Ken Burns has done it again. This time his documentary, "The Emperor of Maladies" is about cancer. I was watching it last night and for a while they focused on leukemia. A doctor worked at a hospital in the 1950's and the 1960's. He talked about seeing children come in with leukemia, kids who were 6, 8, or 10 years old who would all die within a month. My heart lurched when I heard this because my sister was 7 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. One of the boys who suffered with leukemia that he treated was a twin. The brother of the twin spoke about his brother with leukemia. He told about his brother being ill. Then the doctor treated his brother with a new medication and his brother got better. His white cell count went down and he was able to come home and be a normal kid for a couple of months. After two months his brother got sick again. The remission was over. The ambulance was called to his house and the attendants came to take his brother back to the hospital. He said "Like opening a page in a book, I remember this moment." He said he saw the ambulance attendants carry his brother on a stretcher down the hallway past his bedroom and that was the last time he saw him. His brother didn't wave at him or even look at him. My heart lurched again. His words "like a page in a book" struck my heart because that is exactly how I feel about the last time I saw my sister. I just never put it into words like he did. I remember standing in the parking lot of Children's Hospital in Saint Paul. At that time it was built into a bluff and the driveway to the parking lot was very steep. I stood looking into a first floor window where my sister sat on her bed with her legs between the iron bars of the headboard. She waved at me. I saw her waving at me. I didn't wave back though. I remember wondering why she was in there and I was out here. My Grandmother took my forearm and moved it up and down so my hand flopped in a wave. I remember it like a page in a book. The show went on to document more medical treatments for leukemia including stem cell transplants. If only that treatment was available in the 1950's I would have an older sister around to love and to complain about. I wouldn't be the oldest kid in my family. I would like to think the four year old me, without tears or complaint, could have donated bone marrow and saved her life. My cells would have taken over for her and started producing healthy blood that would circulate through her little body. I wish I could have been a hero for her. Things didn't happen that way for me or for her. Luckily, thanks to dedicated researchers and medical scientists, there are kids who can be bone marrow donors and help their siblings conquer the emperor of maladies.
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