Pole Dancing

Sometimes the simplest things are all it takes.

Pediatric Oncology, or Pee Donk, as the kids call it, is basically a cancer ward for children. It is designed around cheerfulness with cartoon characters on the walls, toy boxes and play areas in various places, and a staff of nurses and nurses aides picked for their easy smiles. But no amount of forced good cheer can totally disguise solemn purpose of the place. Kids get chemo – a powerful and deadly mix of poisons designed to kill rapidly growing cancer cells before they inevitably killed normal body cells. Chemo can make you, for a time at least, sicker than the cancer.  The kids get thin because the intense nausea renders them unable to eat. They are bald because the chemo stops the hair follicles from growing. They get deathly pale because the chemotherapeutic toxins can shut down bone marrow and they stop making red blood cells. So to me they look like little concentration camp prisoners, only they have a play area filled with toys they are too sick to play with.

I was on my way to visit eleven year old Timmy when I saw him sitting in the play area with two other kids his age. They were all attached to portable IV, or intravenous, poles, with plastic bags slowly forcing fluids into their worn veins. They were just sitting and talking quietly, bald heads close together. I sat down on the floor next to them. Timmy rolled his eyes at his fellow conspirators, as if to say – "Watch out, the Guard is here," then looked at me expectantly.

"Hey Timmy," I said and gave him my best smile. He, of course, immediately saw through my forced cheerfulness. "I have to check your lungs little buddy – mind if we go back to your room?" Timmy got up slowly. I wanted to help him, but I knew he would lose face in front of the other two boys if I tried. He struggled up, swaying slightly. I remember thinking he would need a wheelchair to get back, unless he allowed me to carry him. Then I had a thought.

"Tim, why don’t you hitch a ride on the pole?" He looked at me as if I had lost my senses, then I pointed to the IV pole stand. It was flat, and if he gripped the pole while standing on the wheel struts, I could just push him back to his room, making a fun ride out of it, and he would look cool, not weak. He climbed on. I used one hand to support Timmy, and pushed the pole with the other, and we slowly but surely made our way back to his room. He was smiling.