What do you do when the bright future which you had expected ahead of you is enfolded by a backdrop of misery, terminal illness and impending death? Surely, such inquiries should be the last of any 17-year-old's problems, but for Ellie Green, she wa...
She turned towards me and nodded her head vigorously, a bright smile sliding onto her face, "of course, Ellie. Nurse Harrison and I are here to answer any of your questions." I slipped off the machine and followed Dr. Yung's instructions as she motioned towards a more comfortable chair.
"Will this work...the treatment, I mean."
"Ellie, I can't be too sure if it'll be successful in your case seeing as your cancer has returned more aggressive but we can only hope for the best and look out for results through the duration of your treatment. Young adults like yourself usually show remarkable responses to the treatment. But stay positive, we will do our best to get you healthy again."
That wasn't the response I was searching for. This was more so an automated response; something Doctor's are obligated to say to their patients to ease their worries, also known as bed-talk.
I would have preferred if she just stuck to the first statement or flat out said no. I replied with an okay before the entire session was done and I was allowed to leave.
Outside, my parents and Alec were awaiting my arrival. I told them they didn't need to all wait seeing as this isn't my first treatment neither will it be my last but they insisted. "Can I just run to the washroom before we leave?" My mother was hesitant but I reassured her that I'd be out quickly.
However, when I made it out of their view, I collapsed onto the nearest bench, my trembling hands falling over my now damp face. I didn't expect to cry, I've been telling myself that I'm okay for the past two weeks but it's evident I'm not. I'm putting up a strong front for my family because if I don't the entire household will be chaotic.
I dread the day I see Alec cry.
What if my treatment doesn't work? I can feel the toll this is having on my body, yet this doesn't feel like my first diagnosis, it feels much worse, stronger, back with vengeance for ridding it for so long. Will I make it to prom? Graduation? My first year of College?
As I sobbed into my hands, something shuffled beside me. I paid no attention to it for the first few seconds before what felt like a warm hand fell onto my shoulder. I peeled my face away from my palms, grimacing at the glistening tears pooled against my flesh.
Why did I hold this in for so long?
"Here," a soft voice mumbled as a box of apple juice came into my line of vision. In confusion, I lifted my head upwards and was soon gazing into a pair of brown eyes. Her curly brown hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterful, her porcelain-like brown skin glowed under the fluorescent lights hanging above our heads and a sweet toothy smile stretched across her lips.
She appears to be about eight or ten and frighteningly so, she looks incredibly familiar. "For me?" My voice cracked as I spoke and she seemed to notice as her head cocked sideways, sympathy falling over her once gleeful expression.
"Yeah, well it was for my brother but he hates apple juice. I usually get it for him because I know he'll drink it just for my satisfaction and that brings a large amount of glory onto me. So I'll spare him the torture today. You need it more," she certainly doesn't speak like an eight-year-old.
I hesitantly took it from her grasp, thanking her softly with a forced smile. As crazy as this is, I'd rather have a complete stranger comfort me rather than my family. The stranger has no emotional tie to me so they wouldn't feel my pain second-hand and take it to heart.
"Why are you crying?" She tugged at her hospital gown and sipped on her apple juice, her brows arched in question. "Well, I'm sick and. . ." should I really be telling a kid I'm gonna die? "I-I don't know, I just felt like crying."
"I feel like crying too sometimes! But what's the point? Crying doesn't really help it just makes me look like a cry baby and I hate those. But! My brothers always tell me that it's okay to cry sometimes, then we let all our emotions out instead of keeping it bottled up and imploding."
I chuckled softly, "your brothers are smart, I wish someone gave me this advice two weeks ago, maybe I wouldn't have imploded today." She nodded her head vigorously and then suddenly took my hand in her grasp. Her brown eyes met mine and for a split second I could have sworn they glowed, "I hope after today, you never have to cry again."
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