows me with untidy hair.
When people believe I’m asleep, stop whispering.
Next, the final one:
Make Mom laugh without questioning her sincerity.
I took a seat on the ground.
I had been watching everything about Alice for about a year. I had no idea that she was also observing me.
I moved too quickly the following morning due of guilt.
“You are free to return to school.”
Alice gave up eating.
“Today?”
“No. We’ll organize it. And it’s going to happen soon, honey?
She squinted her eyes.
“My notebook was read by you.”
“Alice, it fell open.”
“However, you read it.”
“I noticed the page.”
She shoved her bowl aside.
“You always fix things that I didn’t ask you to do.”
“Your mother is me.”
“I am aware.”
She cast a downward glance.
“I wish you would just be my mom sometimes because of this.”
I wanted to explain why I packed, why I checked, and why I watched.
Rather, I chose to remain silent.
I sat next to her later.
“How would you like your first day to go?”
She looked at me.
“A half-day.” No grand welcome.
“All right.”
“Don’t tell people to treat me gently.”
I took a swallow.
“All right.”
“You’re not standing outside my classroom, either.”
“All right, honey. We are capable of doing it.
Alice reported having a headache the nite before her first half-day.
All of my internal alarms went off.
Instead of creating new rules out of fear, I took her temperature, according to the instructions we’d been given, and called her care team as necessary.
There was no indication of an emergency.
She felt better by morning.
Nevertheless, I placed the hospital bag in the trunk.
I then just stood there and gazed at it.
For nearly a year, that bag has been with us.
It meant control, readiness, and the conviction that nothing could ever surprise me again if I checked, packed, and observed enough.
I took it out again.
We kept her medical records and the medication she needed.
The overnight bag remained at home.
Alice stopped at the school’s entrance and took hold of my hand.
“What if I’m the center of attention?”
“They could, my love.”
“What if it’s strange?”
“It most likely will be.”
She raised her gaze to me.
“And we’ll figure it out tomorrow if you don’t like it.”
She remained by my side for an additional moment.
She gave my hand a brief squeeze before releasing it.
Alice entered without my presence.
And I really did go.
The hospital bag was sitting next to the entrance at home.
I brewed coffee.
As I looked at the time, it grew chilly.
I was fifty minutes early for pickup.
Alice emerged next to Sophie.
Her hair looked disheveled.
Over one shoulder, her backpack dangled crookedly.
She appeared worn out.
She seems content as well.
I looked at her face right away.
I was caught by Alice.
“You’re succeeding.”
I came to a halt.
“The face of the hospital?”
She gave a nod.
“I apologize.”
“It’s alright.”
She pondered for a while.
“Today, I completed the school face.”
“How does that appear?”.
“As if I’m not afraid even when I am.”
She turned to face my automobile.
“You arrived early, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Forty-three minutes.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, fifty.”
Alice chuckled.
I grabbed her backpack.
She drew it nearer.
“I understand.”
My initial reaction was to tell her that it appeared hefty.
My second thought was to accept it nevertheless.
Rather, I put my hand down.
“All right.”
Alice began walking toward the automobile after adjusting the strap herself.
I strolled next to her.
Alice also had a backpack of her own.
