Exhausted from cancer treatment, the boy still dreams of returning to school.

In a small room in the treatment building, children with IV needles in their arms chattered and called to each other.

A child looked up while coloring: "Teacher, let me do another math problem" then looked down again as if afraid of losing the rare normal moment.

“Happiness Class” still takes place regularly from 2-4pm every Monday and Friday at Tan Trieu K Hospital.

Here, children struggle with every dull pain, while holding on to every letter, every calculation, and every hope.

The air in the room was a strange mix of antiseptic smell and bright colors from felt pens, drawing paper, and plaster statues. Occasionally, the beeping of an IV machine could be heard.

There was no blue board or white chalk, no drum to announce a new class. The children sat close together to listen to the teacher, hesitant smiles appearing and eyes shining when they finished a small exercise.

Amidst the disease and the fight for life, a special class exists.

The smile returned to the teenager after a series of days of treatment.

In the classroom, a 15-year-old boy sat quietly observing. He was thin, his face pale. His name was D.TD. If he hadn’t been diagnosed in June, he would be studying English now to prepare for his high school entrance exam.

During the warm-up game, D. was a little scared because he had to hold the cup so it wouldn’t fall. His hands were shaking slightly because of the pain from the IV, but he tried to stay calm. During the second game, the teenager burst out laughing, his face relaxed after many days of lying in the hospital room.

This was the first time the boy had participated in the "Happy Class" after 5 months of treatment, so he was both happy and nervous.

“I’m tired but I still try to sit because I want to continue studying. If the pain is less severe next time, I will go back to class,” D. bent down to hide her embarrassed smile.

That short-lived joy contrasts with the physical pain and mental trauma a 15-year-old boy is facing.

Almost all of my hair fell out after the chemotherapy. On the first day back at school, my classmates looked at me and asked why I had no hair.

“I just said I was shaving my head to become a nun. I laughed at the time, but when I got home I cried. I asked my mother to take me to school early and pick me up late so my friends wouldn’t see me. Even so, I still wanted to go to school because I felt happier when I could see my teachers and friends again,” D. said, her voice choking.

For D., the careless words of friends hurt more than IV needles.

At the hospital, the pain often came suddenly. One day after the infusion, D. just lay still and couldn't eat.

“When I got the infusion, I was in so much pain that I just wanted to lie down. But my dad brought me food, so I tried to eat to make him happy. I thought that since he went to the trouble of cooking for me, I couldn’t skip it,” D. said.

D.'s mother, Ms. PTN, sat next to her son and listened to each sentence as if she had been holding it in for a whole month. Since her son got sick, her mind has been suspended between hope and fear.

She clearly remembers the morning of June 13, when she took her child to the doctor because she thought he had appendicitis. “The doctor said he had a retroperitoneal soft tissue tumor that had metastasized 60-70%. When I heard that, I was stunned. I just thought there was still hope, so I asked the doctor to let him stay for treatment,” Ms. N. recalled.

5 months of treatment had cost 150 million VND, taking with it the last money the family had saved. The house's red book was still mortgaged at the bank. In that situation, Ms. N.'s wish for her child to live a normal life like other children had become a luxury.

D's understanding made her even more heartbroken. Ms. N said with tears streaming down her face:

“I have been independent since I was little. I knew how to cook and help my mother with housework when I was in first grade. I was in pain but I held it in because I was afraid I would cry too. One day, I told her that being my mother’s child in this life was a blessing. Hearing that broke my heart.”

This afternoon, after the infusion, D. cried in the hospital room and did not want to go anywhere. It was not until the teachers appeared and gently encouraged him that he agreed to go out into the hallway.

Ms. N. stood behind the classroom door, silently looking at her child: "It's been a long time since I've seen her smile like that. The class helps children forget their pain, I think every hospital should have a place like that."

Teachers who "run shows" between school and hospital

In the small room of the Pediatrics Department, children sat in a circle around a low table. The paper cup swayed gently in the girl's hand and rolled into the lap of the child next to her.

A clear laugh broke out. Ms. Nguyen Thi Thuy Linh - a veteran teacher of the Happy Classroom leaned over to gently support the little girl's elbow and softly encouraged her, "Good job, you did very well."

The youngest was 3 years old, with thinning hair. The oldest was 15 years old, with a white bandage still on his arm from the morning transfusion. The age difference seemed to create a distance, but the cup-passing circle made the children find common ground very quickly, as if they had known each other for a long time.

To have such exciting moments, 3 teachers came early to arrange tables and chairs, choose games, and divide exercises suitable for each age group.

“The happy class never has a fixed number or age. Some days there are more than 20 children, but other days only a few children are strong enough to get out of bed,” Ms. Linh shared.

The hardest thing for Ms. Linh is always choosing a lesson. At school, students can turn around to get a pen, tilt their heads to observe, or run to the board to write a math problem. In the hospital, the slightest movement can cause the IV needle to move or cause pain to the children.

In that condition, each exercise becomes a double problem: simple enough to do, but interesting enough to make the children want to continue the next lesson. “There are many factors to consider and I have to spend many times more time than preparing a normal lesson,” the young teacher confided.

The difference also lies in the ever-changing learning rhythm. While regular classes have a stable timetable, “Happy Class” depends on the health of each student.

Some students were still smiling today because the pain had subsided, but the next day they couldn’t go to class because they had to go to the operating room. Many students could only attend a few sessions before having to return home for treatment.

"There are children who have been treated for a long time, get to know the teacher and friends, and then introduce other friends to the class," said Ms. Linh.

The staff of the happy classroom has remained virtually unchanged over the years. The teachers who have stuck with the class are those who have been with the project from the beginning and have stuck with it despite their busy schedules at school.

Even during the Covid-19 pandemic, when hospitals limited contact and classes were forced to move online, the group of teachers maintained the teaching rhythm, calling each parent and sending each assignment so that no child was left behind. That perseverance created a special connection between teachers and students, surpassing the space limitations of a classroom.

“It is easy to set up a class, but to maintain it like this requires real dedication. Just seeing the smiles on the children’s faces when they go to school makes all the running between school and the hospital worth it,” said the young teacher who has been with the class for half a decade.

Dreams of going to school sow the seeds of happiness in the classroom

During the 6 years of being involved with the “Happy Class”, when asked what made her so determined, Ms. Pham Thi Tam, Principal of the Green Tue Duc Inter-level School, founder of the class, often started with the story of a special child patient.

She said that was the moment that made her understand that there are children who only dream of something simple but so luxurious that it becomes a lifelong torment for educators .

Ms. Tam said that Linh is a 7-year-old girl from Nam Dan, living with her grandparents who are over 70 years old. Her mother has a mental illness, and her father left the family when Linh was young. When she was admitted to the K hospital, she had to have one leg amputated due to late-stage bone cancer, and then the other leg.

Despite so much loss, Linh always appears with a bright, radiant smile like a little angel.

“Linh always told us not to worry, she wasn’t in that much pain. That was her way of reassuring the world around her,” the class founder recalled emotionally.

Linh had never been to school. Her only dream was to go to school once in her life. When she heard Linh whisper about that wish, Ms. Tam almost stood still.

“I found it a small dream that other children have hundreds of days like that every year. But for Linh, it is something that will never come true,” she said.

Not long after, Ms. Tam asked permission from the hospital to take Linh to school. That morning, she went to first grade, in front of her native teacher and children her age. Linh raised her hands continuously, her eyes shining with a rare joy.

“That day, I clearly felt that studying helped her forget her own pain. Linh had a real school day,” Ms. Tam shared.

The joy did not last long. A week later, her condition worsened. Linh had to leave the hospital and return home. A few days later, she passed away.

“Linh was the first person to plant in me the question that if a child only wants to go to school once, then how many other children are waiting for the same thing? It was that moment that made me understand that I had to do this class at all costs,” Ms. Tam said.

From that torment, the model “Happy Classroom” began to take shape. After the hospital agreed to support, within just 1 week, tables, chairs and documents were brought to the Pediatrics department.

The class at the K hospital was put into operation and quickly became a spiritual support for hundreds of children each year. After that, Ms. Tam established another class at the National Institute of Hematology and Blood Transfusion and another class in a pagoda for orphans.

From the dream of a girl who had never gone to school, the model spread and became a new breath of life in treatment departments.

“Everyone thought we came to give the children something. But in fact, the children gave us strength and made us realize how lucky we are,” the principal said emotionally.

The lesson ended, the teacher collected the worksheets and asked to see the children again. The children nodded and laughed as if there was nothing but joy in front of them.

Two short hours of study suddenly become a rare time for children to live true to their age.

The class named “happiness” therefore not only teaches letters but also lights up hope, nurtures courage and gives little souls a foothold to continue moving forward, even though there are still many challenges ahead.

Source: https://dantri.com.vn/suc-khoe/kiet-que-vi-chua-ung-thu-cau-be-van-om-uoc-mo-duoc-quay-lai-truong-hoc-20251202154128499.htm