Chapter 4A Debt of Kindness

That winter was the most grueling and yet the most purposeful time of my life.

Delivering food by day, working gigs at the clubs by night.

I was so exhausted I could fall asleep sitting up anywhere.

It was exhausting, yes, but the decent monthly income did little to ease the constant anxiety gnawing at me. Nana had chemotherapy every three weeks. Medical bills and nutrition were costs I couldn’t cut. The doctor said that if she ate well and kept her strength up, the side effects of the chemo would be less severe.

During that time, every extra bite of rice she ate, every spoonful of soup she drank, would fill me with joy for hours. It was as if she wasn’t consuming food, but life itself.

After her fourth round of chemo, it was time for a routine check-up.

I was in the middle of a delivery run when my phone rang. It was her oncologist.

“Your grandmother isn’t responding well to the chemotherapy,” he said, his voice flat with professionalism. “The scans show the tumors… they’ve spread to her liver and lungs.”

The city flowed around me, a river of people and cars. I stumbled to the corner of the street, squatted down, and cried, my body shaking with huge, helpless sobs.

Why?

After everything I had done, why was this still the result?

Couldn’t fate spare us just one small kindness?

I clocked out early that day. I went to see the oncologist alone first. When I asked about the next steps, the treatment plan, all I got were heavy, regretful sighs.

He was a young doctor, not much older than me. “Take your grandmother home, kid,” he said gently. “Don’t spend any more money at the hospital. Whatever she wants to eat, let her have it.”

I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to hear it. Every word felt like a death sentence, a final judgment from a god I had stopped believing in. It was impossible to accept for someone who had been clinging so desperately to the hope of a miracle.

“If we just go home… what will happen to her?”

“She’ll be in a lot of pain,” he said, his voice getting quieter. “She might run a fever, lose her appetite, not want to move. There could be fluid buildup in her abdomen.” He looked away, pretending to be busy with the screen on his desk.

“What if I insist on continuing treatment?” I pressed, unwilling to give up.

The doctor looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He lowered his voice. “If you insist on treatment… your grandmother will still go through all of that.”

His words were the final blow. The tears I’d been holding back burst forth.