The Show Must Go On

My patient is just about my age. We look at each other carefully, unsure why our positions are not reversed- why I'm not the one in a hospital gown, held to the bed by nausea; why she's not the one trying to comfort me. She found out about the cancer when she was pregnant with her now (almost!) 4 month old son. The baby is on his belly on the bed, striving to push-up, while her seven year old daughter dances around the room, practicing for the school talent show tomorrow. She twirls and skips and shimmies, somehow avoiding the bed, the IV pole, and the general somber atmosphere of the hospital. My patient asks about her counts and I tell her. Her hemoglobin is 7.5. Her platelets are 4. Her white blood cell count is less than 0.2. Our tiny dancer doesn't pause as her mom closes her eyes and sighs. She will need blood and platelets. She is neutropenic. She's not going anywhere. She will miss the talent show. The baby continues his quest to pull himself up. Her daughter finishes the routine with a grand curtsey and bow. Her mother and I applaud. The show must go on.