Just Smile and Nod

You sat in a hospital waiting room with signs all around you: Be Strong Today, You’re Braver than You Think, etc. It was more than nauseating to try and be positive all the time. The room was painted a melancholy blue color- one that, for some reason, aggravated you. A young child, maybe the age of five, was wheeled into the room by her mother with a pink bandanna rapped around her head and one of those surgical masks that covered most of her face. Stuffed animals of all sorts were stuffed with her in her wheelchair. Obviously, the little girl had cancer. Tears welled around your eyes as you fought hard to keep them back. It made you angry. You're supposed to be with your friends, celebrating your Senior Prom, maybe even getting that dance you had been waiting for with Robert. Instead, you’re stuck at the hospital, awaiting treatment, surrounded by more sick kids.

The cancer was so small in your lungs, but they were afraid it had spread so the only solution they had was more testing, more chemo, and more radiation. Of course, the doctors had used bigger terms than what you were used to, but that summed up the two-hour meeting specialists had with you and your family. You remember your mother gripping her tissue as if it were the last thing on earth she had to hold on to. Her sullen face was focused on every word the doctors said, often repeating them, asking more questions, looking at you, and then repeating them again. Your father seemed in a distant land, looking at the floor, rubbing his five o’clock shadow. His eyes were sad, but you knew he wouldn’t let himself cry. Watching your family fall apart, all because of you, was worse than having the cancer itself.

“Amy?” you heard someone say, pulling you out of your fog.

Looking up towards the reception area, you saw a cheery nurse with dimples reading off your name from her clipboard. You rolled your eyes. Since the cancer came around, you were merely another name lumped together with others who had the same disease. And did the nurse have to look so happy?

Reluctantly, you stood up, peaking around the entry doors, hoping to see your mother come through. Obviously, she hadn’t found her parking spot yet, otherwise she’d be there. You walked slowly toward the nurse, unamused by her Disney scrubs.

“How are you?” she asked sweetly.

“I’m okay,” you responded in a robotic manner. 

“Follow me right this way, please.” She opened two big doors that led down a grim hallway full of nurses running around. There were several rooms on either side which, you knew, held more sick children. The enemy without a face was pulling you further into despair as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes for just a moment.

You ended up in room 207. There was a small television hung up in the corner of the room. How were you supposed to watch that? And the white, pasty walls felt like they were sucking your life right out of you, but you knew that the cancer was doing that anyway. The same happy nurse with the Disney characters on her scrubs asked you several questions about how you were feeling, what you’d been eating, etc. She took your blood pressure, temperature, and remaining vitals. You stared at her Disney scrubs. What were you, a toddler? You didn’t need people to pretend that everything was okay, that you were going to be fine. What you wanted was the truth; you needed reality.

“I know this is your first chemotherapy treatment,” the nurse said, again, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Yes, you had many questions you wanted answers to. How sick do you get with radiation and chemo? How soon will you lose all your hair? Will you get fat? Will you even finish high school? Will you go to college? What was going to happen to your family? Were you going to be okay?

Sitting on the cold, hard hospital bed that wasn’t your bed, you felt yourself weaken. You felt it in the pit of your stomach- the fear that you won’t be here much longer. Sure, you know we’re all going to die eventually, but the cancer gave you an expiration date. You felt the clock of Death ticking in your head.

“No,” you said. “I’m ready to get started.” 

Author's Note

This is an assignment I received. I was supposed to write about a ritual (I chose one of the options we had), and to write it with great detail and in second person.