Page 3 of What Should Have Been Ours

For the next two hours, we went back and forth, writing down on a napkin the rules of our new secret sick kid club he insisted we were now in together.

1. No crying unless absolutely necessary.

(Exceptions: If you get stuck with a really big needle, if your favorite nurse goes on vacation, or if the cafeteria runs out of chocolate pudding and we’re stuck with vanilla.)

2. Complaining about hospital food is mandatory.

(If you eat the mystery meat without complaining, you will be investigated for suspicious behavior.)

3. If one of us gets rich or famous, the other gets half of the money.

(Doesn’t matter how. Could be sports, singing, or a dramatic escape from this place that gets turned into a movie.)

4. IV pole races are a sacred tradition.

(Winner gets bragging rights. Loser has to steal an extra pudding cup for the champion.)

5. Nurses are only allowed if they bring snacks or spill hospital drama.

(Bonus points if they tell us which doctors secretly hate each other.)

6. Any new sick kid must pass a vibe check before joining.

(They have to prove they’re funny, good at keeping secrets, and willing to break minor hospital rules.)

7. Fake diseases must be diagnosed at least once per chemo session.

(Example: “Acute Jell-O Deficiency” or “Advanced Poked-To-Death-itis.”)

8. No being sad alone.

(If you’re feeling miserable, you have to tell the other person so they can cheer you up or be miserable with you. It’s the law.)

9. If one of us gets out of here first, they are required to do something ridiculously cool in honor of the other.

(Like skydiving. Or stealing a hospital wheelchair and riding it into the sunset.)

10. This club lasts forever. No matter what.

(Even if we get old. Even if we live in different places. Even if one of us becomes a boring adult. Secret Sick Kid Club is for life.)

We stuck to those rules like they were the most sacred things on this planet.

Well, most of them, at least.

He was my best friend. My first love.

Even when we were dying, he taught me how to live.

I think in another life we would have been lifelong soulmates, but sadly, our lives went in different directions after he had to finish his treatments here and move to a new hospital across the country.

His parents had to move to a new state, and he had to find new doctors and new friends. All the while, I was stuck alone again. I was completely broken when he left. Even more broken when he went radio silent on me, and I never heard from him again.

It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen him, and he still always finds ways to creep back into my thoughts. Especially on the days when I’m desperately searching for any good memories to latch onto.

Even though today wasn’t one of those bad days, I still found myself thinking about him as I walked the halls of this hospital where we spent so many years in and out of together.

Today, I had my annual oncology appointments to get new scans, a bunch of tests, and some blood work done to make sure the cancer was still gone.