Letter to my little girl

Letter to my little girl, 2015 April 13. A letter for my little girl to read when she is older. Yes Mommy has been crying. Secretly, quietly, when you were not looking. But you have noticed. “Did you cry? You look like you’ve cried. What happened?” At that moment Mommy was not brave enough to explain, and could only reassure you that nothing serious has happened and I’m alright. How can I be alright? It has been an emotional roller coaster. My precious little girl is not well. It is worse than being sick myself. It pained my heart. So much. When you suddenly had a big swell on your forehead. When you tossed and turned and screamed from unbearable pain. When you were in so much pain and could not even walk. When you bravely allowed the nurse to draw your blood, sitting on my lap and holding on so tight, murmuring “I’m scared, I’m scared”, but not crying. When you commented you have so many “holes” and plasters from all the needles. When I have to give you your medication, knowing fully that they have various side effects. When you suffered from the side effects, especially when you kept asking for more food even though your little tummy was already so full. I cannot resist asking myself why you suddenly have to suffer so much, at such a tender age. In one short month, you have more needles poked into you, and taken more medication than in your whole life in the past 6 years. In one short month, I have researched and read more medical terms than in my whole life. The day after your most intense pain, you said “I’m so lucky, I’ve no pain today.” Yes, that’s the attitude. Be grateful for what you have. We are already very fortunate and have much to be grateful for : Your wonderful health in the past 6 years. Love and support from so many people. Good medical doctors and hospitals. And so much more. There are people in worse plights and sufferings. There are people who have risen above their life challenges. Mommy cannot take away your sufferings, but Mommy is very proud to see you growing on this journey. You learned to face your fears, and to celebrate small achievements. You obeyed doctor’s order to lie down for 6 hours and not get out of bed for 24 hours, even though you are so active. No running, no jumping, no playground, no dancing, for 1 month. I know it’s tough. You dutifully swallowed very bitter medicine. (Yes it is super bitter, I tasted it.) You squealed in delight when you successfully swallowed your first capsule. You faced injections with as much courage as you could muster. You endured side effects of medication without much complaints. You conscientiously finished your homework despite discomfort. You learned to eat more different types of vegetables even when you did not like them. You may not understand what is the meaning of transience. Me too. What I do know is, it’s all temporary. The aggressive treatment and strong medication may be tapered off after 2 years. The monthly intravenous drip will be completed in 6 months. The “no physical exercise” order will be over in a month. Everything will be alright. In fact I hope you will emerge from this illness much stronger, resilient, compassionate, optimistic, courageous. Your physical body may be weakened now, but you can allow your heart and spirit to be strengthened. You can allow yourself to become an inspiration, like so many others who have suffered different ordeals. Remain cheerful. There’s so much more you can be in life. Yes you have to wear a mask when you go out. Yes you may look different. Everyone IS different. If you cannot lead a normal or ordinary life (for now), then live an extraordinary one. With love, from Mommy