I have been a permanent resident here at St Andrew's hospital for sick children for a long time. I've been here for so long that I have watched two system overhauls, twenty-two staff birthdays and one redecoration of the cancer ward; and trust me when I tell you that they don't redecorate all that often.
Here is my sob story: I'm a seventeen year old teenager who has been stuck in this hospital for over the last 2 years. The fact that I've lasted this long is a miracle to everyone but I can feel that I'm on borrowed time. I am sick, very sick. It's difficult to find a organ that hasn't been impacted by the cancer. It hasn't reached my heart though and I don't know if that is even possible but it's really seeping into my bones. My mom always joked that it's because I have a strong and large heart.
Many of the things the doctors say simply go over my head but I don't really try to pay attention much anymore; I don't see the point. They tend to talk to my mom anyway as they think that I wouldn't understand. I've been here so long that I kinda know most of the medical jargon they use about me. It's not a great feeling to be treated as an infected object rather than simply a person.
I peered up at the clock, it was on the far wall of the ward so I had to squint to make out the numbers. It was nearly time for Alex to be coming in. Aside from my mother, he was the only person who I liked and saw everyday but he was paid to be nice to me. Alex was my nurse and he really was kind to me so I got the feeling that perhaps he liked me too.
As per the routine, the door to the ward burst open to reveal the smiling face of Alexander Kirk. His light blue scrubs made a noise as his legs rubbed together while he moved. His white tennis shoes squeaked across the polished floor but, just like all medical staff, he seemed oblivious to the sound. His unwavering bright smile remains on his face as though it was tattooed there. Brown hair was styled into a gentle quiff of sorts. At least it kept the strands away from his bright eyes.
"Mitch!" He calls, happiness flowing within his tone. He's on his way to my bed so I don't know why he feels the need to address me before he's reached me. I'm not bitter about it though, he's just an optimist and a positive force. "How you feelin' today?"
"Hi, Alex." I answer with significantly less enthusiasm. "What'cha got for me today?"
I side track the question since I'm sure he's bored of my everyday answer of 'Not bad'. I'm fed up of that so he must be tired of its repetitiveness too. I choose to say 'Not Bad' because it means that I don't feel bad but it also means that I don't feel great or even merely good. Therefore, it's not quite lying. As you can see, I've had a lot of time to think about this.
With an encouraging smile, he places a tiny paper cup, similar to the kind that holds sauce in McDonald's, of pills into my outstretched palm. It's the same as usual, one for pain and two others for other things... I don't really know what. I think my doctor once explained it to me but it was two years ago when I first arrived.
I swallow all three down at once with a swig of stale water from yesterday. Taking pills was practically a skill of mine now. As they say, practice makes perfect.
"I'm sorry, Mitch." The nurse starts, looking guilty. He hated giving patients pills; in some ways, he was way too kind to be a nurse. Covertly, he slides a glossy magazine onto my bedside table. We both don't acknowledge the subtle gesture as per tradition. Nurses weren't supposed to treat patients differently, especially when other people can see (A curse of a large ward) but Alex brings me a fashion/gossip magazine religiously every week. I guess it's because he feels sorry for me and happens to know that I like keeping up to date with everything going on even from inside this hell hole.
He asks if I want anything before getting me new water and telling me that the breakfast cart will be around soon. With that, he continues he rounds to see the other patients in the children's cancer ward. Next up is the only one that I even remotely like, Avi.
-/\-/\-/\-
Thank you all for reading my first chapter- 789 words. Big thanks to sup3rfruit-id-ptx and fcute-berry for their constant support.
If you want to discuss anything about Fanfiction or Dear Diary you can contact me on my Fanfiction email-
pure_fury@yahoo.com
YOU ARE READING
Dear Diary
FanfictionMitch has cancer. He's been in this children's cancer ward for two years and is still called the Miracle Boy for surviving this long and against all the odds. This is his story.
