LITTLE ROCK — Last in a series.

Stiff and sore, Rhonda Harris awoke in a narrow hospital bed, still wearing her clothes from the day before.

Once again, she’d spent the night with her daughter Leslie, who was undergoing aggressive chemotherapy.

Rhonda wanted to stay at the hospital with Leslie. She also wanted to go home to check on Leslie’s new baby, Ayden.

But Rhonda had a full-time job. And with Leslie’s medical expenses mounting each day, Rhonda needed the paycheck more than ever.

As she moved quietly through Leslie’s hospital room, Rhonda felt something on her hand. She flipped it over, staring in dismay at her palm and the clump of blond hair stuck to it.

Rhonda looked at her sleeping daughter, wondering how Leslie would react. For Rhonda, those glossy strands represented all that once was.

Silently, she slipped from the room.

A few hours later, a text message arrived from Leslie, accompanied by a photo of a bald spot.

“Should I start parting my hair on the left side now?” Leslie had written.

Rhonda looked at the picture and smiled.

Her girl was still there - in a wasted and ravaged body - but still there.

PAINFUL SEPARATION

When she had taken Leslie to the emergency room on Sept. 20, 2011, Rhonda knew that her very pregnant daughter was sick.

But Rhonda figured Leslie, 29, had a virus or bacterial infection.

She certainly didn’t expect to hear that her daughter - 39 weeks pregnant with her first baby - had cancer.

Most often, it’s men over 40 who are stricken with acute myeloid leukemia - not women of childbearing age.

Doctors had performed an emergency C-section on Leslie. They didn’t think Leslie would survive the delivery.

But she did.

Now Leslie lay in the oncology unit, praying that the chemotherapy would allow her to live long enough to get to know her baby.

Time moved slowly in the cancer ward.

At first, Rhonda and other family members had taken Ayden in for frequent visits. But after he picked up a staph infection at the hospital, everyone agreed to limit his time there.

For nearly two months, photos and videos were Leslie’s primary connection to Ayden.

She tried not to feel left out. Better to focus on beating the cancer. But one day Rhonda arrived with Ayden for a visit, a diaper bag slung casually over her shoulder.

Leslie looked at the bag - a Timi & Leslie that her sister, Lauren, had bought for her - and felt her heart shatter. Tears filled her eyes.

She was supposed to be carrying that diaper bag.

And that’s when the enormity of her loss struck hard and deep.

She didn’t get to leave the hospital in triumph - a new mother being wheeled out the door with a baby in her arms.

She didn’t get to give Ayden his first bath. Instead, she watched it on a video.

She missed his first night at home.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Rhonda asked, seeing her daughter’s distress.

“Oh, I’m just hormonal,” Leslie said, trying not to cry. “Just sit here with me.”

She felt so helpless. Here she was, a new mom - and utterly dependent on her own mother.

Later, she confessed to Rhonda that she had felt a sting of jealousy.

“Mama, I just want to apologize. When I’m weak and I cry about something - well, I just hate to cry and make you worry.”

A GRIM PROGNOSIS

Throughout her two month hospitalization, Leslie kept the wicked sense of humor for which she was known. And she made it clear that she would fight cancer her way.

On one occasion, that meant going home to see Ayden, despite the medical staff’s objections.

Leslie’s determination to do things her way worried Lauren.

“It should have been me,” Lauren told their father, Billy. “I would have done cancer so perfectly.”

Billy pondered that for a moment.

“You know,” he mused, “it’s good that she’s a free spirit and hardheaded. That’s what will get her through this.”

Leslie was discharged from the hospital just in time for Thanksgiving 2011.

Finally, she could be a mother to Ayden.

But while doctors had successfully beaten back the cancer for the time being, they told Leslie that only a bone marrow transplant would save her. Otherwise, death would claim her in one of two ways.

The leukemia would come back at some point and kill her. Or she would fall victim to an infection or illness that her compromised immune system wouldn’t be able to fight.

Without a transplant, doctors had given Leslie six months to a year to live.

After her release from the hospital, Leslie had a talk with Rhonda.

“Mom, I want you to listen to me. I’m a Christian. I’m not afraid to die. Why would I worry about my son when you were the best mother on the planet? I know I have a good family, and he will be loved and cared for if none of this goes well.”

The odds of finding a bone marrow match weren’t good. For every 10 patients in need of the lifesaving transplants, only four find donors.

And in many cases, it’s more likely that a stranger will be a better match than a parent or sibling.

For those of nonwhite ethnic groups, the odds become even slimmer.

Leslie, for example, comes from a family with a strong American Indian heritage.

When Rhonda heard the odds, her hopes wilted.

“Oh, my God, the statistics - this is bad,” she said.

“Mom,” Leslie replied. “You’re listening to the wrong number. The Lord only needs one.” HEARTBREAK

The Leslie who went home - while optimistic about her chances for survival - looked like a weary soldier. Pale, emaciated and scarred, she didn’t in any way resemble the “Boot Camp Barbie” who had toughed her way through military training with a broken ankle.

Even so, sheer determination spurred her on as she got ready for her first, post hospital dinner date with her boyfriend, the father of baby Ayden.

It took Leslie three hours to make herself look “normal.”

She masked the chemoport scars with makeup, clothing and accessories, and hoped that dim lighting would conceal any other lingering signs of her illness and treatment.

But when her boyfriend arrived, Leslie could tell something was amiss.

There would be no dinner, only a heartbreaking admission: “I want to be a part of our baby’s life,” he told her. “But I can’t handle the rest of it.”

Rhonda’s heart broke for her daughter. She wondered how much more Leslie could take.

TWO MOTHERS

Over the next several months, Leslie fell victim to numerous viruses and infections.

She went through six sinus surgeries. A cut on her leg turned into a painful abscess.

And she remained wretchedly sick most days, unable to keep anything down.

All the while, Rhonda prayed.

And all the while, Leslie tried to comfort her mother.

She reminded Rhonda of the 16 bone-marrow drives that had been held for her.

True, no one had been deemed a potential match for Leslie, but 41 people who attended those drives turned out to be potential donors for others in need of the lifesaving transplants. “I’m not afraid to die,” Leslie said. “And I don’t want you to be afraid for me. I want to live. I want to be here. I’m fighting for my baby, to be here with him. But if the Lord decides to take me, that’s how it is. Maybe I’m dispensable, but he wants to use me for this.”

On March 21, 2011, Ayden turned 6 months old.

For Leslie, this was her baby’s first milestone that she hadn’t missed.

For Rhonda, this was a milestone of a different sort. Leslie was still alive, despite the doctors’ dire predictions.

And her cancer was in remission.

But Rhonda was ever so tired. Aside from taking care of Leslie, she bore much of the responsibility for Ayden. And she still worked full time for the Arkansas Lottery.

Only mother-love kept her going. Lord knew she wasn’t getting any sleep, she joked.

But, oh, the joy that baby brought Rhonda and Leslie.

Everyone cooed over his dimples, which made an appearance every time he smiled.

As Mother’s Day approached, Leslie asked Rhonda what the family would be doing to celebrate.

“Probably not a whole lot,” Rhonda said.

“Why don’t we load up the Jeep, take the baby to Houston and stay with Lauren?” Leslie suggested.

Rhonda was leery. Leslie’s strength and appetite were slowly returning, but could she handle such a long road trip?

“Sweetheart, maybe there’s a better way to ...”

“No,” Leslie interrupted. “I want to be the one to put my baby’s toes in the ocean for the first time. That way, if I’m not here next year, he’ll know he had one rocking cool Mother’s Day.”

So that’s exactly what they did.

A SETBACK

By mid-July, Leslie appeared to finally be recovering from the chemo’s lingering effects.

Then, abruptly, she became violently ill.

From late July until late August, Leslie was in and out of the hospital.

Rhonda panicked. Had the cancer come back? Or was this the infection that would kill her daughter?

Finally, a doctor told Rhonda that he thought he’d figured out what was wrong: Leslie was suffering from morphine withdrawal.

Relief flooded Rhonda. This she could handle. Making Leslie healthy would be her mission.

Rhonda prepared high calorie foods. She planned girls’ nights, when she and Leslie would sit on the couch and snack their way through movies. She made sure the refrigerator always contained Leslie’s favorite things - especially the ingredients for banana splits.

Meanwhile, Leslie reveled in her son’s boundless energy. This was the baby who had shared her cancerous bloodstream for nine months. This was the baby who emerged unscathed - howling in protest as doctors pulled him from the womb.

On Sept. 9, Leslie turned 30.

On Sept. 21, Ayden turned 1.

For Rhonda, this day signified the biggest milestone of all.

Her daughter was still alive.

A NEW LIFE

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Leslie chases Ayden, who is determined to get into everything he’s not supposed to.

Rhonda beams with delight. “The happiest year of her life has been with this baby. God gave him to us, not only to help her weather the storm, but me.”

Rhonda still has mixed feelings when remembering Ayden’s birth.

“It was the most wonderful day - I saw my first grandchild - but also the most horrible day of my life.”

Since struggling through morphine withdrawal, Leslie has gained weight. The greenish-gray cast to her skin is gone. Her shoulder blades and collar bone no longer protrude.

“Look,” Rhonda says in a low tone. “She has a tummy again. Of course, I do, too, because I’ve been eating what she does.”

But Rhonda’s extra pounds don’t trouble her, not when Leslie looks so much healthier.

The cancer remains in remission.

Leslie credits the bone marrow drives. Knowing that other cancer patients have found potential donors gives her the will to keep going.

“I feel like that’s making me live longer,” she says. “I just think about how many friends have signed up for me and made sure someone else in the world has a donor.”

She still insists on wearing a wig. But underneath it, her hair is growing.

She remembers the woman she met at the salon back when Leslie didn’t yet know that she had leukemia.

On that day, the woman - a breast-cancer survivor - jubilantly showed Leslie the inch of hair that had grown back one year after the woman’s last round of chemo.

Just like that woman in the salon, Leslie has made it through a year.

And she, too, celebrates that precious inch of hair.

FOREVER BOUND

Several years ago, when Leslie thought she would be deployed, she went to Rhonda with a request.

“Before I head out to Iraq, Lauren and I are going to get matching tattoos on our feet. I want you to get one with us.”

At first, Rhonda protested.

Undeterred, Leslie pressed harder.

“I want to pull my boot off and look at the moon and know that the two most important women in my life can see the same moon. I think it might make me not so scared, maybe.”

Rhonda gave in.

“Just get the stupid thing booked before I change my mind,” she said.

On that day, each of the women had a symbol for “sisters” tattooed on their feet.

“Mom, you are my sister,” Leslie said, explaining her choice. “You’ve always been my mother when I want you to be - and when I don’t - but you’re also my friend and sister.”

After her most recent stint in the hospital, Leslie moved in with Rhonda. She hated giving up her apartment, her independence; but just as she’s content to be a new mom, she is equally content to be a daughter.

It’s what she needs right now.

Leslie’s not afraid of death. But when it comes, she doesn’t want to face it alone.

She never made it to the barren landscape of Iraq, where she could have died far away from her mother.

But she can still look up in the night sky and see the moon. And she does so with Rhonda by her side, their tattooed feet a testament to the bond between mother and child.

And together, they aren’t so scared.

About this series

In writing this series, Cathy Frye relied on multiple interviews with Rhonda and Leslie Harris and with their family members and friends. Information about bone marrow transplants came from the National Marrow Donor Program, Be The Match, DKMS and Colin Hall, who organized many of the marrow drives for Leslie.

Front Section, Pages 1 on 12/17/2012