Page 5 of Have a Bear-y Little Christmas
“Coming!” I called before returning my attention to the call. “Yeah, I gotta go. Please, do the payment plan for now.”
“Of course, would you?—”
“Just exactly like last time, I consent. I really have to go now.”
“I’ll take care of this and send you a confirmation email. If you do not receive one within twenty-four?—”
“Call support. Yeah, I know. Thank you. Bye!”
Normally, I wouldn’t try to hurry something so important, but it was the freakin’holidays.The last thing I wanted was for Max to be worrying about the bills. As much as I’d tried to shield him from it, my nine-year-old was sometimes a bit too keen for his own good, and he most definitelywouldnotice if I wasn’t careful. Not only that, but I knew he was also likely to blame himself, which was ridiculous.
Yes, his cancer treatments and being a single parent with a sick child had taken their toll on what little savings I’d managed to accrue during his first six years of cancer-free life, but that didn’t mean we were brokebecauseof him. I never wanted him to feel that way. Unfortunately, my son was that perfect mix of being old enough to understand some financial troubles and that medicine costs money but too young for me to fully explain health insurance, capitalism, and the fact that some people thought healthcare should have a price tag.
Honestly, I wished I could hide the fact that money existed from him—mostly because I hated it—but that was a bittooclose to the things my parents used to say when I was a kid and they refused to buy food for me, so I quickly squashed that temptation.
“Hey there, Maxi-Bear,” I said as I came around the corner, pasting a smile on my face and tucking away my growing terror about where that extra two hundred dollars was going to come from. I’d pay that bill a million times over if it meant I kept getting to look at Max’s face and seeing him grow stronger.
And it would all be worth it.
“Hey there, Mama Bear.” He opened his arms wide, wordlessly asking for a hug.
And boy, did I takethat opportunity. Not all that long ago, doctors were telling me to prepare for the possibility of never hugging him again. We’d beensoclose to my worst nightmare, but now my son was in remission and improving every day.
“How ya doin’, big man? Did I wake you up?”
He shook his head as I picked him up and let him dangle a bit. We called it “hang time”. I’d started doing it after one particularly bad bout of treatment sent burning pain up and down his spine. I loved it, but with my grand five feet and two very significant inches, I wouldn’t be able to do it soon. As much as I wasn’t ready for my son to grow up, I was thrilled that he’d have the chance to do so.
While acute myeloid leukemia, which was what my Max had, was considered to have a very high five-year survival rate after diagnosis, Max’s journey had been touch-and-go. Normally, most children went into remission after the initial induction phase of chemotherapy.Normallybeing the operative word. Because Max had never been a big kid—he’d been colicky as a baby and highly sensitive to food as a young boy—he didn’t have a lot of extra weight on him to lose, and because our lives could never be boring, other medical complications popped up. Long story short, he ended up needing another round of chemo as well as consolidation therapyanda stem cell transplant.
But it was all worth it, because I’d gotten to cry and cheer when he rang that bell in the cancer ward—a bell I’d stared at with longing for two and a half years.
“No, I had to pee,” he answered through a long yawn as I put him down. “Is it almost time to go see the Christmas lights in South Town?”
I couldn’t help but grin at how eager he was. Although we didn’t have much, he didn’t seem to mind. His big thing was experiencing all the stuff he’d been forced to miss out on because of his cancer, and he wasthrilledat how much he was already able to do. So, even with the sudden surprise of the double bill, we were having the best Christmas we’d had in three years.
“It’s still light outside, you silly goose. You gotta wait until it gets a bit darker.”
“I’m not a goose, I’m a gander. You’re a goose!”
“I’m not a goose, I’m your mother!” I retorted with faux triteness. I loved how Max giggled before he replied, the gap between his front teeth making him that much more adorable.
“You can be a goose and a mommy! They’re usually the mean ones!”
“The mean ones, eh?” I asked, curling my fingers like claws. “Well, then maybe Iama goose because I’m gonna getcha!”
I made grabbing motions with my hands. Max let out a quiet shriek—he was still working on being loud like his mama—then raced up the stairs, howling with laughter.
Naturally, our chase didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to. Again, it was the fact that we could do it at all.So, when we flopped on my bed, hands clasped as we caught our breaths—man, when had I gotten so out of shape?—I wanted to weep with joy.
But I’d cried enough over the past few years. Max and I were in our era of laughter and contentment and growth and healing.
“So, when is sunset gonna be?” Max asked.
“I think perhaps in an hour or so. The sun hasn’t started setting yet, but it’s winter, so it does happen pretty quickly.”
Max nodded, and the dutiful expression on his features told me he was thinking.
“Do you want to lie down for a bit longer? I can wake you up right as it’s starting to set so you have time to get ready.”
