Three months after being diagnosed
I awake to the loud ringing of my alarm clock reminding me to take my medicine.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look at the digits that read midnight. As I slowly walk across my room, I try not to trip over any of the textbooks I left on the floor from the night before.
Attempting to graduate early is no walk in the park. At least I am finishing one year before all my friends, I think to myself. I don't want them to see the process of cancer taking over my body. As such, I decided that I am not going to tell anyone at school about my sickness.
I fumble with the switches on my wall trying to figure out which one is my lamp until a bright light startles me. It forces my eyes shut and sends a rude awakening throughout my entire body. Once I get used to it, I head to the bathroom and open my medicine cabinet. I look through dozens of pill bottles that I have marked for their use.
Bruising pills, nausea pills, headache pills, muscle cramp pills, pain pills, a.m. pills, infection pills, sleeping pills, not to mention the nutritional supplements I have to take with every meal.
These pills do a good job at alleviating the pain but, if I miss so much as one dose, I'm in unbearable suffering for the rest of the day.
I reach up and pull out the bottle labeled a.m. pills, twist the top open, and pop two in my mouth. I feel them stuck in my throat and try to help them down by swallowing. I make a sour face in reaction to the bitter residue it leaves in my mouth.
After taking a long sip of water, I make sure to quietly retreat to my bedroom without waking anyone up. My family has already lost enough sleep over me.
To say these past few months have been hard; is an understatement. Dr. Khan, the doctor handling my treatment plan, suggested that we attempt to manage the pain and halt the growth of cancer with pills for a few months. Then, we can determine whether or not I want or need chemo. Which is an elaborate way of saying I have three months to decide whether or not I want to live.
My parents and Grant have been begging me for weeks to start chemo as early as possible, but I refused. I understand their reasoning. However, I don't want to spend my junior year of high school restricted to a hospital bed, and I don't want to be remembered as the girl with cancer either.
If I select to go through with the chemo, I want to be doing it for myself, not for anyone else.
I honestly don't know what I am going to decide. If I chose to go through with the chemo, there's a chance that my body will not respond well and turn against me. If I refuse treatment, the disease will take over my body and kill me slowly.
I have an unfavorable decision to make.
Once I pull the blankets over my cold and slender body, I find it hard to fall asleep again. Nausea is one of the many side effects that are listed on the back of my pain pills. I have been prescribed a nausea medication just for this reason. Considering all of the medicine I take, getting through a whole day of school is like running a marathon for me.
I groan as I get up to go back to the bathroom for my nausea pill. As soon as I open the door, I hear grunting noises coming from the basement.
How come I didn't hear these before?
They are not loud, but noticeable. Grant working out is the only logical explanation. He would never dare to bring a girl into our house at the crack of dawn. Or would he?
I walk down the stairs, mindful not to make any loud noises, and wake my parents up. If they went into my bedroom and I wasn't there, they would be worried sick. I slowly open the door to the basement and walk down the stairs. I prepare my eyes from what I may see.
Sure enough, Grant is weight lifting at midnight. He is one dedicated guy when it comes to staying fit. I immediately remember how chilly it gets in the basement during the winter and wonder how he is not shivering his ass off because he is wearing gym shorts and an fitted athletic t-shirt.
He quickly puts down his weights and removes his Air-pods. He then looks up to me and immediately puts his worried face on,
"Brynne, what are you doing up this late? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"
"Relax," I say, "I am just awake because I had to take my morning medicine and heard a ruckus down here."
A sense of relief washes over his face, and I can see him take a deep breath and relax his shoulders. I hate the fact that he has to live in continuous fear that something may happen to me.
Ever since I fainted at school and the custodian found me, Grant has not left my side in the hallways. He insists on walking me to every class. It gets awkward at times, but I don't mind because nobody looks at me the same ever since I stopped talking to all my friends.
"Sorry," He apologizes, "I'll try not to make a ruckus." He smirks as he walks towards the fridge to grab a water bottle.
"Don't apologize," I say, "Why are you up so late anyway?" I ask with a curious tone.
He takes a big gulp of water and then smiles at me with his childish and pitiful eyes.
"I had a sudden urge to work out," He willingly admits as he brushes his dirty-blonde hair out of his eyes.
"Yeah, you're crazy," I respond giggling.
I think this is the first time I have laughed since the incident. His response is a grin from ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. I wish I could live in this moment forever. Here with my brother, I am safe, protected from the outside world.
Grant and I have always been there for each other ever since we were little.
When Grant got scraped up from falling off his bike, I helped him home and assisted my Mom in cleaning his wounds. When he winced from the stinging of the disinfectant, I let him squeeze my hand. Whenever I fell off the swing in our backyard, he carried me inside and told me a story about how the warriors with scars are the strongest ones.
He is one of my best friends and the best big brother I could ever ask for. Before I start tearing up, I ask him if he wants any hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and start walking up the stairs.
He responds with a,
"You know I do Bry."
"Well, come on then, what are you waiting for!" I whisper playfully while rushing up the stairs at lightning speed forgetting, that I do not have the same physical abilities I once had.
I start to feel dizzy and let out a whimper before I fall backward, down the steps. Luckily, Grant was directly behind me and caught me in the nick of time. He picks me up and carries me to the top of the stairs, where he opens the door and takes me inside.
He gently carries me to the couch in the living room and lays me down without saying a word.
"I just tripped on one of the steps Grant, you don't have to make such a big deal about it," I say a little bit more aggressively than I meant to.
He stares at me with such pity in his eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that," I snap at him.
"Like what Bry?," He asks confusedly.
"Like I am a lost little lamb that doesn't know my right from my left and needs you to guide me everywhere I go," My voice starts to get higher as I am holding back tears.
"I'm sorry, I-," He tries to apologize before I cut him off, "I'm tired and need to go to sleep if I'm going to go to school tomorrow," I abruptly say.
Noticing I hurt his feelings, I whisper a polite goodnight and then head towards the stairs. He doesn't try and stop me, probably knowing that I am going to refuse his help.
I take one step at a time, making sure that I don't fall again. I sense his presence at the bottom of the staircase, wincing at my mistakes and reaching his arms out every time I almost trip. I have to hold on to the banister so that I don't lose my balance.
Slowly but surely, I make my way to the top of the stairs and don't look back until I get to my room. I fall limp onto my bed, exhausted from the exertion, and start to sob quietly.
I am utterly disappointed in myself. I used to be a cross country runner for God's sake, and now going up the stairs is a challenge? I begin falling asleep knowing that it is only going to get harder from here.
I start to pity myself. Why do I, a seventeen-year-old girl, deserve to be sick. There are so many tiny things that I haven't gotten to experience yet. I want to go on a passionate rooftop date and observe the sunset. I want to undergo what it feels like to fly. I want to feel the warm sand on my toes and a salty breeze through my hair. I want to discover a new coffee shop and have a beverage named after me.
Unfortunately, I am probably never going to be able to do any of those things. I miss going out with my friends. I miss the early Saturday morning hikes I used to take with my family. We eventually had to stop those because I could barely make half a mile without having to stop and rest.
All the things I used to do daily, have become a challenge. As my eyes begin to shut, I dream about how it would feel to be that girl again.
I would never take the tiny things for granted again, that's for certain.