Momma said, when I was born, I was a sick, sick boy. I lived in the hospital longer than Momma did! Two years in the hospital. I needed help breathing, eating, everything other people do easy-breezy. Momma said after the second year. She showed them special papers that were like a ticket out of the hospital. She took home lots of machines, and I got to see my home for the first time.
But even with all the machines I had to wear, and all the medicine Momma had me take, I was still really sick. I couldn’t go play outside, I couldn’t eat the same food as my big sister, Clara. I had to stay in bed all day. Momma said I looked like a bowl of milk, I never got to see the sun. One day, when I was seven, Momma said I fell asleep, and I didn’t wake up for a long time.

When I woke up, I wasn’t wearing anymore machines. My big sister was crying, but she looked happy.
Momma looked scared. Really scared
I felt great, I could breathe in easy, without any help from the big machines. My arms didn’t hurt from all the stuff that used to be stuck in there. I was so happy I was jumping on the bed.
But the doctors came in, really worried. They told me to sit down, or I might fall asleep again. They said I was going to need new machines, new medicines, a lot of surgeries, and I got really sad. The doctors were talking with Momma and Clara. Clara was still crying, but she didn’t look happy anymore. Momma looked guilty, like she’d took the last the cookie from the jar without asking.
I can remember some of what the doctors said. But most of it was kind of silly and confusing to me.
“. . . no obvious tumors. It’s just -- everywhere. . .”
“. . . to be difficult to treat if we can’t find. . .”
“Treatment might be more damaging. . .”
“. . . start the radiation therapy as soon as. . . until then. . . suggest you make the most. . .“
“We’re very sorry.”
The doctors didn’t sound very happy either. They all looked at me, they weren’t sad anymore. They looked kind of confused.
When the doctors left, Clara gave me a big hug. Momma sat in a chair in by the window. Clara went over to open the window, and I sat up, real excited. But Momma got mad at her, and yelled at her. Saying that she was going to make it worse.

After awhile, Clara had to go back to school. Momma said she was going to be a grown up soon. So Momma stayed at the hospital, since they wouldn’t let me go home. I couldn’t go out to play. And I couldn’t leave my bed. Even though I felt so great. I took pills, they made me feel sick again. Then they stuck a little tube in my chest, and it started to hurt very bad. So they took it out. They used big, scary machines, and I got so sick, I could only move so long before I got very tired.

Momma and Clara were called back to my room one day. And everyone got very angry. The doctors and said a lot, Clara and Momma too. I can’t remember the whole thing.
“None of his symptoms are relevant to his treatment. There is no reason not to continue on with it.” One of the doctors blabbed on about.
“He looks sicker than ever!” Clara was probably the most angry. She looked like she was going to cry again. “Momma, you can’t let them do this!”
“They’re the doctors.” Momma said, she sounded like she was bored.
Everyone looked so upset, it was making me upset too. The doctors noticed.
“Hey, Oliver. You wan’ a go get some dinner with Karen?” Another asked me. Karen was my nurse. They said I was so special, they had a special nurse for me. Karen was very nice. She’d let me eat her dessert. ‘A boy like you needs to stay nice and sweet, just don’t tell the doctors.’ She would say. Then she would blow her bangs out of her face, with a funny look on her face.
Dinner sounded great. I sure was hungry. But Clara was really sad. I didn’t want to leave. Karen came in anyways, plopped me right in a wheelchair. On the way out the door, I could see the doctors trying to calm Clara down.
“You’re going to kill him!”

Clara wasn’t allowed back in my room after that, Momma said she had a big test at school.
It was time for them to put me in the big machine again, and all I could think about was Clara, all angry and sad. Yelling at the doctors. Karen was pushing me in my wheelchair, to the room where the machine was.
I looked up at Karen, the ceiling was moving really fast, and it was making me dizzy. “Was Clara telling the truth? Are you guys really going to kill me?”
She looked down at me for a little bit, “we would never do that, hun.” She smiled.
“Ok. . .” I didn’t really believe Karen.
Like usual, the doctor that helped me sleep was there, along with his helper, and the doctor that worked the big machine. I got really nervous, really fast.
“Can we do this tomorrow?” I asked.
“Someone else has to use it tomorrow.” The machine doctor said.
“Let them do it today then.”
“But you need to today.”
I wiggled around in my wheelchair, the doctor looked like he was a little annoyed.
Karen wheeled me over to the bed in the machine, and I got scared. I stood up out of my chair, and I tried to run in the other direction. Then I forget what happened. People were holding my arms, I bit something, and I heard somebody choking. Then all the people holding my arms sort of just let go. But I got stuck in the arm with more medicine.
I wasn’t sleeping, but I wasn’t awake. I couldn’t move my arms, or open my eyes. I felt like I was full of sand. Tingly and heavy. I could hear everything around me, but barely any of it made sense.
“I have a feeling we have been able to diagnose your son. These papers say you were given an experimental vaccine when you were nineteen. Meant to prevent cancer -- correct me if I’m wrong.”
“No, I did.”
“Well, it looks as if the vaccine has done the total opposite. Instead of preventing cancerous cells, it made it so he depended on them. That’s probably why he was so sick until recently. He didn’t have enough carcinogenic cells.”
“But cancer isn’t supposed to be infectious. What happened to the nurse?”
“Well, that I’m not sure of. He was trying to resist treatment, and in the process he bit Karen. We got him stabilized before he could do anymore damage. But a. . . Cancerous growth of some sort just kept growing and growing where he had bit her shoulder. It only took a few minutes before the tumor crushed her trachea.”
“So, you’re not going to treat this?”
“No way we can. Traditional methods of treatment just make him sicker, as they get rid of the mutated cells. He needs them. He can’t live without them. But the fact that his bodily fluids carry a very lethal contagion means he is a major threat to others.” Lots of papers were being moved around. “We have noticed you are running very low on funds. I realize that his constant need of medical attention can really take a toll on you. We can send him to the same facility that gave you the vaccine. They are better at fixing these things than we are, and they will clothe, feed, treat and educate him free of charge.”
I heard a gasp, “why were we not told this sooner?”
“We were not aware of his current dilemma, and we were not sure that the LOE would be best fitting for him. We will send him as soon as we can, now that his admission has been approved.” More papers. “Though, this is sure to cause some issues with your daughter. He will need to stay quarantined in the facility until his illness is resolved. Which may take longer than hoped for.”
“I will figure that out myself.”
“If you insist, Mrs. Holgast.”
It was quiet for a very long time. I think I must’ve been sleeping, but I could not tell. Then I could hear a bunch of sounds all at once. Squeaky wheels going down a hall. Coughing and whispering. A truck starting up, me being fastened tightly into a weird seat. Driving, driving very far. Across bumpy roads, and really smooth ones. Then most squeaky wheels, quiet hissing, yelling, and groaning, and a big heavy door closing.

*****

So here I have been, for five years -- at least I think it has been five years. Sitting in a blank white room, with a cold metal bed. Listening to unsettling elevator music that pours out of a strange camera’s speakers. I feel as perky and exuberant as I was before the doctors tried to fix something inside me that wasn’t broken. But there is nothing I can do with my energy. Men in great black suits -- thick as rhino skin and impossible to puncture, forcefully make me swallow pill by pill. Pills that make me slow, and make it hard to think. I can’t even bother to pace the room. Sloth washes over me like a creeping ocean, day after day.
Nurses in similar suits greet me daily. To check my vitals, then my hour of education. Before they stuff more pills down my throat. I can never wipe the somber frown from my face when they are in my room. The nurses are always smiling at me, claiming I’m one of the brightest patients of the bunch, and they add another pill to my daily regimen.
I’m not allowed out for recreation time, because they can’t keep my mutation under control with the special cameras. So I have to sit in my room, all day and all night. Sitting here, wasting my childhood staring at walls that will never bear color.
Until now, that is.
The lights always dimmed at 1:03 PM, that was how I kept track of time.
But today, as the two men in the rhino-skin suits came in to feed me my pills, the lights dim, and then the room is left black. With it, the men’s suits disappear like mirages. And they are left exposed and mortified.
With no drugs currently in my system I am thinking quicker than I am comfortable with. “Let me out!” I bark, and storm towards the pair of men. Who nearly resort to cowering in the corner. I lick the palm of one of my hands, shove it closer to one man’s face. He cringes and yelps, acting like a girl avoiding boy cooties. Because even if I am almost three times smaller than them. They can’t even touch me without risking infection.
“Open the damn door, for Christ’s sake. Open it!” The man screams, flailing his arms and pushing the other man to the door. The other man does as he is told, and swing open the door. To utter chaos. They scramble out, and so do I.
Outside my room it is terrifying. Doors are flying off their hinges, doors melt like butter, and some patients just walk right through their cell door like it’s not even there. The patients are so disfigured, at first glance you see no human aspects to them. Some slither or crawl, some have gills or feathers. Some have mouths that drop open and let out blood curdling cries. They quickly migrate down flights of stairs, or jump out windows, some shoot through the ceiling and leave gaping holes. The men that fled for their lives are lost in the crowd. Probably eaten or something. I wouldn’t be surprised. With my old medications quickly draining from my system, I am thinking faster and smarter. I rush through the crowd to the stairwell. Careful not to bump into anything.
I hesitate by two patients, one is helping the other out of his cell. The trapped patient has a head that looks like it is made totally of metal components. His face replaced by bits and bobs that light of as he talks in garbled transmissions. The man helping him, almost looks normal, until he crumples up the door like tin foil. They both look at me, and I take this as my queue to keep going.
With so much built up energy, darting through the crowd, and down seven flights of stairs was almost a breeze. I burst through previously shattered doors, and a chill whips through my hospital garments.
Along with the embrace of the sun.