Nuclear Revenge
Several years ago, my toddler was battling cancer and undergoing intense chemotherapy. This left him severely immunocompromised, but he was too young to wear a mask. These were pre-COVID days, and our doctor suggested we use his stroller with a rain cover (ventilated slightly) as a makeshift barrier for protection.
One day, we decided to venture out to a store during a non-busy time to pick up some necessities. We hadn’t been anywhere but the hospital or temporary housing for a long while, so this outing felt like a tiny adventure. That day, we had also received some difficult news about our son’s prognosis, and we needed a change of scenery.
As we approached the store exit, we spotted an employee stationed there. From about 30 yards away, he started joking loudly, “Oh look! There’s a baby in a bubble! A baby in a bubble! Everybody come look at the bubble baby!”
I’m not sure what he thought he was doing—maybe trying to be funny about seeing a stroller with a rain cover indoors—but he said it with a big smile, clearly amused by himself.
However, as we got closer, his expression shifted dramatically. He suddenly realized what he was looking at: an emaciated, bald, pale toddler with an NG tube in his nose and an IV line coming out of his chest—a child who was visibly, painfully ill.
His horror was instantaneous. The joke died in his throat, and his eyes grew teary. He stammered an apology, saying, “I’m so sorry,” with all the sincerity in the world.
We didn’t respond. Instead, we walked past him, out of the store, and straight to our car. As soon as we shut the doors, my spouse burst into hysterical laughter, saying, “Did you see that guy’s face?” I couldn’t stop laughing either.
It was a dark time in our lives, and seeing someone else feel even a fraction of the trauma we lived with daily felt strangely empowering. On the drive home, we began brainstorming other ways someone might unintentionally make fun of kids with cancer, and it became a moment of dark humor we desperately needed.
Even years later, when I think back to that moment, I can’t help but smile. I imagine the poor guy still cringes every time he remembers it, but for us, it’s a happy memory now. If I could, I’d let him know he gave us a much-needed moment of levity during one of the hardest times of our lives.
P.S. That toddler is now a thriving, cancer-free kid who no longer resides in a bubble.
