Opening
Cancer isn’t something that just goes away. It stays with you a long time, long enough to destroy you. And I realize that. I realized that after the doctor told my mom that her nine year old little girl was going to die before she turned ten next month.
How are you supposed to tell a nine year old girl that she was going to die in a few weeks?
You can’t. So she didn’t.
I went one week without knowing that my mother was already planning my funeral.
Then two weeks. I never understood at the time why everyone was crying every time someone looked at me.
Then I reached the day were the doctor said I’d died, July 8th, 2005. I didn’t die though.
I spent my birthday in the hospital slipping in and out of consciousness while doctors inserted multiple kinds of needles and liquids into me. But I lived. I lived to be ten, and to my mom thought that was one of the best things in the whole world. The next day wasn’t any better though, it was actually worse. All my family had come to visit me and everyone was crying and giving me teddy bears and balloons and telling me that they loved me. Not a lot of stuff was making sense at that point; I was in too much pain to really understand it all. But I’m pretty sure I knew I was going to die before I was even dead.
On July 12, 2005 I died.
I only died for two minutes, but the doctors said I was dead. My heart beat was gone and I stopped breathing. But somehow they brought me back.
Don’t ask me how, I had no idea.
And after that close to death experience I started getting better. My chemo was doubled and I was put on even more drugs but I was getting better. I sure didn’t feel better, but physically I was getting better. And my even better got to the point where all my cancer was gone. On September 8, 2005, I was cancer free.
I was free.
Most people will honestly never understand the word free until all of their fear is gone. I was free.
And it never once occurred to me that my battle with cancer wasn’t over yet.
