I was lying in bed one day watching the geese fly in a V across the hospital grounds when my mother, father and doctor entered the room, smiles on their faces. I didn't bother to smile, because I knew better than to get my hopes up. My doctor hung sets of my X-rays of my knee up on his light board and I watched as he explained that in the first sets of X-rays there was a dark spot where the tumour had eaten away my knee, but in the newer ones the dark spot was smaller. He explained that the tumour wasn't as advanced as they thought it was going to be. With more chemo I should be "cured".
I cried. I cried for doubting myself, I cried for the pain, and I cried for my happiness. I kept saying over and over to myself, "I'm going to live!". Now that I was in higher spirits I paid attention to the visitors I had. My brothers Jason and Chris had been visiting me every day since I was diagnosed. But I never paid attention to them. Now I realized how many people loved me and how with them at my side, recovery was easier. Even though Jason was 18 and Chris was 16 years old at the time, we got along so well. They brought games over every day and we would play them until I fell asleep and they went home to work on their schoolwork.
"There are some things science can't explain, it's a miracle you still have your leg Melissa." Those words are what gave me my faith back. I realized now that if I put my faith into something, I could be stronger.
My monthly visits to the hospital were reduced to every 6 months. That meant I could pretend to be a typical teenager. I could pretend cancer never happened in my life, because that's the way I felt. But there were those times every six months where I would have to face the grim reality. I ended up missing my first day of tenth grade because of the sixth month check up. I remember shuffling my feet and glancing up at the clock, hoping maybe I could make it for the second half of the day. But when my doctor walked in, the look on his face said I would be staying longer than a day.
It was back. Leukemia was back. That day I went home and crawled under my bed covers and stayed there. I refused to eat with my family and resorted to drinking apple juice, and eating the occasional meal in my room. When I slept I felt better. If heaven were like sleeping, I wouldn't have minded dying.
Books and puzzles piled up in heaps around me. People sent me flowers and the flowers died from neglect. I felt like the flowers… slowly dying. Two weeks went by and I still lay in my bed in the same pyjamas I had changed into the first day. When my parents came to talk to me I would zone out. I just didn't care anymore. I didn't go to school and I lost contact with most friends. My diving and baseball were put on hold.
One day there was a knock at my door, I just ignored it. They walked in and I looked over to see my best friend Con standing above me. I sunk lower into my bed; I didn't want him to see me like this. He was two years older than me and acted more like a brother then a friend. We did everything together, including diving. I loved him so much. But I didn't want him to see me so weak.
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