Lia Carson

Lia Carson Poems

The Best Poem Of Lia Carson

White Christmas

Christmas in Texas doesn't need snow
when the landscape around her is
already a winter wonderland
white sheets on white beds on slippery white floors
hospital windows glittering like fresh icy flakes in the sun.

The white hospital gown she wears does nothing to hide
the way life is evaporating out of her
defying physics
in this frozen atmosphere.

It is two days before Christmas
She has been here for almost two years
her fingers are trembling
and she is so thin
thin like my checkbook
and the hair on my head
which I keep pulling out because it is easier
than pulling money out of my pocket
handing it to the receptionist
her hair is silver like street-kissed snow
she smiles in her comfortable chair at her comfortable desk in the lobby
and waiting for her to tell me I'm short
that no, the insurance company can't cover it
and that by the way, your co-pay for the last chemo round
is 3 months overdue, honey
except honey isn't sweet
it's as bitter as frost
and each statement is just another way of saying
your daughter is going to die.

Upstairs, the pediatric oncology nurses have brought my little girl
teddy bears with Santa hats and
a wreath made of Skittles, her favorite
They sing Christmas carols until she is breathless with excitement
wheezing out "…and a Happy New Year" to claps and cheers.

She knows she is sick.
I've told her about neuroblastoma
how the Dark Side
had started a campaign in her left kidney
amassed into a tumor
and is now fighting against the rest of her body.
She wants to know why
she was chosen for evil and not
destined to be a Jedi like all the toy commercials say
so I tell her that cancer is a test
if she can fight off the darkness, she will be worthy
and become a Jedi.
I don't know if she believes me
but 6 years old is not too old for magic
and she hasn't stopped fighting
so I will believe that she believes me.

She does believe in Christmas though.
In Santa Claus and elves and reindeer
and presents
presents under a Christmas tree
and cinnamon rolls for breakfast on the couch, not at the dining table
because the table is covered in wrapping paper
and because she doesn't want to sit near the window
where she knows she won't see snow
on our summer-green southern lawn.

But now everything is white
white as death
as the pristine white cubicle I used to work in 
before the company fired me 
in the middle of my FMLA leave
and I couldn't hire a lawyer 
because that would cost more than what I would make
in half a year.

So now
my husband works overtime six days a week
and I can do nothing but
wander like a lost traveler through the pediatric oncology ward
and refuse to look at the bank notifications on my phone.
Because no matter how hard I pray for her
fight for her
throw my every fiber into doctor visits and consultations and research
and is she comfortable
does she need food? water? TV? a change of clothes? toys?
did she smile today? swallow her meds without crying?
no matter how much of myself I give and give and give
so that she can live a million more Christmases
there is the truth that what I have to give
is worth nothing.

Not when chemo and cyclophosphamide and
the new immunotherapy they want to try
are being ransomed for $34,000
and their captors, the pharmaceutical companies,
don't give a damn about "how the family feels".

Tomorrow
Christmas Eve
she will begin another round of chemotherapy.
She will wake up nauseous and feverish on Christmas Day
and there will be no money no presents under the Christmas tree.
There will be no couch to shield her frail body
from the window that overlooks a snowless hospital lawn.
The only thing that will be there
is the cold white foreign white hopeless white
wall and bed and floor
of the pediatric oncology ward
where she is fighting
a battle that might already be lost.

So I smile as the nurses sing to her
and afternoon sunlight crystallizes in her melting eyes
and I wonder how many more prayers I have to send up
so that a Christmas miracle
can come and save my baby girl's life.

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