I CALLED MY MUM WITH MY CANCER DIAGNOSIS ,SHE SAID SHE IS BUSY WITH MY SISTERS WEDDING FITTINGS

   Episode 2✅

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Lymphoma stage two. I’m starting treatment soon, I said.

Her voice didn’t change. In the background, I could hear Madison laughing and some woman talking about floral arrangements.

“Oh, Denise, we’re in the middle of Madison’s wedding tasting. Can we talk later?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

The line went dead and I stood there in a hospital lot watching other people live normal lives while mine had just fallen apart.

The next week was a blur of phone calls, appointments, financial forms, and insurance arguments.

I didn’t tell Eliia everything at once, just that I was sick, that I’d need her to be extra patient with me.

She nodded.

That night, I found a drawing on my pillow, a stick figure version of us, both bald, holding hands beneath a night sky full of stars.

She never said a word about it.

I never told my parents about the treatment plan. I never told them when the chemo started. I never told them how my body shook after each session, how some days I couldn’t eat, or how I had to crawl to the bathroom because I couldn’t stand.

They didn’t ask.

They never called.

They did, however, send a message asking if I could help cover some wedding costs because, as my mother said, “You’re the responsible one.”

But Eliia stayed close. Every day she’d crawl into bed beside me and ask, “Good day or hard day?”

No matter how I answered, she’d always say, “Okay, then I’ll be strong today.”

That’s where it all truly began — in a small apartment with a hurting mother, a brave 10-year-old girl, and a silence from my parents that echoed louder than any words.

Chemo started on a Thursday.

I remember because it was cold enough to see my breath that morning, and Eliia had insisted I wear my soft hat, the one she called my magic thinking cap.

That day, I worked a half shift at the clinic.

I gave vaccines, handed out prescriptions, and smiled at patients who didn’t know I’d be sitting in one of their chairs just hours later.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

When I arrived at the cancer center, the nurse led me to a recliner and asked if anyone would be joining me.

I told her no.

She paused, then simply said, “Okay,” and taped the IV gently to my arm.

I appreciated her silence. It made everything feel a little less exposed.

The first session wasn’t the worst.

It was the fear, the waiting, the not knowing how sick I’d get or if I’d be able to get Eliia to school the next morning.

I closed my eyes and thought about her reading her science book at her desk, probably underlining frog facts.

I wondered if she remembered her lunchbox.

At home that night, I barely made it to the bathroom before I started vomiting.

My whole body trembled.

When I opened the door, Eliia was sitting on the hallway floor holding a glass of water and her stuffed frog, Henry.

She didn’t say anything, just gave me both, then helped me back to the couch.

I couldn’t eat for 2 days.

My skin felt hot and tight.

My head throbbed like someone had turned on a pressure valve inside my brain.

Still no call from my parents.

I had sent a message a few days before. Just a single line:

Chemo starts Thursday. I’ll keep you posted.

No reply.

Then came the email. It was a Sunday afternoon. I had just gotten enough strength to open my laptop.

Subject: Quick question.know. Love you.

I read it twice. Then again.

There was no mention of my health.

Nothing about Eliia.

No How are you feeling?

No Is the treatment going okay?

Just money.

$3,000 for a wedding.

I closed the laptop without replying.

My stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with chemo.

TBC…

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