I couldn't get out of bed. Unless it was in a wheelchair. My family members were my chauffeurs. Even my obnoxious little brother was being nice. I made sure not to cry, I had to be strong for my family. But when I was alone I sobbed. I sobbed for all the opportunities lost, no more cheerleading, or scholarship, or possible olympics. I didn't even know if my boyfriend would still like me. It was hard to have hope, despite what everyone said. Every day was a battle. A choice. Some days I just stayed in bed and would not do anything. Occasionally I thought of the unthinkable, the awful outcome. What if I had died? What if it would be better for me if I did? But other days I had hope, and determination.
