Little girl

She was probably no more than five. Perhaps even younger. A pink sweater, pink jacket, pink shoes and pink little socks. Pink from head to toe, the colour of a girl in the prime of her childhood. But she wore a hat, a cough mask, and a deadly illness.

I have yet to see a younger patient in the oncology ward. Then again, perhaps I have been privileged not to. At first I thought the little girl was there to be with her mum, like I was. But the thinning few hairlets beneath her gray hat said otherwise. The nurse came, and from under the girl's bright pink sweater produced a long tube into which a large dose of medicine was injected through a big syringe. Almost too big compared to the girl's small size. I cringed at the sight... and imagined the fluids enter the girl's blood vessels and saw the molecules of toxins flood her body in search of the cancerous cells eating her from the inside out.

While the nurse gave the mother a number of tubes and a number of instructions, the girl hopped happily away to another table to begin breakfast. My mum rested in the chair next to mine, tired eyes closed as her own medicine was injected. I looked down to read my paper...

"Over 70.000 feared dead in Sichuan"...
"2million affected in Myanmar"...
"Protests mount as food and oil prices rise"...

As usual, the faces and words of the world's human(itarian) tragedies paint the frontpage. In the very room, the sound of choking and gagging made me look up again. Out of the girl's mouth soft coughing sounds echoed in the quiet room. She put down her chopsticks, and dropped the eggroll on the table, unable to take another bite. She gagged even more, as if wanting to throw up, but nothing came out. Was that a tear in the corner of her eyes? A painful scene to watch.

"Ay, you've only taken three bites! How will you grow strong and big if you eat so little?" the mother said softly, patting her daughter on the back.
"I can't eat any more...", the girls answered, sat back and watched her dangling feet and peered around the room. A drab-looking room filled with the smell of chemicals and disinfectants, as well as sick patients, of which she has become one as well.

Indeed... how will the little girl ever grow big and strong?