Our first priority was to make absolutely sure no goldfish would be harmed in any way. Since we were confined to the ward, we had to enlist our friends "on the outside" to help. And it all had to be done secretly.
First, I had a friend get a large glass bowl for the fish, besides a decanter, which resembled a glass I.V. bottle. I painted numbers on so it would appear real. Michael was able to get his hands on some I.V. tubing.
Then Michael had a friend get two goldfish and food. We were ready.
The next morning we got Michael situated when the doctors came to make their rounds on the ward. I expressed concern to them that Michael wasn't doing well at all. They entered his room. Saw him "miserably" hunkered down in his bed. Concerned, they asked what was wrong.
"Doctors, I feel very scaly inside," said Michael.
That's when they suddenly caught sight of the goldfish in the I.V. bottle. I don't think I have ever seen doctors laugh so hard, and then applaud us. They loved it! We were immediate heroes of the ward for the kids. It even rallied some. Soon the whole place heard what we did.
I treasure the memory of this, because Michael later lost his fight. We had talked about death and dying late nights when the ward was quiet. For at night was the time to stare deeply at our hopes and fears and talk.
This has been another one of those "deeper the sorrow, the more joy" moments of many on my journey, for had I not been so ill with plummeting blood counts, I never would have known Michael.
And never had the "Goldfish Caper."
Oh, and the two goldfish? They blissfully lived a long time on the ward. I later heard the nurses had named them Michael and Adelaide.
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