Before You Read-
"Asher "is a fictional story inspired by a beautiful five year boy, Johnny Crisstopher, who was diagnosed with ALL, a very aggressive form of Leukemia, at just 18 months old, and a heartbreaking Instagram post that was written by his Mother.
Click link at the end of this story to follow Johnny's battle.
Mamma's Little Worrier
I gasp, struggle and cry.
"It's okay, Asher." Mamma's saying.
But, it's not okay. The needles are scary and I want to go home. I hear a loud, "Beep, beep, beep, beep!" and get even more scared. Why is it so fast?
It wasn't that fast before the needles. Mamma holds me tight to her. I punch and kick and scream.
"We'll have to sedate him., says the woman in white.
"Do you have to?" she asks.
I hear the pain in her voice. It only makes me madder.
"I'm sorry" starts the man who holds the needle.
His voice goes quiet. The room I'm in is the same white as the man and woman's extra long shirts. There's a bathroom and a bed that has handles and goes up and down and a tv that plays cartoons all day long. I'd like it more if the man and the woman didn't stick big needles in me. Mamma says they help me get better. She says they help keep my nasty cancer cells away, but the sneaky cells are always coming back to eat up my healthy ones, so I don't think the needles are working.
I feel warm up my arm. It's the same arm that has the long tube stuck into it. Mamma calls it my "IV". I feel sleepy. Mamma lays me down on the bed. My eyes are tired. I don't want to sleep.
"Sweet dreams, Asher." Mamma says.
She kisses my head. My eyes shut and my brain goes dark.
I wake up to Mamma's kisses.
"You did so good, my love." she says.
She's crying, but she doesn't look sad. The man who had the needle doesn't have it anymore.
"You did great, little man!" he says.
He smiles. I don't smile back. Mamma wipes at her tears. I yawn and feel my chest with my hands.
There's a tube!
It's like the "IV" but different, not in my arm, but in my chest above my nipple. I frown.
How'd it get there?
I poke at it.
"Don't touch." Mama says.
She moves my hand away and holds it.
"That's your port, remember? It helps make you better."
I feel her other hand touch my head. She used to run her fingers in my hair, but this time, she doesn't, because my hair isn't there anymore. She kisses me again and I kiss her back. I wrap my arms around her neck.
"You're so brave." she whispers. "You're my little worrier."
She's crying again.
"I wish I could fight this battle for you."
I hold her tighter.....