A SURPRISE

Six weeks had passed since my world had turned completely white—white coats, white walls, white sheets, white pillows, white floors. And at last, the chemotherapy cycle had ended.

Time inside a hospital did not move forward. Time dragged. Every day repeated itself in the same loop: tests, nausea, tears, sadness, and—above all—strength.

At first, I counted hours. Later, I measured time by my son’s reactions. On the second day of chemo, he still walked down the hallway. By the ...