It begins with a magnolia leaf—smooth, shiny, and deep green.

“Are you telling me that she has leukemia?” I manage to gasp out.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice strained, “but I want you to take her to the hospital today. I’m hoping this is just a mix-up, some lab error. We need to recheck it to be sure.” 

Let’s be candid for a moment

It’s ok that I’m not perfectly patient and understanding and sympathetic every minute. Even if Hazel does have cancer. It’s ok that I’m angry on the inside and stressed and didn’t want to play Go Fish. It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.