A multiverses of YOU and I

Chapter 2: The kickback

Cynthia Duncan

So I know you guys are probably wondering whether I am genetically indifferent compared to the other 90%population of people.

No I am not.

I do not have any genetic diseases like thyroid disorder, vitiligo, or albinism.

I have cancer.

CML to be exact.

At 13 years old, I was diagnosed with cancer.

I had a form of leukemia called CML. CML stands for chronic myeloid leukemia and is characterized by the increased and unregulated growth of myeloid cells in the blood and the bone marrow. Let's say I happen to be a very unique person right from the day I was born. (*slight throat clear*).

(*Readers: Yeah, like you're white hair*).

(*Hmmmppphhh heheheh*).

CML is a rare condition affecting only 1 in 558 persons in the U.S. and is more common in males than in females. I was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of 13 when I started having sharp upper quadrant pain just above my stomach. My parents had initially thought that it was a simple stomach pain and they'd done the necessary checkups at home only since they're both surgeons by profession. But when the pain started to increase at an alarming frequency accompanied by weight loss and loss of appetite, my parents knew that it was something serious and took me to their hospital. Later, we'd find out that I was suffering from CML and that I was already in the chronic phase. Blood tests reports showed that I had an elevated white blood cell count and since I was still too young to undergo chemotherapy, I was introduced to a variety of medicines which would help me with my cancer. Now here comes the interesting part. My parents had through highly experienced and highly skilled doctors found out a medicine for my cancer. It was known for completely curing leukemia without having to undergo chemotherapy. It has a 65-75% success rate and it had been found to inhibit the progression of CML in the majority of patients. The drug which I'd soon come to take and I am still taking for my cancer is called Imatinib, sold under the brand name Gleevec.

Now, my medicine had some serious side effects. It can cause hair lightening or darkening and in my case, the prior one happened to me after few years of continuous usage. Hence, I came to grow up with hair that was white in color. It was not jet white all the time. It had a hint and texture of silverness to it. But youd see it only at night. To my utter dismay, it would appear jet white whenever I'd stepped out into the sunlight.

I'd had come to Simon Baruch Junior High only last year at about the middle of the school semester and this was my final year. My parents had to shift since they had to take new jobs at their own hospital. My Dad was vice chief and my Mom was Chief of the hospital that was in town. I was living with grandma and grandpa when theyd gone ahead of me earlier to settle down in New York. My grandparents had this little cottage in California and they were living their life. They both wanted to live and spend the last years of their life peacefully at the farmhouse. Together. As they said. Now my family were very well known. Our entire family consisted mainly of doctors starting from both my grandparents to even my aunts and uncles. When my grandparents knew that they had grown old into their profession, they'd given the responsibility of looking after their own private hospital to my parents. I'd enjoyed my stay with them. Nobody knew me for my white hair and my grandparents were the sweetest creatures to ever exist on earth. They'd always given me the courage to fight every single one of my battles. Whether internal or external.

My grandpa would always tell me, "When the world stands against you, remember to always put your feet on the ground and stand up for yourself first. Others come secondary."

The day I'd first arrived at school was also the day I'd soon become the hot topic at Simon High. I was the only girl at school who could go against Stacy and when she'd started to bully me on the first day itself, she'd gotten a little taste of what it was to mess with me. She'd had grabbed my hand after I'd simply shrugged her off and it was starting to become a little painful. She'd threatened me saying that she would destroy my life and make it a living hell. What she didn't know was that the pain I had to go through everyday, that was living hell enough for me. When she'd started to squeeze my arm harder, I cried out in pain until I flipped her off from the ground and she landed with her face flat on the ground. I'd used my other hand to grab hold of one of her hand and my left leg to sweep her off the ground. That simple action was enough to get me into the hot topic list of Simon High. Not that my hair would go unnoticed too.

People would come up to me and ask me if I'd dyed it or why my hair was like this. I'd simply reply, "It's natural. I was born like this."

Not that I didn't want people to know the truth. It was to save myself from the trouble of having people take pity and sympathy on me and that was something I couldn't live with. After all, people want to know only half the truth and not the complete set of it. It's better to feed people with fabricated yet true lies than the exact truth. It was simpler that way. I'd know.

There are certain kickbacks you always face in life.

School, life......

That's enough of a kickback itself but...

Then there are certain kickbacks you never forget in life.

And one such kickback for me was when I knew I couldn't dye my hair back to its original color.

I'd gone to a saloon in town to dye my hair. I remember the lady at the saloon putting dye on hair and asking me to wait for a while. While I was waiting for the dye to dry, I suddenly felt a prickling sensation on my head. And now it had started to become a little painful as well. I remember putting down the magazine I was reading and immediately called my mother. I could see the look of horror and sympathy the people at the saloon had plastered to their face as they watched me convulsing and itching at the deadly rash that had developed all over my body. It had gotten better after my mother had arrived. She'd had brought an allergic shot with her and I'd felt better after shed injected me. I remember covering my face in my mothers arms and weeping hysterically while she gently soothed me telling me everything would be alright. All we had to do was get home and wash the dye off my hair. I felt better knowing that she was here with me. But it didn't cover the fact that I could never be able to change the color of my hair. As my mother guided me towards the car, I could see the faces of many unfamiliar people who were now looking at me strangely. Most probably word had got out and it had spread faster than fire itself. I promised myself that day that I would never go to a saloon ever again and all I could do to shield myself was to bury my head deeper into the folds of my legs, wrap my arms around me and hope. Hope that it would be sufficient enough to shield my red face full of rashes and hope that my rashes didn't look unsightly hideous. I'd pulled on the sleeves of the hoodie I was wearing to cover my hands. But one thing was certain. It'd never cover my hair. It never had. My hair would always be exposed and I'd have to accept it either willingly or unwillingly. Sooner or later.
It had become an integral part of my life.
"I wasn't left with much of a choice, was I?"