Do You Believe in Miracles?

If children have the ability to ignore all odds..then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options..give up, or fight like hell

Cancer.

Someone who is born between June 22 and July 22 is considered a Cancer.

Someone who is a Cancer is highly caring, generous and intuitive. They are highly evolved, even spiritual �" the water signs are karmically developed and refined in spirit.

Water is malleable and adaptable. It moulds itself to the situation. A Cancer person is very much like that. They adapt when they have to, however they much prefer to make changes on their own terms.

Like water, they are also soothing and nourishing. They will act as a support for many people.

Nicholas Flitt was very much like this. Caring, generous, intuitive, very spiritual. He could adapt to just about any situation, had a very calm nature, thoughtful. You would often spot him sitting outside on the swing his Uncle had made for him, thinking.

There was one problem though.

Nicholas was born in April.

***

If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or fight like hell. ~ Lance Armstrong

***

Vanessa Flitt woke up one Saturday morning to find her daughter sitting in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal on her lap.

She was four.

"Where's your brother?" she had asked, beginning preparations for some coffee.

Abigail looked up from the TV and stuffed a spoonful of cereal and milk into her mouth. She chewed it quickly and then said, "Still in bed. I tried to wake him up, but it didn't work. I even jumped on him!"

Vanessa laughed. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'll go get him up. You keep eating,"

Abigail nodded, a very serious expression on her face, before she turned back to the Saturday morning cartoons playing on the TV screen. She fed herself another spoonful of cereal.

As Vanessa entered her son's room, the first thing she noticed was the smell.

Unlike the usual smell of old socks and his pet hamster's uncleaned cage, this was a smell of blood.

"Nick?"

She stepped further into the room and walked the six steps to the window.

She opened the blinds and window, letting some fresh air and light into the room. She then turned to face the bed, looking at her son.

"Nicky?"

Vanessa was worried. By now she usually had a grunt or complaint from her son. Instead he just lay there, eyes closed, facing the window.

Vanessa stepped closer and wiped her son's hair from his forehead, frowning at the amount of sweat she found there.

"Nicky." she called, "Nick. Come on, mate. Time to get up."

Nick coughed in response, covering his mouth with his hand. But what really startled Vanessa was the fact that when he removed his hand, finally opening his eyes. His hand was covered in blood. Fresh, from his most recent coughing fit, and dried, from previous ones throughout the night.

"Mummy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't feel good,"

***

Dr Scott had done this many times before. He had been a doctor for twenty-three years. By now you'd think it would have become easier, even just a little. You'd think he'd be used to it.

But the truth was, it never got easier, he never got used to it.

If anything, it got harder.

Because by now, he knew the order of events. He was expecting it. And that made things so, so much harder.

Shock.

Shock that this could have happened. Shock that it happened to them. Shock that it was real.

Denial.

No this couldn't have happened. It's not real. I'll wake up soon, and it'll all have been a bad dream.

Confusion.

Why is this happening? Why us? What did we do wrong?

Anger.

Usually at him. He was, after all, the one who told them.

Then at themselves. At God. At the world.

Sadness.

Tears and hugging.

Acceptance.

They accept that this is happening. That it is real. That its not going away any time soon.

It happens really quickly. In a matter of minutes Dr. Scott witnesses a person go through these six different emotions, and he anticipates each one.

He still wasn't sure what was worse though.

Seeing these emotions play across a person's face. Seeing them go through so much pain.

Or the moments beforehand. When he's preparing himself. When he knows he's going to cause all of this. Because he is the one that has to tell them. It's his duty as a doctor.

"I'm very sorry to inform you, Mrs. Flitt, after reviewing your son's test results we've-"

"Just tell me what's wrong with my son."

Dr Scott swallowed.

"He has Leukemia. I'm so sorry,"

***

He has Leukemia. I'm so sorry.

He has Leukemia.

Has Leukemia.

I'm so sorry.

Leukemia.

Sorry.

He has Leukemia.

I'm so sorry.

These were the words that plagued Vanessa's mind in the moments after Dr. Scott had left.

"I'll give you a few minutes," He had said. Vanessa had nodded.

He has Leukemia. I'm so sorry

This doesn't happen to people like her. People like Nick.

This happens to people on TV.

Why is it happening to her?

Vanessa put her head in her hands.

She cried.

***

Nicholas was seven when he was diagnosed with Cancer. Leukemia, to be more precise. It was a frightening turn of events for everyone. Family, friends - no one saw it coming.

Nick was a happy kid. Healthy.

Why did it happen to him?

What did he do wrong?

The answer?

Nothing.

He did nothing wrong.

It was just a stroke of bad luck.

He knew that.

The Doctor had told him that.

Outside he could hear his mum crying.

He didn't cry.

He made a promise. To himself, to Abigail who was too young to understand. To his mum.

He was going to be strong.

He was going to fight.

And he was going to win.

April 2010

Every year for his birthday, his mum let him have his four best friends over for a sleep over and they would play pirates in the backyard and jump on his trampoline and play in the cubby and on the swing.

Then they would come inside when his mum called them and they would have home-made pizza for dinner. They would cut the cake and then they would play some more before having a bath and sitting in the living room watching movies and eating ice-cream and chocolate and chips and cake until they fell asleep.

They would wake up early and eat more cake and his mum would make pancakes. He and his friends would eat them with ice-cream and golden syrup and banana and strawberries until they felt sick. Then they would make forts out of pillows and blankets and play knights and castles. Then his friends parents would come to pick them up and they'd pretend they weren't home. The parents always found them though, and his friends always had to go home no matter how much they begged for them to stay.

When Abigail was born they had to make some adjustments to his birthday plans. Like she always had to play in the forts. They made her a princess, and the knights had to protect her. When she got older they were only allowed to watch movies that she was allowed to watch until she went to bed, then they could watch their movies.

It wasn't too bad. Nick loved his sister. And Abigail wasn't too annoying.

Most of the time.

This year was different, though.

He had a cake. It wasn't chocolate mud with extra chocolate chips and chocolate ice-cream though.

It was an ice-cream cake.

There was no late movie nights with chocolate and ice-cream.

No forts or pirate games.

No sleep over.

He saw his friends. They didn't stay long though.

The year Nicholas Flitt turned eight he spent the night in the hospital.

The next day he started Chemotherapy.

May 2010

Nick didn't look in the mirror anymore.

He didn't like to.

He didn't like the person he saw.

He was tanned and his hair was black and straight, like his mum. His eyes were green and he wore glasses.

He still wore glasses, and his eyes were still green. But they weren't as bright as they had been.

They were sunken and dull.

His skin wasn't tanned anymore. It was pale and pasty.

He had no hair-it had fallen out after his second round of Chemo.

His mum had noticed him running his hand over his bald head. The next time she came to visit she came with a bag of multi-coloured bandanas.

There was one of every colour.

Nick had laughed when she had sheepishly held them up. He chose a red one to put on. His mum helped him.

It made it a little more bearable. He smiled for his mum's sake. He knew it was hard on her too.

Nicholas still didn't like mirrors. He never looked in them anymore.

Because when he looked into them. He didn't see himself.

He saw a ghost.

August 2010

Nicholas didn't go to school anymore.

There wasn't any point.

Before, he had loved school. He had a large group of friends, four best friends. He did well. Teachers liked him. He was good at sports. It was great.

He had been back for a few days at a time since he was diagnosed. But it was different.

The people who he used to call his friends didn't talk to him. They said they didn't want to get sick as well.

"But you can't catch cancer," he had said.

"It doesn't matter. We can't play with you anymore. Sorry, We don't want to risk getting sick,"

"But you can't catch Cancer! It's not a cold! You can't get sick!"

"Sorry, Nick. If you get better, then you can play with us."

Even his four best friends didn't want to play with him. They came to see him on his birthday, but since, they haven't been back.

On a day when he had been at school, a boy made fun of him for not having hair. He was wearing the green bandana that day, and John McNeill had pulled it off, saying it looked stupid and that only old people have no hair.

Nick had punched him in the nose.

They both ended up in the principals office.

His mum came, and John's. They talked a lot.

John was made to apologise. Before they left John's mum said, "It may be out of line, but, can I just ask, why do you have no hair, Nicholas,"

"I have Leukemia," Nick answered truthfully, before his mum could stop him.

"What's that?" John asked.

"Cancer," Nick replied.

John's eyes went wide and he stammered an apology again.

From then on, John hung out with Nick. They played together. John stood up for him when other's teased him for being bald.

One day, when Nick was in the hospital after Chemo, he complained about being bald.

The next day, John came to the hospital with his mum. He was bald. Nick gave him a bandana to wear.

It was green.

December 2010

Christmas was a time for giving and forgiving. A time when people get together and exchange gifts and stories. It's supposed to be happy.

Vanessa wasn't feeling very happy.

Nicholas had been allowed back home for Christmas. He was sitting on the couch reading a story to Abigail, who was snuggled in next to her brother. They were under a blanket.

She had prepared a small Christmas dinner. A ghost of what they usually had.

The still sat around the table. Her family still came over. They still exchanged gifts on Christmas Day.

But the atmosphere was different.

Everyone kept looking at Nicholas. They were all thinking the same thing.

Would this be the last Christmas we have with him?

Vanessa didn't want to think about it.

***

We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today. ~Stacia Tauscher

***

July 2011

Lisa McNeil had a lot of respect for Vanessa Flitt.

They had become quite close since John and Nick became friends. They talked a lot, about Nick and his treatment, about life, their jobs, John and how his behaviour had improved since he'd become friends with Nick.

They were having coffee. John was at school, Nick in the hospital, Abby was playing on the playground nearby. It was Tuesday.

Lisa asked about Nick and Abby's father. Vanessa looked down.

"Sorry," Lisa said quickly, "I didn't mean to intrude,"

"No, no. It's alright." she paused, taking a sip of her coffee. "He..he left. When Abby was two. Nick was five."

"I'm sorry,"

"It's alright. It was a long time ago..." She trailed off, thinking, "I just. I wonder if things would have been different if he never left. It would be easier if he were here, you know, with Nick and everything," she sighed.

"You're doing a great job," Lisa said, reaching across the table and taking Vanessa's hand in her own.

Vanessa looked at her. Am I though?

November 2011

Nick had gotten used to the hospital by now. It wasn't so bad, really. He got a room to himself. That was a plus. And his mum had bought him a heap of books to read.

John came by most days. He did his homework, and Nick didn't mind helping him. It was nice, he thought, to do something normal.

He also spent a lot of time making a scrapbook. John helped him, and Abby. She got all the photo's and stuff from home, and John bought all the stuff with his mum.

It occupied his time well.

He didn't show his mum.

December 2011

Nicholas wasn't allowed out for Christmas this year. His family came to the hospital instead. They didn't have Christmas dinner. His grandma and aunts made sandwiches instead.

John and his mum came by on Christmas Day. They gave him a present wrapped up in brightly coloured paper.

Nick opened it to find a box of home made turkish delight.

It was the best Christmas he'd ever had.

May 2012

When John McNeill was eight he found a new best friend. When he was ten, he lost one.

He was in school when it happened. Sitting in the chair Nick used to occupy before he stopped coming to school.

His mum appeared at the door and spoke quietly with his teacher for a moment.

"John," his teacher called, "could you come here a minute?"

John got out of his chair and walked to the door.

He felt every eye on him as he went, suddenly very self-aware.

"Yeah," he said when he reached his mum, "whats wrong?"

"John," she said, looking at him, "something's happened,"

***

Do you believe in miracles? Do you know anyone who has ever witnessed one? Although a rare event, long ago, in the 13th century, most people would have accepted the idea of a miracle. In fact, local stories and legends were often based on them.

Nowadays some people do still believe in miracles, although a lot is put down to religious beliefs.

Vanessa Flitt was never religious. Neither were her children.

When she was packing up her son's belongings from his hospital room with Abby, John McNeill came into the room.

"I have something for you, Mrs Flitt,"

"Please John, you know you can call me Vanessa," She smiled sadly at him.

John smiled back and climbed onto the bed he had, not long ago, sat on with Nick and read books or did homework.

Vanessa sat next to him.

John opened his bag and pulled out the scrapbook he had helped Nick make. He handed it to Vanessa. "This is for you,"

Vanessa took it and opened it to the first page. There was a picture of Nick and John with Abby and their mother's smiling back at her.

"Nick made it for you. Abby and I helped, but he told us what to do."

Vanessa smiled, tears forming in her eyes, as she flipped through page after page of her son's work. Pictures of them and drawings.

"It's beautiful, John, thank you."

John got off the bed and picked up his bag. Before he left he turned and looked at Vanessa.

"Nick was my best friend," he said, "the only true friend I had. He loved Abby and you so much, and he looked after all of us. A while ago, when we first started this scrapbook, he told me. He made me promise that if he...died... I would look after you and Abby. I promised him, and I'm gonna stick to that promise."

He smiled, then left the hospital room.

Vanessa sat in the hospital room for a long time after that, flicking though the scrap book. As she looked at one picture of Nick and John sitting on the bed, both wearing bandana's she realised she did believe in miracles.

And the greatest one of all was friendship.

~Fin~

Reviews

[just is]

Wow, such an interesting read, so much deep emotion through out this.

[Rowen Cameron]

Wow...just...wow! So fantastically written and so much emotion expressed even in the shortest phrase. Literally had me in tears by the end. Absolutely loved it!