Prologue.

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Prologue

(This is in use to avoid your confusion.)

 

　

   To say that my life before cancer was easy would be a blatant fallacy- like every cliché child’s show or after- school special, my mom died when I turned two. Of course I’ve been upset about it, but I was in grade school then. I don’t remember her at all, therefore I get less upset then I would if she was more than one imprinted memory in my brain. The only thing I remember of her is animal crackers and juice boxes, which were gladly given to Yours Truly.

 

   Basically, I was an extremely happy- go- lucky child and, as some would say, this was “despite the circumstances”. This was until I became secluded around the age of six- almost seven. Therapists concluded that this was due to Mom’s death, though I had no resonance of her. Weirdly enough, I was the sporty kid- soccer, baseball, track. Obviously, I bruised frequently in effect, so the black spots found on my back were not as shocking as they should have been. Still, though, Dad nearly crashed the car on the way to the E.R. He hypothesized internal bruising.

 

   If only life was that simplistic. It ended up diagnosed as acute leukemia with an almost inoperable brain tumor. Dad, of course, was hesitant of the surgery- my uncle Matt had to convince him, which was no simple task.

 

   So, the tumor was removed. All was well, I was happy, and I turned nine. But even after the therapies, I became secluded again when I turned ten because the tumor brought a friend. Ah, what fun they had, destroying cells like the average children do at recess.

 

   But the story wasn’t over, to my dismay. Both tumors were shrinking then not shrinking, then growing for about six years of chemotherapy. One was removed when I turned fifteen, adding even more numbers to the list. (The other was inoperable.) That was two years ago, and I’m sort of just waiting for it to come back. It’s not like I’m in the clear- I’ve still got one of them stiffly lodged in my frontal lobe.

 

   As possibly presumed by the name, this is in the front of my brain. It changed quite a few things. Basically, my arms are extremely weak, along with my fingers. This is despite the fact that I played multiple sports for a while. It also changed my sleep patterns, which now range from insomnia for weeks on end to excessive sleeping for almost entire days.

 

   I attend school about twice a week, though I haven’t been for the last month. My health deteriorates at a faster rate than most people’s do, so a common cold is easily caught.

 

   Now here we are. I’m seventeen and sneaking off to school like all the rebels do, because Dad secretly thinks I’ll die in calculus.

Author's Note

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