As time goes on.

When eighteen year old Michael Smith is diagnosed with cancer, he tries desperately to cope with what short time is left in his life

I stared out the window during the car ride home, unable to really say anything, the doctors words ringing in my ears "Michael we looked through the tests and.... buddy, I'm so sorry, but you have cancer." It felt as though I had been sentenced to death. I have cancer in my spine, according to the doctor, and cancer starting to form in my lungs, even though I never smoked a day in my life. I start chemo next week and I've never been so terrified in my life. I felt my mom's warm hand slip into mine. I looked at her and was shocked by the tears in her eyes. Mom never cries. I felt my heart break, seeing how sad she was. I turned away unable to bear the sight of it.

I just laid on my bed alone in my room crying. I turned off my phone so I didn't have to deal with friends asking me how I was. I know they just want to see if I'm okay but, I wasn't; I was angry and frustrated and sad. I didn't even know what to do with these feeling, since they were practically useless. Being angry wasn't going to take the pain away. Being frustrated wasn't going to remove the cancer. And being sad wasn't going to change my fate. I was dying. I knew I was, and part of me wanted to fight and try to live as long as possible, but another part of me just wanted to give in.

Mom and Dad both agreed to let me stay home the rest of the week, since we all knew I wasn't going to be able to function at school. I spent the days sitting in bed, trying to come to terms with everything. That's when mom decide to sign me up for therapy, and my first appointment was the day before my first chemo treatment, and I began to dread every agonizing second. Mom tried to keep me occupied by buying my favorite sweets and cooking my favorite foods, but I didn't really feel like eating. Dad tried to coax me into playing my favorite video games and buying me new games, but I just wasn't interested. What was the point, play a video game only to bring my parents hopes up ,believing everything will be all right; only to have their hopes crushed when I get even more sick, or worse die? No, I couldn't do that to them. So instead, I distanced my self from them, locking myself in my room. 

I walked in to the therapist's office while dad sat in the waiting room. A tall middle aged man smiled at me as I walked in. "Hey there, kiddo. I'm Dr. Layne." I shook his hand politely and said 

"Nice to meet you." which was a bit of a lie. He looked through some papers and said, 

 "So you have just recently been diagnosed with cancer. So how have you been handling that?" I haven't been handling it.

" Okay, I guess." I end up saying. Dr. Layne just stared at me and said,

"You don't have to lie to me Michael. What's really going on?" 

"Look, I'm fine." I snapped quickly. 

"It's okay to be angry Michael."

"I'm not angry." I immediately denied.

" You're not angry that you get your life changed around against your will?" He asked. My temper began to rise. "You're not angry that you have to give up the things you love, like sports. It says here you were the quarterback on you school's football team, and MVP in baseball last year. You're not angry that all that is ending?" I began to clench my teeth. "You're not angry that you are going to have to depend on people for your every need? You're not angry that your hospital room is going to become your home?" I stood up furiously and began screaming at him. 

"YOU KNOW WHAT, FINE YOU'RE RIGHT I AM ANGRY! I AM ANGRY THAT I WILL BE GOING THROUGH CHEMO! I'M ANGRY THAT I'LL BE IN THE HOSPITAL FOR SO LONG, MY FRIENDS WILL PROBABLY FORGET ABOUT ME!" Tears of anger and sadness began to stream heavily down my face as I continued screaming. "I'M ANGRY THAT I WILL BE SO SICK, WON'T BE ABLE TO GO HOME FOR, LET ALONE ENJOY HOLIDAYS LIKE HALLOWEEN, AND THANKSGIVING, AND CHRISTMAS, AND NEW YEARS! I'M ANGRY THAT THERE IS A GOOD CHANCE I WILL NOT LIVE TO ADULTHOOD; THAT I'M GOING TO DIE A KID! I'M ANGRY THAT I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO DO SOMETHING TO MAKE PEOPLE REMEMBER ME BEFORE I DIE! I'M ANGRY THAT I'M PUTTING MY PARENTS THROUGH ALL THIS SADNESS AND PAIN, BY JUST BEING ALIVE!" I fell to my knees on the floor and sobbed. "I'm angry that I have to go through all this and not have a choice." Dr. Layne put his hand on my shoulder and said 

"You can't keep your feelings inside you. Or they will consume you until there is nothing left, but hate and anger at everyone and everything."

I went home with my dad and as soon as we got home I asked my mom, "What time do I get chemo tomorrow?" She checked the calendar then said 

 "At noon. Why?" I ignored her question, went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I ran my hand through my thick brown hair, for the last time. I then got the hair clippers from under the sink. My parents stood at the bathroom door watching me.

"What are you doing?" my dad asked confused. I looked at their reflections in the mirror and said, 

" If I have to lose my hair, it will be on my terms." and I began to shave my head. 

When it was done I looked in the mirror and sighed as I whispered to myself "I will not let my cancer completely control my life.

****************************

It has been a year since I started chemo. I don't even look like the same guy anymore. The tan, muscular,handsome guy with thick brown hair was almost unrecognizable when you looked at the now pale, thin, sickly  guy with no hair, that I am now. The cancer spread all over my body and destroyed around sixty percent of my lungs. Most of my days were consumed with pain. I couldn't even use the bathroom anymore, instead I wore adult diapers that a nurse would change for me. It was humiliating. I am given sponge baths by nurses too, which is just as mortifying. As I thought of all this I realized that there was a difference between being alive, and living. All I could do is just exist, not really living, and yet still alive. A priest would come in every once in a while and bless me, or say a prayer with me, praying I would get better.But, honestly, I was ready to die. It was torture just laying here day by day with a machine hooked up to me that forced my breaths for me, and nurses constantly poking and prodding at me, trying to do every thing they could to keep me from getting worse, only to fail. The worst was when friends and family came to visit. My parent's never left my side and I watched how much they ached every time I hurt or had trouble breathing. Or when friends came in and they sat at my bedside helplessly, as I dozed in and out of sleep or winced in pain. I was ready to die.

On a day where my pain was the worst it's ever been and I could not seem to get a hold of my breathing, the nurses told my parents it might be my time. My mom and dad just sobbed helplessly by my bed side. That was what I didn't want. I reached for my mom's hand and held it. I then grabbed my dad's hand and said, "I have been ready to die for a long time. I'm not scared. I'm finally going to be released from this Hell I've been thrust into. I love you, mom. I love you,dad. But, it's time for me to go." I turned to the ceiling and whispered "If I die, it will be on my terms." I smiled at the thought of all this torture finally being over. My fight was finally coming to an end and the way I looked at it, I won because I was leaving on my terms. I looked at the ceiling, as I said triumphantly, "I'm ready." I then closed my eyes for the last time.

Author's Note

Ignore grammar issues, but what did you think of the story? This is totally fiction by the way, I made the whole thing up, this isn't based on anyone or anything. I didn't want to offend any nonreligious people so you guys imagine what you think happened after he died, whether he went to heaven or nothing happened at all. I hope you liked it!