CHILDREN AT THE HOSPITAL

I would praise them - the mothers of the hospital - really I would think they are the bravest and the strongest of all women.

A week ago we lost a sixteen year old Jerson to leukemia. I used to visit him and his family at the hospital. Maria told me that it was only since one month they had found out of her brother´s illness. One month to try to contemplate what it means - and the boy is gone.

Jose Daniel (9) was operated yesterday - cancer took his leg. So is there hope now? I look into his eyes - they are curious, intelligent, he answers my questions eagerly and when I go, I see he would have liked me to stay more. I promice to come back the next day to read him another story. He smiles. He smiles!? How ashamed should I be now for every time that I am not smiling having all my health and both my feet!
On the inside Jose Daniel is like any other boy his age, it is on the outside and only on the outside that he is different. He has cancer. He is so thin, he has no hair, no eyelashes, no eyebrows, and since yesterday no leg. Will he be alright now, I wonder.
I do not ask his mother. I know she wonders too.

We are making handprints with Martha (10). It is a project for the International Children´s Day held here this Monday, April 12th.
"I come from Estonia and am a volunteer for AFANIC School for Children with Cancer," I introduce myself to her mother.
"Oh, miss, could you please find out something about my girl´s tumor? Could you ask the doctor for me," she bursts out with so much concern in her eyes. Yet with all the good will I could possibly have, I am helpless there and have to apologise to Martha´s mother: "I cannot help."

I am telling the story of Aladdin and his magic lamp.
"So what would you wish for if you had a lamp like that?" I ask each child when I finish the story.

"I want to grow up!" says a three year old Brissia.
"I want to be able to walk", says Ingrid who is thirteen.
"I want to be healed", says Jose Daniel.
"I want to be a doctor," says Martha.

I smile to my young listeners. "I hope that your wish will come true," I say.
Yet when I am back in our school building making a sun out of their colorful handprints I almost cry as I write down these wishes on the palms.
Will Brissia ever grow up, will Jose Daniel be healed, will Ingrid ever walk, will Martha have enough time to become a doctor?, I wonder.

And then when I am out of the hospital walking alone down the dark street I can not hold back the tears - what a childhood!, I think to myself. Yes, compared to these kids and their parents, the ones in prison whom I visit on Saturdays seem happy and free.