The Boy Who Had Leukemia

I once visited a 19-year-old boy I had never met. He had leukemia. Having gone through two courses of chemotherapy, he had become thin and frail. I found him very much the kind of boy described to me: very nice, soft-spoken, and polite.

His father, who was also present, said, “He just needs to do another round of chemo and then do 自救 (some kind of qigong). Then he’ll be okay.” I didn’t respond to that, and talked to the boy instead.

I learnt that he, as someone who was conditioned by orthodox Buddhism, believed that his illness was due to some past bad kamma. I however had a different idea.

“Apart from your leukemia, are you happy with your life?” I asked.

He was silent.

“I believe that leukemia has a mental cause. It’s about not getting to live the life that you want. Is there any way that you very much want your life to be different?”

Instead of answering my question, he said, “I’ll be studying architecture.”

“Okay, and is that what you want?”

Again, he was silent.

Sensing that perhaps the presence of his father prevented him from speaking freely, I asked that his father let us speak in private. The father agreed and left the room.

I asked my question again, and he said, “My father has brought me to register for architecture. We’ve paid.”

“Okay, and is that what you want to do with your life? To be an architect?”

After a long pause, he said, “No.”

“So what do you prefer then?”

“I want to be a child psychologist. I like children.”

“Okay, so tell that to your father.”

He became silent again.

Then, I made a BIG mistake: I called the father in and told him his son had something to tell him, and I left.

A few weeks later, I heard that he went for his third round of chemo, and died.

I can’t be sure what happened in that room after I left that day, but going by my far better understanding of human psychology now, I believe the boy never told his father what he wanted.