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Never Forget

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Leukemia is a cancer of the white blood cells, and it can kill you. That’s what Hart’s mom told me when she called me earlier. Hart’s been sick for a while now, I tried to tell his mom, but he made me promise not to.

“My mother freaks out about everything,” he told me.

I agreed, but now I regret it. I was at Hart’s house before he went into the hospital. We were sitting on his bed, watching a movie, when he leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. I had never seen so much throw up in my entire life. His mom must have heard him, because she came into the room, and took him to the hospital. He has been there since. I didn’t believe it when I heard that Hart had cancer. No one in White Creek has ever had any kind of cancer, so how did Hart, my boyfriend, get it?

I didn’t remember driving to the hospital, but here I was, sitting in the parking lot. I sat out there for a while longer before getting out of the car. It felt like only minutes that I was sitting out there, but when I got out of my car, the sun was going down. It was 4 when Hart’s mom called, now it’s 9. I walked towards the front of the hospital, and pushed open the revolving doors. I stopped just inside the lobby. I had no idea what room he is in, or what floor he is on, I realized.

“Hello,” said a cheery voice at the front desk. “Can I help you with eevrything?”

I slowly walked over to the desk, wondering how someone could sound so cheerful.

“I, uh, was wondering what floor my friend is on.. His name is Hart Sancheck.”

Mrs. Cheerful looked down at her computer and started typing. It felt like forever until she finally looked up from the screen, her face full of sympathy.

“He is on floor 7, room 143. I hope he get’s better.”

As I walked towards the elevator, I remembered how Hart’s mom was crying on the phone. Hart’s mom! The toughest lady I knew. Should I go up there?

“Isabella?” It was like just as I thought of her, she was there.

“Mrs. Sancheck? Is he okay?” I hadn’t realized I was crying, until she was wipping the tears from my cheeeks.

“Why don’t we go and see him? I’m sure he will be happy to see you.”

She walked towards the elevator, and I followed. We rode up in silence. I didn’t know what to say, and I could tell her mind was on something else. When the elevator got to the 7th floor and she got out, I stayed behind. She must have realized I wasn’t following her, because she turned around.

“Isabella, are you coming?”

She was looking at me expectantly, so I got out, just before the elevator took me to some random floor. A nurse walking by greeted us, her head going down as she passed by. We walked down three hallways, before finally coming to a stop in front of room 143. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, looking at the pale body on the bed. His eyes were open, and when he turned to look at me, he smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was enough to make me run over and hug him.

“Be gentle.”

I turned around just as a doctor walked into the room. She looked tired, worn out. Like she’s been working too long of a shift. Her name tag read Dr. Little. I sat down on the bed, holding Hart’s hand, as Dr. Little started talking.

“We need to talk about a treatment. It’s called Chemotherapy. What happens is we give you medication to kill your cancer cells. It will make you very sick and weak, but it’s mandatory for you to get better. Your hair will start to fall out, you’ll be very tired, your hair will start to fall out and you’ll feel a little pain.”

I could see Hart struggling with this, trying to look strong. I was shaking, and his mother had slid into a chair. She was staring into space, looking dazed. I squeezed Hart’s had, a guesture we had been doing for 2 years, it meant I’m there for you. I tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. Just thinking about the pain he was going to be in, because of me, made me start to cry.

“I know this is a shock, but it will help to learn about Leukemia, so you know what to expect, what you might have to prepare for. Try and stay as strong as possible, a healthy diet, plenty of rest, and regular exersice might help.”

I had been learning about it since. It’s been a year and a 4 months since Hart was diagnosed, and he isn’t doing that well. They hadn’t let me visit them yesterday, but today I got a call, saying this might be a last time I get to see him.

I walked through the hallways to Hart’s room, remembering how scared and uneasy I felt the first time. When I walked into his room, I was startled at how bad he looked, like a pile of bones. The only color to him, was the purple under his eyes. He was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake him up, so I went to the nurses desk, and asked if it would be okay if I came back in an hour. While I waited for her answer, a loud dining noise sounded. The nurse, and the doctors that were in the hall, ran into Hart’s room. That’s weird, I thought. Oh my gosh, they are going into his room!

I ran to his room, but when I got there I couldn’t get inside, because the room was full of people already.
“Clear!”
I looked just when they shocked him. Oh God.
“Hart! Hart!”
I tried pushing my way through, but someone had grabbed ahold of me, pulling me back.

“Let go! They’re hurting him!”

Struggling, I kicked, desperate to stop them from hurting Hart.

“Mark it, time of death 7:00 P.M. .”

Time of death? “No.. No!”

I slumped crying, if it weren’t for the person holding on to me, I would have fallen. This is the story I am now telling my therapist. Hart died 3 months ago, and my mom had insisted I go see a therapist once a week. They are trying to make me get over Hart, to forget him and move on. But hart was my first love, and I’ll never forget.




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