Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The sounds of Leukimia

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
The sounds of the surgeon’s footsteps echoed through the hall as he walked to my room. With every step I had this overwhelming feeling of heaviness. When he finally appeared in the door I felt like I was about to burst into a large amount of misshapen shards. “Good morning Girasole. Time to check your vitals!” doctor Mossman said trying his best to cheer me up, as he inserted the needle to do my lab work, I winced. Yet another day of tests and lab work with no prevail. It all started when I was three they told me I had Lymphocytic leukemia, which is leukemia in my blood and bones. After I was born my parents decided they didn’t want a sickly baby and left me. Guess that’s tough love in its purest form. I don’t exactly know what happened after that but I’ve been here ever since so I guess there must be someone paying for my surgeries and other care. My hair falls out from chemotherapy and I have red splotches on my back and legs. It’s not too bad because I’m used to it by now I guess. The first thing I remember seeing is bright light and flowers. I see flowers everyday; they’re beginning to sicken me. They are beautiful and all but, the smell of dead flowers isn’t exactly comforting. “All done, be back in 15!” he says as he trots out the door down the hallway to the lab. I sit here all alone in complete silence sort of just taking everything in, deciding if I want breakfast. I get up and throw on my tee shirt, jeans and converse and start down the hall. The sound of doctors and machines echoed through my ears as I left the Smithsonian ward and entered the Café. Let’s see what today? The smell of Belgian waffles enters my nose, perfect! I walk over to the buffet, grab a plate and pile on the delicious pastries. I walk over and get my maple syrup and strawberries than I grab some napkins and start the journey back down the hallway to my room. It’s a lot louder because people are waking up and either beginning their meds or having to be put on meds because they have no idea where they are. I get to my room and notice someone in my room; I sit down in my bed and start to eat my breakfast as if they were not there. “My name is Lisa Cunningham; I am a reporter from Fox news. I was wondering if I could have an interview with you?” she said smiling an almost too real smile. “I suppose that would be okay but why?” I say almost worried.” It would sort of be a timeline of your life, like when your parents left, when you got leukemia and how they are working on you.” She replied nonchalantly.” How do you know about that?” I asked now actually worried. “You don’t know? You’re famous! Your parents were the president and the first lady of the United States!” she practically exploded with excitement. “Oh…wait what? How did…..? Uhm…” I literally had no idea what to say. As I tried to say something a nurse came in, “Who are you? How did you get in here? I’m going to have to ask you to leave” she said escorting my guest out. She came back a few minutes later “I am so sorry Girasole; it won’t happen again” she said as if it were some kind of injustice.” Wait, How come I didn’t know I was famous? How come nobody told me who my parents were?” I said trying not to get overwhelmed. “Oh those darn reporters. Well, uhm that’s something you’ll have to talk to Mr. Smithsonian about” she said starting to leave. “Get him now” I said becoming annoyed. “But he’s”-“NOW!” I said interrupting her as opposed to what I felt like doing. She quickly bustled out of the room and I was left alone in silence. I can’t believe my parents are the president and first lady. HOW COME NO ONE TOLD ME!? God, this is ridiculous. Here I am suffering a horrible disease all alone in a hospital and my parents are famous!? How could I not see this coming? Of course perfect little first family doesn’t need a sickly daughter. So what they donate a bunch of money to the hospital and that’s it? My thoughts are interrupted when a small old man trots into my room.” Hello Miss Girasole! How are you this morning?” he says smiling, a little too much. “I’m actually quite disturbed and would like an explanation.” I said giving him a cold look. “Ah, yes well it all started when you were born here. You were actually two months premature but we checked you out and you seemed fine so we released you. About two years later your parents came back saying you wouldn’t eat and you slept too much. We ran at least a hundred tests on you and found out you have Lymphocytic leukemia. Your parents said they weren’t ready to take on such a large responsibility so they gave a large donation to the hospital in your name and we have been taking care of you ever since“he finished seeming out of breath.” And that’s it?” One donation and they’re done with me?” I asked not believing what I was hearing. “Well, not exactly they come and visit the hospital every month and check on you and see how it’s going.” He answered obviously trying to calm me down. “What am I like put to sleep while they visit? What’s with the big concern now? HOW COME NO ONE TOLD ME?”I challenged showing I was far from calm.” Well no you are always conscious but you know your mirror is a two way mirror. We can see inside but you can’t see outside. And it’s a concern because tomorrow is your sixteenth birthday. We wanted to tell you but we were forbidden to until your birthday.” He answered searching my face for a reaction. I sat there for a minute collecting myself and than all I could muster up was “You have got to be kidding me.”” If you don’t mind I actually have a lot to do, if you have any further questions you may address your nurse” he said as he walked out. I sat there for a minute just taking in my shock. I finished my waffles and pressed the button for my nurse. She came in and sat down. “I heard what happened this morning, I’m so sorry” she said giving me a reassuring look. “It’s whatever” I said not even sure how to answer.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback