A Story of the Life of Michelle S.
Ghostwritten by Maddi M.
A Little Hero
I cried on my last day, but I didn’t let him see. They told me he was going to die; they didn’t know when, but they all told me not to get too attached, because he was going to die, and he was going to die soon. He was only three years old, and for those short five months, we were bestfriends. In fact, I was his only friend, the only one he could talk to, the only one that he would talk to. He was my shadow, but he was so adorable that I didn’t mind it. Some days he was too sick to get out of bed, but most days he was up and following me everywhere.
I remember the first day. That first day they warned me that he wouldn't talk no matter what I tried. But that was the thing, I didn’t try.
I walked into the large room of Riley’s Children Hospital in Indiana, which was filled with little kids from the age of about two to twelve. I took a good look around for this was about to be my work space for the next five months. There was one patient that I remember from my first day. He was small, pale and he had red marks along his arms; he kept his eyes down. I was about to begin my morning rounds when one of the older nurses began to talk to me.
“Oh boy, you have him? Good luck with that patient honey.”
“What’s the matter with him,” I asked.
“That little boy has been here for about a month and I’ve never once heard him talk to anyone besides his mother. The poor boy is also very, very sick so if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t get too attached because only the good Lord knows how much longer that poor baby has to live.”
Oh that’s too bad.”
“Yes it’s a shame; page me if you need any help trying to communicate.”
I walked over to the boy nervously, picked up his chart and started looking at his symptoms. Only a few symptoms were listed which was odd considering he was in a severe stage of cancer. When I looked down, I saw that he was staring at me, looking me up and down and right into my eyes. We stood there, in that moment, just looking each other and then I did something that seemed to surprise him; I sat on the bed and opened up my arms to him. Even more surprisingly to me, he crawled into my arms and sighed a sigh that he seemed to be holding in for a long time.
“I feel sick and I miss mom.” A small voice told me.
“I know, but I’m here to help you, everything is going to be just fine, I promise.” I was heartbroken for this boy and before I knew it I fell in love. I knew I was not supposed to get attached to him but I did anyway.
I knew that there were going to be bad days, I knew some days I couldn’t help with the pain, and I knew one day he wouldn’t be there for me to help. What I didn’t know was how much he would help me. This three year old boy helped me, changed me and molded me into a new perspective of life. He didn’t talk too much, even to me, but he didn’t have to. To watch this boy fight through his sickness even at his worst was the toughest thing I ever saw. I was only 20 years old, and was in my last year of nursing school when I met my hero, most people wait a lifetime before they meet theirs. He was so strong even at his weakest times. I cried on my last day, but I didn’t let my little hero see.
