My legs dangled, tapping against the metal bar beneath the hospital chair. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the faded cartoon animal on Dr. Giacherio’s coat pocket. Was it a dog? It was hard to make out. Anxiety twisted in my stomach; the news could swing in any direction. Pops squeezed my hand.
“So, Sloane,” Dr. Giacherio started, a gentle smile softening her features, “your tumor has responded to the treatment. It has shrunk, but it hasn’t disappeared completely.”
A lump formed in my throat. Shrunk but not gone. Not the worst outcome, but not the best either. I glanced up at Dad, his brow furrowed, worry evident in his eyes.
“This is good news, right?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Yes, absolutely,” Dr. Giacherio reassured me. “It means we’re making progress. That’s why we thin
