Chapter 4 Three Birds Hovering

The boy was no more than twelve despite looking like he had lived for at least three decades. The appearance was pretty much of a child, of course. It was the eyes that looked back with emptiness. No children should have gazes like that. But the world has always been cruel.

I scanned the paper on my writing board. Glioblastoma Grade II. It is aggressive cancer that developed from the glial cells in our brain.

He is too young to experience this, I thought.

But I held back the pity. I knew too well. Pity would only make the boy feel worse. Pity would only intensify the feeling that you are less from another, that you don’t have something that others do.

No. I would not pity the boy. As I would not pity myself.

We are fine as we are, I wanted to say to him. Yes, we are sick, but it does not make us less human than others.

But of course, I could only say that through my eyes. A straight look to his eyes, raw and honest. “Hello, Mateo,” I greeted the boy first before greeting his mom. “Hello, Mrs. Russo. My name’s Arianna.”

In contrast with Mateo’s grim face, Mrs. Russo was bright and cheerful. It was obvious that her hair was not combed as strands of hair kept poking out. Her tan face was greasy and she was wearing an oversize sweater and sweatpants. The bags under her eyes were thick.

She took my extended arm in warmth. She appeared hopeful for the experiment.

Ah, the expectation…

I knew then she had high hope for the success of this experiment. My eyes flicked to the boy. I swore I saw his eyebrows creased at the tone used by his mother.

It’s a burden, isn’t it?

Sometimes, it is the family members that have overly expectations. We know they love us of course, but sometimes they are so scared to lose us that they push us to do all these tiring and painful experiences. Sometimes, it can feel like our bodies are not ours anymore as they are the ones deciding for us. Even the decision to quit is not ours.

Mateo felt that burden. I couldn’t help to think that he was too young to shoulder his mother’s hope on his small shoulders.

In experiments involving children like this, often times the health workers neglect the children and only talk to the adults. But I would not do that to Mateo. I wanted him to know that it was his decision. It was his consent that I needed to take for this experiment.

So I kneeled in front of him. As soon as his dark eyes met mine, I smiled. “I have cancer too.”

The words came so naturally from my mouth that Mrs. Russo needed a few seconds before she understood what I was saying. No matter. Because by then, I already have Mateo’s attention. There was a shift in his empty gaze. His eyelashes fluttered a bit.

“So you are experimenting on me to get a cure for yourself?” asked the boy.

Mrs. Russo’s eyes widened. She nudged Mateo by the shoulder and hissed his name. “Mateo, apologize,” she said with panic, “You have no idea the length I have to go through to secure you in this experiment.”

Mateo did not budge. He only stared at me with contempt.

“Anger. That’s good,” I said, “Much better than your look before.”

Mrs. Russo bowed her head and apologized repeatedly. To which I smiled and said it was okay. “I understand. If I were in Mateo’s position, I would ask the same thing.”

Then I redirected my gaze to him. “But unfortunately, I have leukemia, A different form of cancer than yours. This experiment would not benefit me in a straight forward manner.”

Mateo cocked one eyebrow up. “Then?”

“Mateo,” Mrs. Russo hissed again at her son’s brazen tone. “I’m sorry, Arianna. He’s not usually this… grumpy. He’s a very nice kid.”

I did not respond to Mrs. Russo. My opponent is Mateo. The kid I used to be.

“I think knowledge is power. This experiment would subject you to a new chemical therapy that we hope would alter the genetic makeup of your cancer cells. If we can restart the apoptotic ability in your specific cancer cells, we can surely try the method to other types of cancer.”

Mateo blinked. “What language are you talking about?”

Oh.

For a second, I forgot that I was talking to a twelve-year-old boy. “Apologies, I got ahead of myself. In simple terms, we would like to see if the drug we have chosen can stop your cancer from spreading. Whatever the results, would make us understand more about the mechanism of cancer cells. More understanding, more opportunities for better care for the patients.

Mateo nodded a little at my explanation. I could see his anger had subsided.

“Look, I will not sugar coat my word. But doing something, anything is better than pitying yourself thinking everything is lost.” My voice was firm and I held Mateo’s stare. From one survivor to another. “Besides, what have you got to lose?”

A flicker of hope flashed on his face. I could see it. I knew it was there. He just needed a little push.

“I promise, Mateo. Everything would need to be approved by yourself. You can stop anytime and you don’t have to give an explanation when you do. It will always be your choice.”

“What’s… the probability that this drug will succeed?” Mateo hugged his arms. A defensive posture, a sign he felt vulnerable. I knew the kid wanted to grab on the hope. Who would not want to live? If life gives you two choices, to live or to die, isn’t living the obvious choice?

Yet I would not lie to him. As a survivor myself, the least I could do is be transparent and real. I would not sell him false hope. It would be a crime to do so.

“I told you I won’t sugar coat my words,” I said. “Professor Trumberg is a brilliant scientist and one of the leading figures in the cancer study field. I have read his previous studies. Before this clinical trial, his team had completed an animal model experiment, simulated to resemble the human condition. I can say that the result is very promising.”

His eyes began to glaze.

“Wi– will it hurt?”

“Instantly? No. But you might have side effects like nausea, dizziness, fatigue, redness. But we will monitor you closely.”

Mateo scoffed. “I experience those all the time.”

“I know.”

“I want them to stop.”

“I know.”

He bit his lower lip and hugged himself tighter. The boy was thinking, weighing his options.

“Mateo,” I called him out of his trance. “It’s okay to hope. It’s okay to grab on that hope.”

“Y– you promise to never sugar coat your words?”

Got him.

I nodded.

“Y– you will tell me whether the progress is bad or good?” he asked, “I’d like to prepare myself if…” Mateo could not finish his sentence. He stood closer to his mother who did not even try to hold back her tears at that point.

I nodded again.

“Okay…”

“Okay?” I wanted to make sure.

“Yes. I consent.”

“Great.” I handed him the informed consent letter on my writing board. “I will have to explain to both of you the procedure, the full risks, and the requirements you need to follow first before you finally sign.”

For the rest of the day, I spent explaining to Mateo and Mrs. Russo all the information I needed to convey before getting the informed consent. Mateo ended up sticking with his decision until the end. And I was… I don’t know… I guess I felt happy. I felt light that another boy chose to take on the next brave step.

After Mateo, there were three other children I needed to get informed consent to. None of them held my impression as Mateo did. I couldn’t explain it. But helping Mateo felt like helping myself. Somehow…

It was a weird thought indeed. And I kept replaying the thoughts in my mind on my way home. My new apartment was pretty near the campus. New. The word felt weird as I was used to living in the apartment Alexander gave me.

Nevertheless, new is good. It was better this way.

I turned in the key to my apartment on the third floor of a simple building. The darkness of the room greeted me. It was when I was about to flick on the lights that I heard a loud thud on the window overlooking the streets.

At first, I thought it was a bird, maybe it was drunk from too much flying that it hit my window. I tried to ignore it. But the thud did not stop and it was getting louder. So after witching the lights, I went to check my window. The window was huge, it covered almost the whole wall.

I always closed the window with my curtains. Call me paranoid but I didn’t want anybody peeking into the inside of my apartment.

My fingers opened the curtains so I could see what kind of bird was annoying the hell out of me. As soon as I saw what was behind the window glass, my jaw dropped.

There were three birds. Huge birds.

No, wait. Birds don’t have long legs and arms. They certainly don’t have human faces.

There were three men hovering behind my window.