The Boy She Saw in the Hospital

chapter 1- hello

When does your story start? Everyone's life doesn't actually start at birth. It starts when something significant happens that people are bothered about. No one actually cares about your childhood. Or all the boring things that happened throughout your life. This is the kind of society we live in. No one cares. And it's time you accept that.

So, think about it. When does your story start?

My story starts when I was 15.

I've been doing ballet since I was 9, I've always loved it. Even though I knew that it was my parents dream, I still loved it. I know most people tend to resent the things that their parents force them to do but ballet was a genuine passion of mine. My mother is an ex-ballerina. She had to stop after she got her knee injury at 29, so she lives her dream through me.

So my story begins. I was 15 and performing on stage for a charity event. The audience was relatively small, it was about 50 people and most were parents of the performers. We were performing Black Swan. Honestly, I was kind of amazing back then.

All of a sudden, I stop. I'm just there. And I collapse to the ground, wheezing relentlessly.

I froze. I just couldn't move. Now that I look back on it, yeah, it was very embarrassing but honestly sort of petrifying. I let myself just be vulnerable, on stage, for everyone to see.

I can still remember the cries of my parents. They ran on the stage and started screaming my name. Asking me if I was okay. Telling me to stay calm. I could see the pure fear in their eyes. I wish I could speak. I wish I had a way of reassuring them I was okay. Instead I just stood there watching my parents cry in terror, unable to breathe or to speak.

What a horrible human I am.

The ambulance sirens still ring in my ear. I still hear them. The painfully excruciating noise filling up my ears with misery.

Everyone's eyes were fixed on me, asking if I'm okay. I just felt so guilty. I felt like I was such an attention seeker.

I was rushed inside the ambulance with my parents for what felt like ages. I remember thinking that it was probably nothing. That all would be okay. Ballerinas have injuries and mishaps all the time, it's a very difficult sport.

I clearly recall being calm in that ambulance ride. Thinking I would go, get a quick checkup and be back in business.

Boy, oh boy, was I so incredibly wrong.

The checkup must've been an hour long and I remember wondering what I was going to eat for dinner. Yes I was that calm

After the doctor was finished with his checkup he called both my parents in. He hit me with those words you would never expect to hear. The words you think you're safe from. What everyone thinks they're safe from. Why is the human brain wired to think that bad things can never happen to us? We see bombings, shootings, illnesses and crimes on the news. We never once expect it to happen to us. Why? Why do we have the audacity to think we are safe. No one is ever safe. Although we convince ourselves we are but it's not true. Why do we do this?

"Your daughter has cancer."

All the stars in the galaxy could never amount to the number of thoughts that flashed through my mind as he said those four words.

I just sat on the hospital bed. Motionless. Resembling how I was on stage. I reminisced about me performing, on stage, in the spotlight. I mean who could blame me I figured I would have to give up on ballet forever.

I didn't even think of myself. I looked over towards my mother. She's going to have to raise a daughter with cancer. How will she tell her friends, how will she be able to cope, how can she live with that?

I look over to my father. How will he pay for this, what is he thinking about, how will he treat me?

Will I be a burden?

Then I look down at my hands. Is this who I am? Will this define me? Will I survive?

Tears well up in my eyes but I blink them into oblivion. I will not show vulnerability. I need to give my parents hope. I need to show them I can survive. As a matter of fact I need to give myself hope. I need to tell myself I'm safe. Even though I'm not. I'm far from safe. Safety is a spectrum. And right now I'm on the far end.

"What kind of cancer?" My mother manages to blurt out through her ever-flowing tears.

"Lung cancer ma'am, stage 3," the doctor says with no emotion. I mean come on you can at least try to fake being sympathetic.

My father rubs my back trying to get me to cheer up as if that would do anything.

My mother starts hugging me. That actually does something. It makes me think. When will I have a 'last' of everything. When will I have my last hug? My last meal? My last cry? Last smile? Last blink? Last breath? Last "I love you"?

Gosh the tears are coming back.

I repeatedly think to myself. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Why?

I'm wasting time. I'm wasting my time thinking of this. I could be thinking of better things. I need to treat my parents and repay them for all the things they've done for me. All their sacrifices.

I've accepted my fate. I'm not sure if I'm going to die for sure, but there's a pretty darn good chance of me dying.

I glance at the clock. It reads "2:47pm".

Just then I catch a glimpse of a boy outside the hospital room. Or as I like to call him, the boy I saw in the hospital.

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hey guysss!
this is the first chapter of the heart- wrenching book " The Boy She Saw in the Hospital"
stay tuned cause it's all gonna go downhill from here😭
anyways feel free to send feedback on how i can improve this story and my writing in general
bye guys!!

word count- 1075
29/08/22