Cholangiocarcinoma

Chapter 1

   "Almost there." my nurse, Jennifer breathes in my ear. A needle with orange liquid, the consistency of ketchup is being shoved into my upper arm. I inhale and exhale as I had done many times before.
After about 30 seconds, all the liquid is inserted into my arm. Mom pulls me off the bench and places me in my wheelchair.
"Bye Jennifer. See you next time." I manage to squeak out.
"Later sweetie. Go get some ice cream or something." She then whispers what I thought about seven words to my mom, squeezing her hand tightly.

The rattle of Mom's Jeep knocks my phone out of my hand onto the cushion. I decide to look out of window and admire the beautiful summer sky. Kids about 4-9 years old are running around the playground.

"Who were you texting?" Mom asks.
"Oh, no one."
"Yes, my 15 year old daughter doesn't text."
"I'm still 14 for two months and I never said I don't text."

   My diagnosed friends say that they aren't depressed. They say that their doctors are wrong, that they don't know a thing about depression. But my doctors aren't wrong. I am depressed. They say depression is a byproduct of cancer, and it is. When I was 11, I was the happiest I could be. Then, my cells started to grow out of control. I was diagnosed when I was 4 months from the age of 12. I became sad, my happy youth became a memory.

"Just need to call your dad." Mom says, as though she's crying. She rings Dad and he answers in approximately 12 seconds. I'm known for eavesdropping and this is what I heard:

"Hello,"
"Hey, hun. So we're driving home right now."
"Great, what's for dinner?"
"Tim, Jennifer has given me news."
At this point, she had cuffed her mouth and the phone. I knew exactly what she said to my Dad. Those seven words. The seven words Jennifer told my Mom.