A Love to Remember (A Horse Story)

Prologue

Before you start reading, I'd just like to point out that this book was written by me and me only, and it is not permitted to be copied or printed in any way, shape, or form unless given written consent by the author.

I'd also like to say that this book is currently being re-written, so a few character names have been changed (Kylie Martins is now Kennedy Johnson). Sorry for the trip-up, it should be fixed shortly!

Thank you, and enjoy the book - Lilly xx

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For months she'd been complaining about stomach pains, headaches, and cramping legs. The doctors couldn't figure it out, and neither could I. She was a mystery, not even the professionals knew why this poor little six-year-old girl was going through the pain she way. It was unfair. Cruel.

I went to see the hospital yesterday. Our doctor had asked me to bring her in for another check up; her sixth one this week. His voiced had been laced with concern, and I don't know whether to be happy or fearful at the possibility that he had an idea of what it could be.

When he told me they found a mass in her brain I almost fainted. My little baby girl, with cancer. Of course, it was only a possibility; "Nothing was for sure" was the wording used, just like every other time they'd feared for the worst.

The school called me at ten o'clock today, letting me know my daughter was sick and recommending I bring her home. I drive to the school, my knuckles white as I clutch the steering wheel, mindlessly driving through the tangle of roads, hot sun scorching my skin. I went straight to the office, pushing open the door hurriedly to see Kennedy lying on the bed in the sick bay, her weak smile still enough to brighten the whole room.

"Hey sweetie, you'll be alright." I cooed, lifting her into my arms gently. Her pretty face was white and her hands shook as she clutched tightly to her teddy, pressed against her chest protectively. As if she needed to look after him.

She lay quietly on the seats the entire trip home; the ten minute drive I could do in my sleep. She didn't eat any of the cookies I brought for her, or drink any of the water, even though I'd put it in her special pink drink bottle.

Kennedy fell asleep within seconds of her head hitting her pillow, and I pulled her white blinds shut, switching on the little globe that scattered stars around the room in dim pink light. She'd helped me to decorate her room, before she became really sick. We'd painted the walls a light frosty pink, and she had a top bunk bed but no bottom, just liked she wanted it, so that she could sit on the ground underneath to play with her tea set, wrapped up in the pile of blankets and pillows.

Time passed slowly, as I waited for the time to come, for the doctor to finally finish fixing other broken children and have time for mine. I couldn't read, I couldn't bake, I couldn't do anything without being reminded of the formerly healthy child that lay in her room helplessly.

When the time finally came around I drove Kennedy to the hospital we knew like the back of our hand, the white hallways that we'd walked so many times, and the brightly colored paintings that we could name by each child that had painted them. Tim, Kennedy's father, left work to meet us there, and pushed the wheelchair our little girl slumped in. Dr Macey greeted us warmly, shaking my hand with an attempted reassuring smile I could see right through. She led us to the MRI room, laying Kennedy on the small bed.

"Okay, just lie down and be still sweetie, you're just going to go into this little room." She said gently, slowly rolling the bed into the huge white machine.

"It's okay darling, you'll be okay." I whispered, but it was to myself more than her; I needed the encouragement.

We waited in one of the rooms for the results, Kennedy in the bright blue laid bed -an attempt at making the room feel more lively- and Tim and I hunched over in the navy chairs, the cushions hardened by the many people that had sat there before us, also waiting for news about their loved ones.

Dr Macey entered after what felt like forever, a clipboard underarm and followed by three younger doctors, their eyes bright and eager, smiling away at us as though we weren't suffering. Macey had a stony look on her face, straightening up and eyeing Kennedy who was lying drowsily in the bed, half asleep. 

"So we got the results," She started, "I'm afraid you're not going to want to hear this. It'll be a long hard journey for Kennedy, and you're going to have some huge decisions to make about her treatment."

My heart lurched, no no no. This can't be happening.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs Johnson," she continued, "but we found a small mass in her brain, behind the area that controls her memory. It's one of the most difficult places for brain cancer to be removed, but we're able to operate if you give us the okay, which we recommend as the most likely case of survival."

I choked back tears, pressing my lips together as my hand flew up to cover my mouth and hide the sobs that were threatening to escape. Brain cancer. My six year old daughter had brain cancer.

I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

"No." I whimpered, clutching Tim's hand between mine. "No."