Vocab Short Story

...The word vapid does not do this room justice.. If I were asked to describe this hellhole my words would be few; pale, blank walls, with an ugly green tiled floor. You know, the doctors say they will do everything humanly possible to make you comfortable. Yeah, that is one huge lie. If there were truth to that "promise" my room would not look like this. It would have vibrant pink and blue walls, with a blue fuzzy carpet. This room is plain old boring, as is my life this very moment.
Occasionally my folks will drop in, but it pains me to see them in such denial. They think they make it easier on me if they pretend I'm not dying, truth be told, they make it ten times worse. I wish my family could truly just support me, I wish they would acknowledge the truth. The reality is I have cancer, and it will kill me. How long I live is no longer in my hands, and the longer it takes my parents to concede to this, the harder it will be on everyone.

My favorite (not) part of the day is when the doctors come in with new medications and tests from the apothecary thinking it will be possible to assuage my pain. Honestly, I am not in any pain. O.K. maybe that's a lie. Physically I am in no pain, however mentally I will be forever scarred. No one, and no thing, will ever be able to repair what I have gone through, even if the doctors do find some miraculous cure. Mentally, I am a mess, that is why I write in this journal.

Can you imagine yourself as a pale, bald fifteen-year-old girl with less than 5 months to live? No? Yeah, neither could I until April 5th of the year 2007, when my life was cut short, and forever changed. I can remember the doctor coming in, a solemn look on his face. He sat on my gurney and told me that my "sickness" was no longer diminutive. He said that my prognosis was fatal. I now laugh at this statement because I truly thought my prognosis would be much more auspicious.

However, now I'm stuck in this stupid hospital having conversations with evil, taciturn nurses who don't really care about me, or any other patient in this miserable place. My only friend here is another crazy cancer patient. Don't get me wrong, she is nice and all, but she can definitely be a bit eccentric at times. One time, as the nurses were getting her ready for chemo treatment a code blue was sent out over the intercom forcing the nurses to leave her unsupervised. Well, she climbed out of bed and tried to escape free from the hospital. This of course didn't work, however it sure did put a smile on the majority of patient's faces. This woman is now regarded as one of the most imprudent patients this hospital has ever seen.

Well, as I sit here and cry, sit here and laugh, sit here and stew, the only thing I think about is the doctor. Why can't he figure out what is wrong with me? I have what he likes to call a "Mystery Disease," but I like to think of it as a "Nebulous Disease". The word mystery makes it seem too fictional...





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