I was diagnosed when I was four. They said it was leukemia. 10 years later I am living cancer free. But, I know that it could come back, and that's why I live my everyday to its fullest. You never know when something can affect your life, whether for the best or the worst.
My phone rang at about 7 a.m. I rolled over in my queen-sized platform bed, and picked up the iPhone. It was in an Eiffel Tower case. I checked the caller i.d. Not recognizing the number, I hit ignore. I rolled over and pulled the purple, black, and white damask patterned comforter and purple silk sheets up over my shoulders. My long, dark brown hair fell into my face. I pushed it out of the way and pressed my face to the cool pillowcase. I had my head elevated on a platform of three fluffed pillows. I quickly fell asleep again. When I woke, the light was streaming in through the sheer black curtains. I rolled out of the bed into the 30 x 30 room that I called my own. I walked to the opposite end and pulled the curtains out of the way to reveal the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool and palm trees surrounding it. The 45" flat screen TV hanging on the modern fireplace opposite my bed was on, I must have forgotten to turn it off before falling asleep. It was muted, and some bad MTV show was playing. I turned it off and walked across the room to my walk-in closet. I pulled out a pastel purple tank top, and black skinny jeans. I pulled a white Hollister cardigan over my tank top. Opening my jewelry box, I pulled out a pair of big silver hoop earrings. After applying an appropriate amount of makeup, I opened up a drawer containing hair ties, bobby pins, and clips. I tied my long, straight, dark brown hair into a bun. As usual, a few uncooperative strands poked out and made me look imperfect. I was focused on making myself look good. Today, my usual ponytail and t-shirt wasn't going to work. I had to look good. I was auditioning for the most fantastic performing arts school in the country. I wasn't going to screw it up. I picked up the brochure from the transparent coffee table in the center of the room. "If you can sing, dance, or act, you can make it!" read one of the pages. This was an exaggeration, clearly. My cousin Ariana, who is the most talented dancer I know, didn't make it. Despite the constantly growing doubt in my head, I had no choice but to ignore it and pretend like I was confident. Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the leather couch beside the coffee table. I picked up the remote that had been lying next to the brochure on the table, and turned on the second TV in my room. The news were on, interviewing a local student. I didn't recognize her. She had wavy blonde hair that came to her mid-back, with a thick silver headband pulling it back. Her eyes were big and blue, and looked similar to mine. She reminded me a lot of myself, besides her hair. She was about my age, maybe slightly younger. I turned up the previously muted volume.
"It's not hard. I know I'll be fine in the end. My doctor is confident, and so is my surgeon. As long as they're sure, I have to be." The girl, who's name was Rachel, according to the screen. The screen didn't tell me what was wrong with her, but she needed surgery for something. The reporter smiled and began to talk,
"Thank you, Miss Byrnes," the girl walked away, "For those of you just now tuning in for the 9 a.m. show, that was Rachel Byrnes, a student who was just diagnosed, and for the second time in her life, with leukemia. However, despite the struggle, she is as outgoing and happy as ever. She is going to be one of hundreds to audition for the performing arts school behind me, called Myers' Academy of The Arts, or MATA. Wish her luck! Back to you in the studio, Dan." I turned the TV off, but I immediately felt so bad for Rachel and her family. I couldn't imagine how hard it must be to see a family member struggle with a disease like that. To just watch them practically die. I knew how hard it was because my dad was a surgeon, and he was helping doctors and scientists to develop cures for some variation of cancer. There were so many, and they were all terrible. After deciding I had had enough negativity for being awake only half an hour, I went two flights of stairs to get to the main level of my 8,000 square foot, three floor house. Being a Saturday, my six-year-old brother, Luke, was the only one awake. He was sitting on the leather sectional watching Spongebob Squarepants on the 60" TV in the family room. The main level of the house was very open-concept. I could easily see Luke from the island in the kitchen. I sat at one of the bar stools and ate a blueberry muffin. Luke looked at me, saw the muffin and immediately jumped off the couch and sat down next to me on a barstool. I knew he wanted a muffin, but he wasn't going to say anything. But, I wanted him to ask, so I didn't offer him one.
"That's a nice muffin, Kels." He said, looking up at me hopefully.
"Yep, it's really good. And we have three more in the pantry for little boys who say the magic word." I said.
"Which magic word? I know lots of magic words. I know abracadabra, and one time Ben told me that taco was the magic word. And mom always says that the magic word is please but I don't believe that because when I ask if I can please have ice cream she says no. Please only works sometimes. It's not a very good magic word." He explained. I laughed and nodded.
"True, I see your point. Okay, so use the magic word you find most effective." I suggested.
"Ummm.... Well this is a tough decision... I guess it's probably... TACO!" He shouted, dead serious. I laughed.
"Okay, Luke. I guess you can have a muffin." I said, and brought him a chocolate muffin. He quickly began to devour it. As soon as he was done, I cleaned up his messy place at the table. He had left the bar stool and returned to the couch and to Spongebob, this time lying down in an attempt to take up the whole couch. Unfortunately for him, he was about a foot too short for one leg of the sectional. So, he sat back up. I then noticed that his Spider-Man pajama top was filled with muffin. He hadn't eaten the muffin nearly as fast as I thought he had. He had, knowing mom wouldn't let him eat and watch TV, stuffed half of it in his shirt. I didn't do anything, because he wasn't hurting anyone, but I was amazed by the cleverness of the kid. I finished cleaning him up and went to sit down in the sunroom for a while before I had to leave. My brother, Ben, soon emerged from the elevator (yes, we have an elevator.) and made his way to sit with Luke. Ben was fourteen. I had one older sibling, Kate, who was eighteen, but she was in college at Stanford and I never saw her anymore. Then there was my youngest sibling, Skylar, who was
