b r e a t h e // phan

0.4

•phil•

Before the doctors took their morning routine, I took a walk around the floor that I was staying on. I haven't really gotten a chance to look around.

I got up, feeling a bit weak all of a sudden. I grabbed the portable IV, and brought it with me, and I walked out the door with it.

The floor was set up in a four-way hallway with the receptionist desk in the center.
There were pictures of kids and adults smiling, animals, soothing pictures of beaches and valleys, and paintings and drawings done by past patients of this place lining the walls. The floors were regular white waxed hard floors, the walls painted a simple white with a stripe of either yellow, red, or blue running through the center.

I walked past the receptionist's desk, and a lady sitting at the computer looked up and smiled at me. I grinned back politely, before facing forward and padding my naked feet against the cold linoleum of the floors.

There was a boy I saw sat against the wall in one of the hallways. He sat with his head in his hands, buried in his legs. He had brown hair and a gray hoodie with black horns sticking out the top of the hood, reminding me of that monster from the childhood story Where The Wild Things Are. I wanted to help him so bad, reach out to him and ask what was wrong, but my mum had arrived onto the floor.

"Philip, honey, what're you doing?" Mum asked me, and I noticed from the corner of my eye that the boy on the wall glanced up a bit and saw me and my mum.

"I'm just walking around, s'all." I didn't tell her why because I just didn't want to scare her more than she probably is right now.

Mum nodded, "okay, well let's head on back to the room, shall we? The doctor should be in any moment to... diagnose you."

She looked at the ground, and I could see her eyes almost glazed over with tears again, but she managed to pull herself together for right now.

We walked together back to the room, and I could feel a pair of curious eyes on my back.

As I walked into my room, the doctor conveniently walked in. I settled into my bed with my doctor's help, and then she sat Mum down.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Marzia, you can just call me Marzia." She smiled small at us both before going back to her serious expression.

"So, before I start any of this, I would like to say something: there is still a silver longing in all of this. There is. Just listen and hear me out, okay?" Marzia looked between me and Mum. We both nodded slowly, but I already knew what she was about to say.

"Phil, it looks to be that you have stage two non-small cell lung cancer."

Mum cried out, immediately breaking into sobs before coming to my bed and sitting down on it, hugging me from the side.

I, however, was just silent. I had no emotion. Actually, I had so many emotions that I was feeling at once, that combined, it just made an empty, emotionless feeling.

"I'm so sorry," Marzia stated, before moving on, "like I said before, there is a silver lining. Since it is only stage two of the illness, we have more opportunities and chances to help cure it. That means, you have a longer life spam, although we don't know exactly how long you would have left."

The part about the silver lining made Mum calmer, but I was still terrified once they mentioned that they really don't know how long I'll be here. Death is scary either way, but I would rather know when it's going to happen than let it be a surprise, you know what I mean?

I nodded. I zoned out as Marzia went through some possible treatment plans and fees and stay dates with Mum.

So, now I know the problem, and I do have a few silver linings; longer life, more chances, more treatments. But here's a thing: longer stay.

I've always hated staying in hospitals. It's a strange feeling that I get when I'm in a hospital; I always seem to think, 'Wow, someone could be dying in there,' or 'I wonder how many people died in this room?'

Honestly! How many people do you think have died in this very hospital room that I'm in?

Point is, I don't like hospitals. I never have, an I don't think I ever really will.

But, I'm sure I'll get over it. I had bigger problem to deal with.

I, Phil Lester, have lung cancer.

And I'm about to kick it out of the park.

... Maybe.

•••
I told you you'd hate me :))))))

My hand is cramping and I need to write an essay crAP

I LOVE YOU GUYS

-kay xx