know a relapse after a first remission meant a harder road with fewer turns left.
They wanted Kora admitted for an intensive block of chemotherapy.
The hospital with the pediatric oncology unit was ninety minutes away, straight up Route 9, and Kora needed a parent at the bedside.
That meant me.
The problem was that I was a freelancer.
Freelancers don’t get twelve weeks of protected leave. There was no paid time off, no sick-day bank, no employer continuing to send a paycheck while I sat beside my daughter.
Every
