~An Imperial Affliction~

Cancer

October 21st, 2008

My happiness ended when I thirteen years old -- depressing, I know. At the time, the sun was shining and the birds were singing their dulcet, lighthearted tune. The morning appeared to be like any ordinary day.

I was preparing for Evergreen middle school at seven-thirty am. I would often run late since I was not a morning person, but somehow, I always caught the school bus on time. The golden doors opened as Mrs. Clark, my regular bus driver, greeted me with a compassionate smile. She was a delightful older woman who grinned often, accepting her wrinkled eyelids and stretched lips as she did so.

As I sauntered to my regular seat in the back, I noticed a few bruises on my arm. The strangest thing was that I could not recall any moments when I could have caused the marks of black and blue. Fatigue and ditzy, I hastily sat down onto the red seat. I took a few deep breaths as the vehicle began to pick up speed. I should've informed my mother on my health, but being the ignorant teen I was, I ignored my condition and acted as normally as my body would allow me -- what I fool I was.

Suddenly, the bus came to a halt in front of a red light, and I collapse out of my seat, onto the isle. "Anna," Mrs. Clark cried. "Are you all right?" Soon, laugher erupted from children ages eleven to fourteen. My head was spinning as I tried to grab the hand of Mrs. Clark. "Yes, ma'am. I'm fine." I wobbled onto my weak legs, with the help of the bus driver, and sat back down, trying to ignore the ill-mannered boys and girls.

The bus continued its journey to my school, when I checked my leg and found yet another bruise. 'I only fell.'  I told myself. 'Surely a small plunge like that couldn't cause a contusion like this!' I felt as fragile as a flower vase, similar to the ones my mother had placed all around my abode. Mother owned numerous containers that held bundles of flowers of all kinds, showing off their beauty.

Anyway, bus arrived at the brick building where I spent eight hours a day learning tedious things I may or may not use later in life. I went to my desk in my seventh grade classroom just as my English teacher, Mr. Mack, marched into the room. "Good morning, class" he cheered, "Today we shall read one of my favorite stories, "Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry." Written by Mildred D. Taylor in the late 1970's. This particular novel takes place —" Cough. Cough. Cough. "You okay?" A young boy who sat across from me questioned. Cough. Choke. "Yes," I assured. I wheezed as I inhaled, and every exhale I coughed up mucus. The violent, nagging cough would not leave me alone. And soon, I had disturbed my teacher. "Anna Baker," he announced, "I suggest you should take a pass and head to the nurse's office." Feeling that he was right, I sighed and plodded out into the empty hall.

When I entered the office, the miserable nurse who had worked at Evergreen for nearly forty years, immediately took my temperature. It beeped, then I removed the thermometer from my mouth. I gasped at the red number that flashed, "104.7." I kept rereading the digits, telling myself that the thing must have been broken.

*          *          *

When mother approached the main office, a sudden relaxation took over my body. Though physically I was hurting, mentally I felt safe with my beloved mother. As mothers do, they tend to have a certain love that makes even the worst situations bearable. Mother held my tiny hand as we walked to her navy blue colored car. And during the ride home, we listened to numerous songs from the 80's.

Just as I stepped foot into my home, I threw up my breakfast which was microwaved French toast sticks. I felt the substance come up from my stomach, to my throat, and then out my mouth. I winced at the pain from my throat. 'I absolutely hate being sick!' My head screamed. I turned to face my mother and telepathically asked her what I should do. Right on cue she answered out loud, "Why don't you head up to your room while I call the doctor. Does that sound good?"I nodded, and slowly went upstairs to my pentagon shaped room to sleep.