Fair

Elizabeth, speaking to Spencer during one of his hospitalizations.


Elizabeth has not had a close friend who has faced hospitalizations, procedures and serious medical issues.....until Spencer. She cared deeply for Spence from the first time she was told about him; asking questions, praying on his behalf and having genuine concern for the sweet bald-headed boy she knew had cancer. For months and months she spoke of him and appreciated any commonality she knew they had. It was the first time she felt connected in that way to a person.
Amazingly, miraculously, Spence is in remission. All scans and signs show that he has beaten stage IV cancer at the big, bad, brave age of 8.

A few nights ago I was folding laundry. Liz came to me and said "how much longer until Spencer is better?" I reminded her that he is better and that he will be watched carefully for years, but right now he is better.
She looked at me genuinely confused and said "But that's not fair!"...and she started to cry. She cried and cried and said "I deserve to be better, too. I have done enough and I should be better! When is it my turn?!"

How do I answer that?
Of course she isn't keeping score of who "gets to be" well and who does not. Of course her little ten-year-old-self cannot comprehend how much more devastating cancer is than some other illnesses; how much worse of a diagnosis it is than hers. She has no idea. What she does know is that her friend was sick and now he feels better....and she does not.

I thought of this today as I watched a mother with a baby at the hospital. She was, in Liz's terms, "freaking out." Her baby needed a blood test and as she walked past the children in wheelchairs and the other mothers holding babies, she seemed to look right through them. She ranted (loudly!) about how her child needed "the best" lab technician and how her child should be seen "now!". I wanted to shake her. I wanted to ask her to look in the eyes of every mother she was passing because in those eyes she would see the same thing- frustration, sadness, hope, eagerness, anxiousness, weariness. I wanted to tell her to calm down and try to accept the number one rule of being in the hospital with your sick child.... nothing about it is fair. Nothing. You cannot keep score. You can advocate for the best for your child, but you can't keep score. Geez, life doesn't keep score.

As Liz noticed the woman and commented, I simply told her that the mommy only wants her child to be better and soon she will realize she should just go with it because it is better to go with it than it is to fight it. It was such a general comment, too big for my Liz. Butjust as I was going to elaborate so she could understand what I had just said, she nodded and said "Yeah, she just wants stuff to be fair, but sometimes it's not your turn for stuff to be fair"
Oh, my smart girl.