Ventricle

Prelude

        Cancer is stupid. I mean, who does he think he is? What makes him the one that gets to latch on to innocent human souls, and slowly drag them into death. Who gave him the power to do this? He isn’t a God, he’s just a simple disease. What gives him control over such a large population of people? 

        I am Cancer’s prisoner, he has me trapped. 

        I first found out about this disease that I had developed when I was seven. I remember it quite clearly, actually. 

        Doctor: You have cardiovascular cancer.

        Me: What?

        Doctor: There is a disease in you that has taken your heart as a home to rest in. 

        Me: Oh.

        Doctors: I am incredibly sorry that I have to share this terrifying news to you. 

        Me: No you aren’t. It is your job. I am probably one of many. Don’t lie to me. 

        I was very mad that day. My father spent the entire time crying, and my mother spent all of her time trying to please me with various goods. Out of the seven whole years I spent with them I had never been so spoiled in my life. 

        As time went on I got more and more terrified of the inevitable. I was dying. I found myself spending more and more days cooped up in my bed due to sickness, rather than spending it at school pretending to be educated with all of the other boys and girls. I found it harder to breath and I always seemed to have sharp pains in my chest. 

        I was optimistic, though. I was stuck in my bed all day? No problem, that just gives me the perfect time to finish reading this book. It’s so good! I found it hard to breath? Hey, maybe it is because your body is good shape and you are exercising to maintain that! I have chest pains? Maybe it means my tiny body is finally growing bigger! All of my side effects of this disease I somehow warped into making me think they were good things. 

        I got pretty good at it too. I become a professional at avoiding the side effects of my death. 

        After about two years of doing so, reality finally caught up to my fictional one. I was at the hospital (yet again), and my doctors said the chemotherapy was not working as well as they hoped, so they needed to tackle the disease in a new way. They recommended that part of my heart that had the disease, should be taken out completely, and then that empty gap in my chest should be transplanted from willing and completely healthy heart donor. 

        I thought this would help. But I got my hopes up for no reason. I finally had the proper donor three years later. And to add on to all of that, there was a year of preparation. I was patient and my time finally came. I was getting a transplant, I might have hope of being in remission of my cancer. 

        I am nervous to get the results of this transplant. I just got out of it a few hours ago. Mom and Dad have not left my side the entire time. My mind is still a bit hazy since I was drugged with anaesthetics, so I would be unconscious and not be able to feel pain while undergoing this surgery. My body hurt too much whenever I tried to move—even if I just tried to shift my position—so I laid there on the overly comfy hospital bed staring off into space. I feel like I’m buried alive. I am very much alive, but I can’t move much because my body was just cut open and there would be unbearable pain that came with it. 

        “Mom,” I croak, “can you pass me the apple juice.” 

        Her glowing cheeks widened showing a great smile. “Of course you can sweetie,” she picks up the plastic cup filled with apple juice and moves it closely to my mouth. She moves the straw so my lips can  take a hold of it, and then I drink. I don’t stop drinking until the cup is drained dry.

        By then a nurse dressed in a baby-blue uniform, and a doctor that wears a pristine white uniform both march into the room with grim looks smeared across their faces. 

        “Mr and Mrs Willington, please gather around your daughter. We have some bad information that must be shared with you.” The doctors says this with an even facial expression. The nurse on the other hand had a trembling upper lip. She must be new to the job. 

        Mom was already sitting beside me, feeding me the apple juice. So she didn’t have to move an inch. But my father shuts his laptop shut (he was getting some work done, since my parents spend so much time off of work so they could spend as much time as possible with me) and paces towards my bedside. He holds my leg as a sort of comfort. 

        “Whats up, Doc?” I say, trying to imitate my best Bugs Bunny voice. Imitating fictional characters was somewhat a hobby of mine. Whenever there was a famous line that I could wedge into a conversation, or when I got to cosplay a favorite fictional character I love, I would go for it. Fictional worlds in television shows, books, and movies are a beloved passion of mine. 

        “Your cardiovascular transplant was successful. Your body is not rejecting it, or anything, but I’m afraid that after this transplant, it will be useless. The disease has become malignant and has spread to the entirety of your heart.” I knew it was coming. And I think I’ve known that for a long time now. I just refused to accept it. 

        “Okay.” Is all I can manage to say. Tears flow freely down the nurses eyes and down Dad’s as well. Mom doesn’t cry, but I know she is sobbing on the inside. She can’t show weakness in front of her daughter when everything in life looks so grim. 

        “The disease is attacking your h-heart,” the nurse guffawed, “and it won’t stop.” 

        The doctor wraps his elongated arm around the nurse to calm her down. He takes control of the situation from then on and says, “Our team has predicted you have twenty-four huors left to live.” 

        I don’t say anything. I just stare at everyone crying around me and wonder what the hell I did to make Cancer choose me as one of his prisoners. 

        Before I die, I need to come to terms with it. I need to make amends with everyone that I love. I need to make sure everything will go on, even when I am gone. I need to make sure no one gets sad and does something reckless on a whim. Before I die, I need to make sure I go out with a bang.