Piece Of My Mind

{Chapter 1}

Mia Dawson

We all believe we have our life pretty much figured out at a certain age. At least, that was what I thought.

''Did you hear what the doctor said, Mia?'' My mother inquired putting her hand on my leg so gently that I almost didn't feel it.

I look up to face the doctor. You could see a hint of sadness taking over his eyes. They said doctors tend to distance themselves from their patients because otherwise, they would get consumed by all the sadness around them and wouldn't do their job accordingly. But I truly believe that what makes a good doctor is their ability to connect, to empathize. ''Mia.'' They called me again.

I looked down and rested my back on the back of the chair. How is the right way to react when they tell you, you have a tumour? I think a part of me is lacking emotions and a reaction right now and I don't think that qualifies as normal. But then again, nothing in this situation is. ''Is it operable?'' My mother asked, trying to overcome my absence of expression.

''It is. But it's risky.'' The doctor responded to her question.

''What is the course of action? What should we do?'' My mother inquired one more time. You could tell the despair in her voice, even if she was trying her best to stay strong for me.

''We have to operate.'' He stated and but quickly processed. ''An Oligodendroglioma is a tumour that starts in the brain glial cells which are called oligodendrocytes. It's a type II tumour, and that means that it grows slowly, but it can infiltrate the brain's adjacent tissues. Such as your frontal lobe, which is in control of your memory and empathy. It also helps to categorize and classify objects, in addition to distinguishing one item from another, to coordinate voluntary movements, including walking and running. Damage in this area can undermine your ability to speak, to understand language, or to produce speech that makes sense and can radically alter personality.''

I froze. Hearing that would probably freeze anyone. Losing the ability to know who you are, to control yourself, to move, it's heartbreaking. Just the thought of it.

''And after the surgery, that is risky, but needed, she will need radiation.'' He added.

He then proceeded to open his drawer and took from there a piece of paper where he wrote a few things and then he looked at me. ''You will be needing before the operation, three cycles of chemotherapy. We need your tumour to shrink, hopefully by half of this original size.'' He spoke, informing me once again of the steps ahead.

''Will the chemotherapy be too aggressive?'' Mom asked her voice almost threatening to fail on her.

The doctor sighed lowly, concerned on his face. ''I won't lie to you; it usually always is. Three cycles are a lot, but I do believe it's the amount necessary for her.'' The doctor answered. ''However, treatments aren't always linear, and we need to keep monitoring and evaluate her reaction and progress at the end of every cycle, to make sure the treatment is doing its job.'' He added.

Now putting his eyes on me, he continued. ''For some people, the first round is the worst and for other people, it isn't. It depends on how your body takes de medication.'' He said and I finally felt it was the time to look back at him. ''Expect some hair loss, lack of appetite, nausea, diarrhoea, infection due to loss of white blood cells, bruises from the loss of platelets and fatigue due to the loss of red blood cells.''

It took me a moment to absorb what he was saying to me.

''So, all of that for a surgery that has a ten per cent survival?'' I finally talked, grabbing their attention.

''Mia-'' My mother started, but I cut her off.

''How many?'' I asked the doctor.

''How many what?'' The doctor asked back, confused.

''How many weeks or months can I live until it starts invading my frontal lobe?'' I concluded my question.

They both looked at me like I had made the most idiot question a person could make. ''Mia, I know I said the surgery has its risks, but you need to do it, the sooner the better.'' He added and I snorted, leaning forward.

''You didn't answer my question.'' I double-crossed, starting to get aggravated. ''How many weeks or months do I have?'' I insisted, not letting him get away from answering me.

A look of frustration took over the doctor's face for a few seconds, which he brushed off quickly. ''Maybe three to six months, at the best.''

Okay. ''Then, I will wait.'' I informed.

My mother couldn't believe that those words left my mouth. ''Are you insane?'' She hissed, turning her attention to me, completely. ''You need to start the Chemotherapy right now. This is not up to discussion.'' She demanded, adjusting herself on the chair.

''I'm twenty-one and I don't need your consent to know what I want to do with my life.'' I fought back, almost instantly regretting saying that, as her shoulders fell.

''Mia, your mother is right. If you start right now, the chance to get better is bigger.'' The doctor intervened.

''I feel fine.'' I screamed, shifting in my seat. I didn't know I was holding that scream for ages until it came out. ''I have maybe three or six months to be myself.'' I directed my gaze now at my mother. ''It's my last year of college. I have exams coming in the next weeks and I'm only nine months from getting my degree done and you know how hard I worked this past two years.'' I paused, recollecting myself.

''So, school is more important than your health? You know how crazy that sounds?'' My mother uttered, frustration evident on her face and voice. She doesn't understand me. Frankly, she never did. Yet, I need her to see my point of view. I need her support.

I looked into her eyes. ''I know I have the chance of doing that after this is all over, but what if I don't have it? What if I die in surgery? What if my body doesn't handle chemotherapy? That's a lot of ifs that I have, and I don't want to.'' I breathed it out.

I grabbed my mother's hand and squeezed it hard. ''Please.'' I pleaded to her. She looked back at me, tears starting to fall down her cheeks, which she didn't let. ''I need to do this, and I need you to support me.''

To my surprise, the doctor talked first then her. ''Fine. But I will have you come in here, every month for a CT scan. If the tumour starts to even touch your frontal lobe, I will bring you back here and we will start Chemotherapy and that is not up for discussion either.'' He said with a look of determination on his face. He then looked at my mother. ''If she shows any symptoms and you feel like something is wrong, you bring her back immediately.''

I small bean came into my lips. ''Thanks doc.''