A Million Stars Apart

Chapter 3

The shrill beep of my alarm sliced through the early morning quiet, jolting me awake with a start. Disoriented, I blinked against the harsh sunlight filtering through my bedroom window as my surroundings slowly came into focus.

Right. I was home - not stuck in one of those sterile hospital rooms for once. Still, waking up to that same incessant noise made my heart kick up a few terrified beats before the reality set in.

With a groan, I slapped at my nightstand until I managed to shut off the alarm. Much as I'd missed the comforts of my own bed while inpatient, those early wake-up calls for blood tests and vitals checks were way too reminiscent of my dreaded "norm." 

"Honey? You awake?" Mom's familiar voice called out, followed by a soft rap on my bedroom door.

"Yeah, I'm up," I croaked out, throwing off the tangle of sheets and blankets. My body felt heavy, like I'd gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali instead of just sleeping.

The door creaked open and Mom peeked in, looking perfectly put together in her red summer dress and neatly coiffed hair - a stark contrast to my disheveledSkelotor morning vibe. "Good morning, sunshine. I didn't expect you to be up so early after getting home yesterday."

I scrubbed at my gunky eyes with the heels of my palms, grimacing. "Tell that to my internal clock. But I'm already regretting this decision to rejoin the world of the living."

Mom laughed softly as she crossed the room to open my curtains further, allowing the full golden stream of sunlight to spill over me. I squinted against the brightness, wriggling backwards in indignation.

"The day waits for no one, my grumpy little teenage badger. Might as well start embracing it." With an impish grin, she gave the disheveled hem of my t-shirt pajamas a playful tug. "But maybe consider embracing some actual clothes and basic hygiene first."

"Ha ha, very funny," I grumbled, glaring at her through my tangled bird's nest of hair. Truthfully though, it felt good to have some of her teasing, motherly snark directed at me. A small slice of normalcy.

"We have that appointment with Dr. Wilson this morning, remember?" she prodded gently when I failed to make any movements towards getting upright. "I made you a protein shake to try and get some calories in beforehand."

Ah yes, the morning after Chemo Day tradition - being coaxed into eating something before facing the inevitable nausea and "wealth redistribution" that awaited as the metabolic fires stoked. I screwed up my face in distaste at the thought, a habitual show of stubborn teenage revulsion.

But the concerned crease across Mom's brow leveraged the required guilt. With an exaggerated eyeroll, I tossed aside the covers in dramatic acquiescence. "Fine, I'm moving, I'm moving. But only because I love you and want to make your day brighter."

"Such a little martyr," she laughed, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before standing back up. "I'll have that shake waiting with the meds you need to pre-game for your supremely bright day. You'd better be dressed and ready to go in twenty."

"Aye aye, captain," I fired off with a sarcastic salute, already wondering if I could steal away a few more minutes of coveted pillow time before the gauntlet commenced. 

Mom's response was wordless - just a wry grin and a "don't test me" arched eyebrow before she pivoted on her heel and headed towards the door. I watched her depart with a small, wistful smile tucking at the corners of my mouth.

For such an innocuously mundane scene - a mother rousing her surly teenage daughter for a routine appointment -it struck me how lucky I felt in that moment. To be home in my ramshackle purple bedroom; whining about my mom nagging me awake instead of dealing with middle-of-the-night IV checks or nurses' assistants poking me every four hours.

It may have been a small thing, but those sorts of supremely ordinary mother-daughter moments - the ones peppered with sarcasm and melodramatic sighs - epitomized my longed-for return to "regular life." Those were the simple domestic joys I craved, luxuries my cancer diagnosis had so cruelly robbed from the both of us. 

I still had such a long, rocky road ahead. But as I dragged myself out of bed and towards the bathroom to begin my morning routine of choking down medications and whatever sustenance I could tolerate, I felt steadied by a renewed sense of purpose. 

Those painfully mundane rituals of being a typical, deeply unappreciative teenager? They were the ultimate finish line to focus on as the nausea and enervating side effects loomed.

Because beyond the hurdles of treatment, remission awaited - and the chance to reclaim my normal life. No more hospitals and chemo drugs. Just the zaney simple pleasures of Sam the Teenage Badger's bad attitude, missed curfews, and beleaguered parents.

By god, I couldn't wait.