In the Eyes of a Cancer-Stricken Child

"Hi ma'am, kamusta po kayo? Ang ganda nyo po, ma'am!" ("Hi madam, how are you? You look beautiful, madam!") , was how two children greeted me while I passed them on my way to the toilet today. It was proving to be a crappy day at work and normally, I would ignore children who made remarks like these, thinking they either reek of sarcasm or in need of some money.

Today isn't exactly a bad hair day, but I certainly don't feel pretty either, especially when some unprofessional people expect me to perform non-doctor tasks seamlessly. I'm sure I'm not ugly, but I'm not the type who'd make heads turn, much less call the attention of two eight year old male, bald, masked kids who trotted their heavy IV stands along the corridor and happen to be cancer patients who stay at the hospital one month or so at a time.

Coming back from the toilet, they said hi again, this time purposefully tucking their masks under their chins to show off their smiles. I smiled back and decided to stop for a chat.

The first one, whose smiled faded away almost immediately, told me matter of factly that his chemo didn't push through today because his white blood cells are on the high side. He flinched a little when I touched the tennis ball-sized tumor on his left shoulder. "Dalawa na po ang bukol nya, dati isa lang sa tiyan" ("He now has two tumors when before he only had one in the tummy"), told the other kid, who gamely showed me the disc-shaped tumor the size of a regular CD at the center of his abdomen.

They let me scratch their bald heads. They held my hand. I can't think of anything else to say because I did not want to dwell on the very obvious and sad topic of their illness.

Then the happier one broke the silence. "Maganda po kayo, ma'am."

When I asked him why he thinks so, he said "Kasi po lagi kayong nakangiti tuwing dumadaan dito. Wala pong ibang tao na ngumingiti pag dumadaan dito, kayo lang po." ("Because you smile everytime you pass us by. No one else does that around here.")

And what does my smiling do to them, I asked. "Masaya po." ("It makes us happy.")

I replied with a weak "talaga?" ("really?") then hugged them both.


A crappy day. An ordinary smile. A beautiful thing in the eyes of a ailing child. A dying one, perhaps.

I said goodbye, returned to my desk and wiped a tear on my cheek. I'm never letting any unprofessional person ruin my day again.





(As some of you may already know, I now work at the Cancer Institute at UP-PGH. My clinic/office is at the second floor, near the pediatrics ward. Next to it is the toilet, which I share with 20 or so CI employees. )