The following is an excerpt from a book I am working on about my daughter's battle against her diagnosis of Ewing's sarcoma, which is an aggressive bone cancer that most often affects the young. Read part one.
I was afraid the next day but at the same time I felt strangely calm. I had the feeling that nothing worse could happen, or it may have been that I simply did not have any strength left and was just indifferent. I tried to convince myself it must be the former and allowed the optimism to push me forward as if I were on a race track with only a single lane to travel.
On arriving at the hospital an unusual presentiment flooded over me. I saw all of the things in front of me with a new insight: a nice hall, a boutique for the patients, a gourmet restaurant, people busy with their mundane affairs. Like photographs, frame by frame — or more like a movie, I thought. Life so ordinary at times can surprise us, show a ruthless edge when we least expect it. For me, everything revolved around Natalia, but here in the hospital I could see people unaware of my concerns. Now in retrospect it's clear how Natalia's illness overshadowed everything else in my life. Writing this story I see myself at that time moving in slow motion, focused only what mattered, Natalia.
I stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor to the intensive care unit. I felt glad that I was about to see Natalia. Going into the center I looked around. In the hall were a few incubators and three beds with older children, but I could not see Natalia. I panicked. The doctor saw my face and walked over to me and quickly pointed.
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