Letting Go

Hospitals

Waiting in the hospital for the doctor to call my name has always been a nerve wrecking moment for me. Normal waiting rooms are usually filled with annoying children running around and throwing tantrums, coughing people who never learned to cover their mouths, multiple people on the phone loudly explaining, in great detail, what infection they have, as if the rest of us want to hear the specific color green their mucus is and just crazy chaos.
But, the waiting room in the west wing of the hospital, specifically for cancer patients, was just the opposite. The walls, which were supposed to be bright lavender, in hopes of calming the dying patients, were a dull purple.  People's eyes are full of despair and longing. They longed to be able to live life not worrying about the cancer cells that rapidly multiply. Regular people in waiting room wait impatiently; we wait desperately, desperate for good news and less poking and prodding.
The waiting room is always so quiet you could hear a pen drop. The only noise is parents lying to their children about how everything would be alright. The same thing my parents are doing to me now.
"Oh hunny, don't worry, everything is going to be fine," my mother says hugging me.
"Yeah," chimes in my dad, "the doctors are going to be so amazed at how well you're doing that they'll think they finally found the cure to cancer."
I'm pretty sure that they are doing this more for their benefit than mine. They know, well think that I'm perfectly fine with me having cancer. When I was 13 years old, they even put me in therapy because they believed that my lack of sadness was unhealthy. When I was diagnosed at 12, I cried for about a week straight. Until I realized that there was no use in crying, it wouldn't change the fact that I had cancer. All my crying was doing was making my family cry and pity me. So I started to hide my feelings, to make my family think I was doing good. I made them believe that I actually had a fighting chance, even though I knew I didn't.
"Mom, Dad, I know I'm gonna be okay. I'll survive this."
"Isabelle Isis," breathing deeply, I gather my stuff and follow the doctor.
I could tell by the look of pity the doctor was giving me that I was about to receive bad news.
"Isabelle, you should take a seat," the doctor says with a shaking hand.
"No thank you, I am fine standing. So what's up doc?"
"Isabelle, I am so sorry. I know how long you've been fighting this. And you still might even have a-"
I cut her off before she can continue,"Dr, Jackson, just cut to the chase."
"w-well after testing your blood, we have received rather terrifying new. Isabelle I really do think you should take a seat."
"Just tell me, I'm gonna die right," I tried to keep my voice from wavering, I think I failed.
"Isabelle, your results came back. I'm sorry b-but, chemo isn't working anymore. We need-"
I completely blocked her out. I see her lips moving but I don't hear a thing. Once those words left Dr. Jackson's lips, it felt like a thousand knives impaling my heart. A piercing wave of despair flooded my soul. Without the chemotherapy I am sure to die. I've always thought about how I was going to die no matter what, and all of these years have been spent happily awaiting death, but the fact that it's really going to happen, I'm really going to die, changes everything. Cancer is going to kill me but my death will be on my terms. 

"I-I know what I want to do," my parents and the doctor look at me with different emotions. My mom looks fearful; my dad looks like he wants to burst like a balloon, probably from rage. He's probably upset that he had to pay so much money for something that didn't work, and the doctor looks distressed. 

"I want to stop taking the chemo, stop taking everything. I'm going to finish my bucket list and die at home. I want to die peacefully and surrounded by family," with that being said, I quickly walk out the hospital and to the car, with unshed tears threatening to spill.

Unable to tell Ryan the terrifying new, my parents did for me, later that night when he came over. Like the best friend he is, he didn't mention it. All night we just laid down and silently cried together until we finally fell asleep to the soft sound of Zach Sobiech's Cloud. I close my eyes singing along in my head,

And we'll go up, up, up but I'll fly a little higher, we'll go up in the clouds because the view is a little nicer

I won't be long now...