Cancer.
It's a curse.
It turns people's lives upside down and ruins their relationships.
Brynne Foster is a perfect example.
After being diagnosed with leukemia at age 17, Brynne's family struggles to accept her decision of refusing chemotherapy...
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Hospitals.
I hate them with every fiber of my being. The bright white lights. The constant noise of monitors beeping and doctors shouting. The gritty feeling of the cheap sheets against my skin. The smells of sanitizer and death as they fill my nostrils. The white and blue pillows that never seem to become comfortable no matter how many times you adjust them. Everything feels foreign and out of place.
Nothing about a hospital feels like home.
When I was diagnosed in August, I spent two weeks in the hospital. Those two weeks were the worst weeks of my life, the constant testing and imaging to keep a watch on my white blood cells. Day and night eventually grew into long periods of time, staring into the bright lights above my Godforsaken bed. I can't even remember how many needles were injected into my arm. I never knew what was going on, and neither did my parents. I might as well have been in a coma from how many antibiotics they were pumping into my veins.
Not to mention, my family was anxious the entire time. My dad was constantly checking his bank account to assure that we had enough money for another night in the hospital. Grant was always getting into arguments with the nurses when they were only trying to do their jobs, and my mom was a nervous wreck. They all tried to put a happy face on for me, but I could see right through their facade. And I hated every second of it.
That was when I knew I didn't want chemotherapy. The environment would kill me faster than cancer would.
Funny enough, I find myself in the hospital once more. Except for this time, it is not due to cancer-related reasons. Surprisingly, my parents bought my mugging lie and immediately brought me to the hospital once they saw the state of my body. I told them that I didn't want to press charges and that the person only took my money and my phone. Grant, his protective and normal self again, threatened to kill the person who did this to me.
He's already dead.
I can still taste his spilled blood in my mouth. Hear his screams in my ears. I will never forget the look of his helpless body on that floor. Even though he hurt me, I can't help but feel sorry for him. I can't help but feel the pain he must've felt in his last seconds.
"I would do it again."
Trying to push those words out of my mind, I am interrupted by a sudden voice.
"Are you sure you didn't see his face?" Grant questions as he sits on a blue chair next to my hospital bed.
Our parents left to talk to some doctors, leaving us alone in the room. These are the first words that he's said to me since our interaction in the parking lot. His reaction to my state was gentle and anything but short-fused. I can't imagine what went through his head while I was gone, what went through my parent's heads.
