Biker Held The Screaming Toddler For 6 Hours When Nobody Else Could Calm Him Down

Dale’s brother Snake tried to ignore it, focusing on Dale’s pale face as the chemo dripped into his veins.

But after twenty minutes of non-stop screaming, even Dale opened his eyes.

“That kid’s hurting,” Dale said quietly, his voice weak from the treatment.

“Not our business, brother,” Snake replied. “Focus on getting through this.”

But the screaming continued. Thirty minutes. Forty-five. An hour. Nurses rushed past Dale’s curtained area.

Doctors were called. Nothing worked. The screaming got worse.

Then they heard a young mother’s voice, breaking with exhaustion and desperation:

“Please, somebody help him. Something’s wrong and nobody can figure out what. He hasn’t slept in three days. Please.”

Dale pulled the IV from his arm.

“Brother, what are you doing?” Snake stood up fast. “You got another hour of treatment—”

“That boy needs help,” Dale said, standing on shaky legs. “And I got two hands that still work.”

Dale found them in the pediatric room three doors down. A young couple, maybe late twenties, looked completely destroyed.

The mother, Jessica, was trying to hold a toddler—looked about two or three years old—who was screaming so hard he was turning purple, fighting against her arms, arching his back. The father, Marcus, had his head in his hands.

Two nurses stood nearby, looking helpless. They’d tried everything. Medication. Distraction. Different rooms. Nothing worked.

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