#1
I can’t believe tonight’s my last night sleeping in a hospital bed!
I can hardly believe it—tomorrow I finally get to go home. I keep wondering what it will feel like to sleep, wash, and eat at home again. Will everything look the same as I remember? I’ve been at the hospital for more than a year, and my memories of home feel a little fuzzy now. Mom told me a few days ago that she cleaned my room and even put on a brand-new blanket. Her eyes sparkled as she told me the news—she looked even more excited than I was!
This afternoon, Dad came with a large bag to pack up all our belongings—items he used while taking care of me, along with the notebooks and textbooks I had used to study writing, math, and science instead of going to school. As he pressed everything carefully into the bag, he smiled and asked me to tell him what three things I liked most. I thought for a long while before choosing. The first was my model car. It had been a birthday gift from my uncle last year, when I was still in the hospital. It took me three whole hours to put together! Mom said I could ask for help, but I wanted to finish it all by myself—and when I finally did, I felt so proud.
The second was a doll that looks just like Lulu, my cat. Since I’ve been in the hospital, my aunt has been taking care of Lulu for me. One day, she found a doll that looked just like her and sent it as a gift. Sometimes I see Lulu through video calls or photos, and she’s grown almost twice as big since I last saw her! Auntie said she’ll bring Lulu when I get home tomorrow. I can’t help but wonder—will Lulu still recognize me? And the third thing I like most is—
“Wu-bin is being discharged tomorrow?” asked the old lady from the next room.
“Yes, ma’am,” my dad said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’ll be strange not seeing him every day, but I’m so happy for you all,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you for taking such good care of him. Lucas is doing much better, too. I’m sure he’ll be able to go home soon,” my dad replied.
“Yes, he ought to,” the old lady said.
Lucas is the boy in the next room. We’re the same age, about the same height, and even our illnesses are alike. We like the same things, so we get along really well. Our families get along too. We promised that once we’re both out of the hospital, we’ll visit each other’s homes. Now that I’m leaving first, all that’s left is for Lucas to get better and we can keep our promise. After chatting with Dad for a while, Lucas’s grandmother patted my head gently and said goodbye. She told us she’d be switching places with his mom early in the morning, so she wouldn’t be able to see me off.
Earlier today, after Dad and I finished packing, I went around the ward to say goodbye to all my friends—kids who I’d gotten to know. When I told Dad my plan, he filled a tray with cookies and said, “Share these as you go.” I made sure to give two cookies to Auntie Se-mi, the nurse who always gave me shots so gently that I wasn’t scared at all.
But when I came back to my room, the tray was still piled high—because for every cookie I gave away, someone handed me candy, jelly, or chocolate in return. Looking at all the sweets, I wished with all my heart that everyone in the ward would get well soon.
#2
Oh, where was I? I got distracted when Lucas’s grandmother came by. Right—I was talking about the things I treasure most. After the model car and the Lulu doll, the third is my pair of soccer shoes. They’re black with bright red studs—so cool! My doctor gave them to me. People call her Dr. Kim, or sometimes just “Mrs. Kim,” but most of us in the ward call her Mrs. Harmonica. She got that nickname after playing the harmonica at the hospital’s Year-End Night party.
It was held in the children’s ward last winter. There were fun games, as well as a talent show featuring patients, their families, doctors, and nurses. Nurse Se-mi wore a curly wig and did a silly dance that had everyone bursting out laughing. Lucas’s grandmother sang beautifully in her hanbok, and the audience clapped and cheered.
Dr. Kim had never performed before—she always said she didn’t have any special talent. But this time, she mustered up the courage to go on stage. The harmonica was the only skill she had learned back in school that she could share, so she practiced in secret until her lips were sore. She confided this only to me, so when she finished playing, I jumped up from my seat and applauded more enthusiastically than anyone else.
She played an old song that went, “The acacia tree blooms along the orchard path.” It was simple, but it was so moving! After that night, so many kids asked to hear her play again that she started carrying a harmonica in her pocket, ready to play whenever someone needed cheering up. She always tried to make us feel better, encouraging us to keep fighting and never give up. When she gave me the soccer shoes on my birthday, along with a handwritten card, I knew it was her way of giving me strength.
My dream is to become a soccer player. I haven’t been able to run freely on a field since coming to the hospital, but I watch every game on TV. When I see the players racing across the green grass, dribbling the ball like it’s part of them, I feel like I’m running right there with them. They call that vicarious pleasure, don’t they? Dr. Kim once told me that one day, I wouldn’t just watch—I’d play for real, with my own two feet.
I prayed that my feet wouldn’t grow too fast. I asked God to heal me before my feet outgrew those shoes. I don’t know which prayer He answered, but the shoes still fit me perfectly! Every time I see them in my locker, I dream about the day I’ll put them on and run. I never thought that day would actually come—just like Mrs. Harmonica said it would.
When my discharge was finally confirmed, she said to me,
“You’ve become strong because you fought a big illness. But remember—you didn’t fight alone. The doctors, the nurses, the people who prepared your meals, the ones who kept your room clean, and everyone in the ward who smiled and talked to you—they all fought with you.”
She told me to carve gratitude into the place where the cancer had been. Her voice was warm and gentle, and I promised myself I would do just that.
#3
Morning has come. The day I’ve been waiting for—the day I finally get to go home. Sunlight pours through the window, warm and bright. Until now, the sunshine always came to find me, but today, I’m the one going out to meet it. I had a hearty breakfast, and after finishing the discharge paperwork, Dad dressed me in new clothes to celebrate. I felt so light, I thought I might float away. Mrs. Harmonica came into my room carrying a big bouquet of flowers. She bent down so our eyes met and said,
“Wu-bin, congratulations on your discharge! You’ve been so brave all this time”.
Her broad smile made me smile, too. I threw my arms around her and said,
“Thank you, Mom!”
Yes—my doctor, the one who healed me, the wonderful Mrs. Harmonica, is actually my mom. While I was in the hospital, she practically lived here, going back and forth between her dorm and my room after long shifts. The hospital had become her home. Dad even gave up on his job so he could stay by my side every day until I got better.
When I first came to the hospital, I gave Mom and Dad a really hard time. I cried and complained that all my friends were at school having fun while I was stuck here. I wanted to run and play outside. I even hated my shaved head. Deep down, I knew none of it was their fault, but I still acted out—because I knew they wouldn’t get mad at me while I was sick.
Then one night, I woke up and saw Mom at the foot of my bed. Her arms were resting on the mattress, her face buried between them as she prayed, quietly sobbing. Dad stood by the window with his back turned, shoulders trembling. I think he was trying not to cry. Until that moment, I had only ever seen them smiling. So, seeing them like that surprised me. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one who was hurting—when I was in pain, they were, too. And yet, somehow, it made me feel happy. Because it meant I was deeply loved—loved enough for Mom to cry out to God for me. I felt so blessed to have parents who cared for me so deeply.
After that night, I stopped getting upset with Mom and Dad. I did my treatments properly and ate all my meals without being picky. I wanted to get better quickly so Mom wouldn’t be sad and Dad could go back to work like other dads. I wished I had realized it sooner, but at least now I understood that getting better was the best way I could help them.
I started praying, too—just like Mom. I asked God to heal me quickly so Mom and Dad wouldn’t be sad anymore, and so the three of us could go home together. I don’t know whose prayer God answered, but somehow, He did.
“Wu-bin, are you ready to go home?”
Dad held my hand and led me out. He said that when Mom got home from work, we’d celebrate with a special dinner. The thought of eating at home with Mom and Dad made me so excited I could hardly sit still.
“See you at home, sweetheart,” Mom said.
“Okay, Mom! I’ll be thinking about what we should eat!”
And just like that, I happily said goodbye to my mom—my proud, wonderful Mrs. Harmonica.
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