Three By Three

Contains cancer-related words and emotional tolls.

Three By Three

The children walked down the cold tile squares, careful not to land in the “lava” or the odd gray ones.  They were still children, after all.  Some still played games, but mostly they were afraid, afraid of this building, afraid of tomorrow, and afraid of this new life.

They were selected to be here by an unlucky spin on some unkind wheel of “unfortune”.  It did not care if you were five, twelve, or forty years old.  Today the youngest ones were brought in. 

The group ranged from three to nine years old.  After surviving the “lava”, they were back to hanging their heads low with shoulders slumped which would make any mum cringe.  They had big eyes that let light in but seemed to swallow it whole and keep it trapped.  Nothing shined back out.

Some cried for their mums, some yelled about going home and some had accidents, which only made things worse for their young little pride.

Suddenly, a grown-up barked for them to move faster down another fluorescent hallway, one that showed too many creases and bumps on her ancient face.  This hallway had a carpet, that spoke of comfort but the children knew offered none, another false hope. Yet, still, they marched on.

Finally, the door loomed ahead, names were called in exchange for hopes.  One young boy looked back over his small shoulder as if searching for an escape route that he now realized he forgot to make.  Another clung to an older child, as the older one looked wildly around in need of someone she herself could cling to.  

A man stationed by the door studied his phone, a woman behind the desk swiped at keys on a computer, as the ticks from a clock on the wall behind her competed with her jabs.

A woman in a uniform hit an automated bar for the door to open.  It yawned and screeched open as if its misalignment was even protesting what was inside.

Each child looked through the door, then back to the others, scanning for something, a way to be saved, or any way out, even into the “lava”.

Finally, one seven-year-old girl named Nellie walked through the door as all eyes settled on her.  She turned around to face the other children.  Her thin body stood straight as she looked over every face and then her little voice took on a strong quality when she started to speak.

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“I know you are afraid because I am too.  We know what happens in this place.  We all had to go through painful things here and now we are back for more.  But I know a little more than you do.   I know you are strong, stronger than most children, and pretty much more than anyone else out there in the world.”

“How do you know that?”  Came an angry little voice in the back.

“I know because you are here.  You have not run away.  We have all gone through so much already, needles, treatments, doctors, nurses, and pain, ‘lots of it.  But you are warriors and warriors are strong.  Remember, we have each other and warriors together are unstoppable.”

After Nellie said that, she turned and left the children, went over to the nurse, and said, “I’m ready”!

They soon followed her, with some walking two by two, or in threes and heads lifted ever-so-slightly.  In the room, they saw their parents, doctors, nurses, and equipment.  Some gulped, squeezed a hand a little tighter, or cried, but they all stayed. Nellie noticed their bravery and let a smile find a place on her face.

They listened to the doctors talk about treatment plans and other things that now invaded their young worlds.  One doctor told the children that she wanted them to hear what was happening, even if it sounded scary or she used big words, but they would be honest words.  She would explain everything and answer all their questions as best she could.

“We want you to trust us and that can only happen if we explain things and have you understand each step in your treatment. I want to stress, nothing you did caused this illness to happen, but you can do things to help improve and possibly heal and we want to help you on this healing journey.  You can also help each other.  Look around you, someone might really need a hug or be listened to, then you can take turns and that other child can listen and help you.”

A girl about eight raised a hand and asked about pain and said she was afraid.

“Some treatments and tests can hurt a bit, but it is all in an effort to make you better and be home with your families. Every doctor here will try and make it as less painful as possible.  Our goal is for this to be a fuzzy memory one day and that you get to live a happy life full of ice cream and wonder.”

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After that, the children listened to ugly, long words like leukemia and sarcoma, and the ever-annoying “tumor”.  Words that had no business in sandboxes and playgrounds but, somehow found their way in.  

Nellie left her parents to go with a nurse.  She was about to have her least favorite thing of all the unfavorite things to do, have her blood drawn.  No matter if she sang silly songs, or recited the alphabet, it always bothered her.  She knew today, the others were watching, though.  She would have to be extra strong for them, but how she wondered.  She looked up and thought and breathed and thought some more.  Finally, she realized, it was already over.  Wow. all her planning and effort to be brave, worked.  She did not even let out her usual “yelp.”

Her mom asked if she wanted a hot chocolate or another treat, but Nellie was already moving to what she wanted most in the world at that moment.  She ran over to the littlest one, a little boy named Charlie, who was all of three years old.  She took his hand and wiped away a few tears off his face and stayed with him for the rest of the day.