Chocolate!

She is small. Her dark curly hair is matted to her head along a healing post op suture. She wakes early. She is pushed in her stroller around the big square of the unit over and over and over. Lap after lap after lap. She looks toward me when I wish her good morning, her eyes milky, blurry, unfocused and uncooperative. Her vision removed along with a tumor nestled on her brain stem. "Chocolate!" she screams in an aggressive, surprisingly commanding way. "Chocolate chocolate chocolate!!!" The girl knows what she wants.

Super Kid

His parents made up bright orange t-shirts with their son's name superimposed over the Superman logo. They hand them out to the nurses and doctors, and now the hallway is awash with orange. We have become a team- all of us. Team Super Kid. He's circling the unit, taking us in. His team. He is glowing. "Pretty thoon people are gonna be athking me for my autograph!" he lisps in delight. Pale arms and legs jut out of his too small Sponge Bob pjs as he marches down the hall. "Meet me in my room," he commands with a tiny pointed index finger, like he owns the place. And right now, he kind of does.