The hallway is darkened and yet startlingly white as I creep toward the double doors. The knot of dread in my stomach grows with each shaky step and I know, without a doubt, that I did not want to be a part of this. Those doors though.
It is 2:30 a.m. and my husband and son had come through these doors earlier in the night, while I was home finding someone to care for our girls. My husband had called with directions to the doors, which I had followed closely.
I walk forward, my eyes focused on the small glass pane above the handle. Muted light and smiling faces greet my vision yet I hesitate again. Those doors.
A myriad of questions and a thousand answers lie beyond those doors.
With a deep breath I reach for the handle and pull. Nothing.
Oh Lord. Maybe I can’t go in. Panic rises. I have to get in. My boy is in there.
My friend pushes the button under the large sign reading, “Push button for entry”. A smiling face peaks through the glass and she opens the door. “Who are you here for?” she greets.
I give my boy’s name in a shaky voice, because I’m sure he doesn’t belong here. Her smile changes to one of sympathy. Her voice drops to a whisper, “Oh honey,” she soothes, “he’s in room 10.”
I knew that. My husband had told me it was room 10. 10 North. Our new home.
She motions me forward, and with a deep breath, I enter through the door marked, “Children’s Cancer Ward.”
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