Umbrellas and Cancer

October 7, 2010
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They told me it was impossible you know. I mean, they didn’t, but I could see it in their eyes.

I don’t blame them really, I don’t. I mean, who’s gonna believe in an already-sick 16-year-old girl diagnosed with breast cancer?

I probably wouldn’t.

Still, some support would have helped. Some mother like those in the movies, always by my side, holding my hand, telling me it would all be all right. Sure, my mother did all of that too, but it was between shopping excursions, and she was always itching to get out of there. Hospitals reminded her of me, which made her want to leave.

Gee thanks mom.

But anyways, they told me it was impossible. I had a what… 2% chance of survival? Funny, you’d think I’d remember that. But it’s one of the million other statistics that flew over my head as I tuned them out, focusing instead on the Sponge Bob in front of me, the one I’d already seen three times. Nick really needs to improve their re-run frequency. I’d watch some actual movies, like the Hangover or some other new and exciting thing, but the adults wouldn’t let. Something about that much excitement being harmful to my already-fragile state.

Or something like that.

Really though, it was the utter boredom that almost did me in the end. I mean, what was the point right? But every time, for some reason, I thought of an umbrella. One in my room. It was purple, and it always stayed in the corner, resting there, tantalizingly.

I’d never used it before, because I used to dislike the rain, and the little cold pelts it would give me. Now though, I’d give anything for some rain in this dreary room.

It was that little umbrella that took me through the 2 years my disease put me through, right until the end. It was that umbrella that spit the doctors in the face, furious that they dared tell me it was impossible.

It was that umbrella that I snatched when I walked inside, holding it near me. My mother gave me a look, but I ignored her, waiting like a breathless schoolgirl for rain.
It didn’t come.

So, in lack of what I needed, it was that umbrella that I took, opening it in the cloudless sky and smiling as I strolled along, my umbrella and I.

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Macx14 said...
Oct. 12, 2010 at 2:32 pm
So sad, but I really enjoy the voice in your writing. Very different from what you usually see with these kinds of things. Good job!
juliam This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Oct. 12, 2010 at 4:27 pm
Thanks so much :)
anneliese S. replied...
Oct. 12, 2010 at 6:41 pm
You're welcome!
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