Page 14 of Mercy
I nod, “We can do anything you want to.”
“Not anything,” she frowns, “All I want to do is go home and play with my friends.” Her little hands are balled into fists.
“I know it must be hard being here.”
“I love it when Dr. L comes to see me. But I hate it here. And my mom isn’t here. I want my mommy.” A tear rolls down her cheek.
My heart is shattering into a million different pieces.
“I have an idea that might help a little bit.”
She gazes up at me with an inquisitive expression.
“What if you drew or painted a picture every day to show how you’re feeling.”
“Some days they might be ugly pictures,” she said with a frown.
She fiddles with the barbie she still has in her hands. I think it’s a reaction to anxiety as I observe her moving their limbs back and forth absentmindedly.
“That’s okay. Sometimes we have ugly feelings.”
With wide eyes, she gazes at me, “You have ugly feelings?”
“Everybody has ugly feelings, Ivy. Honey, everybody has hard days. What you feel is completely normal. Feelings are neither right or wrong, they are just feelings.”
“Mommy says to paint pretty pictures,” she said.
“Well, I think if you’re painting a picture for someone it should be pretty. But when I paint it helps me get my feelings out. And sometimes, the ugly has to come out too. Do you want to try it?” I ask.
She nods, “Okay.”
“Let me get the paint.”
I get all the supplies we’ll need off the top shelf of the cabinet and take them over to the art table.
“Okay here we go. Can I paint too?”
She beams at me, “Yes!” I help her get up off the floor and we sit at the table together.
I paint a little but mostly watch her to see how I can help. First, she paints a woman walking out a door, a small person; I assume it’s her, crying. She’s quite the artist, and she even paints an IV pole. This little girl is hurting, and not just from cancer, it goes deeper than that.
She paints mostly black and a little dark purple. She puts the paintbrush down, stares at the picture, and starts sobbing. Picking the paintbrush back up, she angrily swipes black paint over the people in her picture. She puts the brush back down again, balls up her fists, and sobs uncontrollably. I pull her into my arms and hold her to my chest. She cries between sobs, “I’m getting paint all over you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say as I stroke her hair.
She cries for the longest time, and each sob tears another piece of my heart. But I don’t let go. I will sit with her for as long as it takes.
Glancing up at the door, I see Liam standing in the doorway, watching us with concern etched on his face. I motion for him to come in, and he does. He squats down so he’s eye level with Ivy.
“What’s going on with my best girl?” he said.
“I’m sad,” she says, staring up at him.
“I can see that, sweetheart. But why are you sad?”
“I miss mommy. I don’t even know when she’s coming back,” she said.
“It’s hard when your mommy has to work when you need her here, isn’t it?” he asks. This man has such a gentle side when it comes to this little girl. I assume he’s like this with all his patients, although I’ve only seen him with her. But it’s beautiful. I wish all doctors had this bedside manner.
