Imogene Scott

The oncologist’s words blur together. It’s a stream of medical jargon that I can’t fully grasp.

“Bone marrow transplant… a match… family members…”

It all echoes around me like I’m underwater, and everything else seems distant. I stare at Lily who’s now sitting on the hospital bed. Her little fingers are clutching the toy we brought from home and she’s smiling at it, making it bounce in her lap.

My throat tightens. How is this happening? How is this our reality? Lily shouldn’t be here. She should be playing outside, laughing, not lying on a hospital bed with tubes in her arms.

The doctor is still talking, but...