On a sunny July afternoon, most three year olds spend the day playing outside. Young children enjoy warm summer days because they ca explore their surroundings, play with friends ad discover new experiences. One little girl I know, however, spends several afternoons a week in the stuffy playroom of a Pediatric Oncologists office. Still unsure of what it means to be diagnosed with leukemia, she spends long hours waiting for the results of her platelet counts. These test results determine whether she will spend the night at home or in the hospital. The children at the clinic are forced to deal with Leukemia everyday; each aspect of their lives is affected by their sickness. Because they have been diagnosed with cancer, the children are forced to surrender their childhoods and must learn to deal with the uncertainty of a life threatening illness. Volunteering weekly at Dr McNamara's office for Circle of Care has changed my perception about what it is like to experience childhood with leukemia.

As I enter the Doctor's office, I observe the usual crowd of overtired parents sipping their coffee anxiously while their children play games with one another. I briefly glance into these parents' eyes and see their hardened faces. Some have been forced to quit their jobs, postpone family vacations or set aside their plans for the future. The parents feel guilty because they are incapable of protecting their children from harm and sickness. They live with the shame of not being able to provide their other children with adequate attention because they are busy taking care of their sick children. The parents must come to the terrifying realization that they might outlive their one of their children.

The playroom at Dr. McNamara's office is the most welcoming room in the building. The variety of activities in the playroom provides the children with distraction from their treatments. Looking around the room, I see a train set, two televisions with DVD players, a play station and shelves stocked with games, toys, videos, puzzles and books. Cabinets in one corner of the room are filled with snack foods, and the freezer has a constant supply of ice cream. Poster size pictures of Dr. McNamara with his arms embracing former patients decorate the walls. Although the office's primary obligation is to care for sick children, the doctors are ale to fulfill this duty while establishing a friendly atmosphere. As I begin to set up the arts and crafts table, one child's mother approaches me. "My daughter has been asking about you all week, she thinks that you're her best friend." I reply with a smile and join her at a table where she is working on a dinosaur-coloring book. When she notices me sitting next to her, she immediately lights up and we begin to have a conversation about "Spinosaureses," her new favorite kind of dinosaur.

When it is her turn to see the doctor, I approach her; she has her face pressed against the fish tank, intently gazing into the water. As we stare into the tank, she comments about fish, "Look at that blue fish! He's beautiful! Look, there, at that one! What a lovely clownfish!" Even at age five, her distinct British accent gives her voice an eloquent, mature quality. Each word she speaks has a powerful effect; each new discovery she makes the enthusiasm she has for pointing out the beauty in the world. Her attitude towards life motivates me to appreciate simple pleasures.

Once she becomes tired of watching the fish. I join two boys who are playing Candyland in the corner of the playroom. Although they are both sixteen and their maturity clearly surpasses the childish board game, they continue to humor one another with their intensely competitive attitudes. Throughout the game, the boys playfully tease one another while reciting quotes verbatim from a popular movie, Anchorman. As the game progresses, I continually find myself stuck in the "Chocolate Swamp" and it becomes evident that Kevin is going to be the winner. "Wow you're really lucky!" I exclaim. "The only lucky person in the room is you, Molly. The rest of us have cancer." He replies with a silly grin. Even though I know Kevin made the smart remark in an attempt to be funny, it suddenly occurs to me he is right. These boys are my peers and I can easily picture them as my friends and classmates. They deserve to have the same experiences and opportunities that I will be given, but Leukemia has prevented that.

Volunteering at Dr McNamara's office has given me much more that I had anticipated. Before I began visiting the children, I was clueless to what it would be like to grow up with cancer and it's devastating effects. Not only has the Circle of Care Program educated me about what it is like to have to grow up with illness, but also it provides me with the strength to face my own problems. As I leave the office every Monday, I am filled with satisfaction. Volunteering to play with children once a week appears to be insignificant, but I know I have made a difference in the lives of those I help. Although my trips to the office only take a few hours out of my day, for many patients and parents who crowd the playroom, it is the center of their lives.