Jonathan looked out his bedroom window thru the crisp flowered curtains that created a warm, welcoming and inviting opening to the outside world. He pulled back the generous folds, draped with a twisted cord and listened to the sights and sounds. It was spring and the cold of winter was finally over. Now there were all the familiar sounds of springtime: birds chirping, kids playing, neighbors mowing the grass. A new circle of life was beginning again. Somehow it brought a renewed hope into my day.
My friends were playing outside – baseball, my favorite sport of all time. I was thinking about all the great times I pitched, batted and scored for my team. The familiar “crack” of my bat and making a home run replayed thru my mind and I could see every detail – sights and sounds. Playing ball was the one thing I could see myself doing forever: maybe one day, even going pro.
I could see Matt. He was the team’s star pitcher now. I remembered how his face would get visibly red in the summer heat, with streams of sweat soaking his face. When he pitched, the team always teased him, calling him a “tub of lard.” I hated it when they did that! Matt was my best friend. Not only did we both love to play ball, but we shared everything together.
As I began moving slowly back to my bed, pain was now my constant companion. They called it leukemia. I didn’t understand anything about it – but what I did know was that I was nothing would ever be the same for me. I couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be healthy. This sickness was robbing me of everything. After treatments there would be vomiting, nausea and then after all of that…my hair was falling out. I tried to hide my hair loss with my favorite red bandana that I wore everywhere when I was outside.
Today was treatment day. Whatever medicine they were giving me was making me so sick. After my treatment, it would take me days to recover. And the recovery was taking much longer now. Today was the third round.
My parents knew there would most likely be long-term side effects from the treatments, but what choice did they have. If I were to have any hope of survival this was my only hope.
Something inside me kept telling me I was dying. This feeling of foreboding was like a heavy load that I carried around with no hope of relief. I knew this thing was stealing my life away. I told God…”I’m just a kid, why is this happening to me?”
The doctors told my mom and dad to pray for a miracle! We were in crisis mode now.
My bedroom had become my sanctuary – I began creating imaginary characters to pass the lonely hours.
…To be continued….