We Are Not Normal

My Story

Hello book lovers,This is the first story I published in English. I wanted to share with you one of my stories that I had previously written on blank pages in notebooks. Writing is a passion for every writer. This goes without saying. But for me it's more of a refuge. For me, it is a world where I make the dreams, heroes and events I have in my mind come true. I hope this story helps you find your own refuge. If there are parts you see missing in my story, you can write me as a comment :) I hope you like my story. I would be very happy if you would like to support me by voting for my story and commenting on the episode below. Have a nice read😊🌸

March 23, 00:15

I can never forget that day. March 23. The day I left home in ambulances, with my mother holding my hand and crying, while my father, not knowing what to do, tried to calm my mother down. My story began when I was in elementary school. I was in the fourth grade. My mother had come to pick me up from school. I had been getting very tired lately. Also, I had been experiencing pains in my joints. That evening, we went to the doctor. The day I was diagnosed with cancer... That same night, I had my first seizure. My fever suddenly rose, I started sweating. I had almost no strength, my mother was crying non-stop and saying things to me. Even though I didn't understand anything she said, seeing her in that state bothered me. I was taken to the ambulance in my father's arms. One of the doctors kept telling me that I shouldn't let myself go, but it was futile. Sleep was embracing me so beautifully that I couldn't help but surrender to it. The rest is darkness for me. This is my story, and I am not normal.

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I don't know what time it was when I woke up in pain that morning, but the first thing I saw was my mother's exhausted body waiting by my side. After seeing her, I started to remember some things. I had been very tired after my chemotherapy the previous evening and had gone to bed early. According to the doctors, I needed at least two more weeks of treatment. I don't know if I can bear this pain for two more weeks. I struggled to prop up my pillow. I sat up and started looking outside. As I watched outside, my mother woke up, her eyes swollen from crying.

She sat by my bed when she saw that I was awake. "Are you okay, my dear? Are you feeling better now? You were very bad last night." "I'm in pain," I replied. "You got worse last night. You scared me." "What happened last night?" Before she could answer, the doctors came in. After checking my IVs and the machines I was connected to, all but one of them left. "Mrs. Pelin, you had a very serious seizure last night. There are no critical data at the moment. I hope you're feeling better today." "Critical in what sense?" "In terms of the risk of death." "I see. Thank you. I'm just still in pain." "Your pains could continue for another two weeks. It's normal." I just nodded my head. I still couldn't digest what the doctor said. "In terms of the risk of death." I had survived a risk of death last night. Was this normal? Did it make sense for a patient to experience a risk of death...

With my mother's help, I got up. I went to the bathroom and looked at my fallen hair, my weak body, my pale face. My cheeks were no longer rosy. The light in my hazel eyes had already faded. You couldn't bring a person back to life just by restarting their heart. Especially if that person had already lost hope...

I don't know if I will really recover after two weeks. But I guess I can at least try for my mother and father. Sometimes it feels like they want me to recover more for themselves than for me. It's like they think it will be their success when I recover. Yet, I have been the one fighting this battle for seven and a half years. Especially in the last three years. And they don't leave my side because I'm like a bomb ready to explode. Especially my mother, who stays by my side all night. The only thing I want after two weeks is for my mother or father to stop staying by my side.