Cancer.
It's a curse.
It turns people's lives upside down and ruins their relationships.
Brynne Foster is a perfect example.
After being diagnosed with leukemia at age 17, Brynne's family struggles to accept her decision of refusing chemotherapy...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"That's it! You've got it!" My physical therapist encourages me as I grip the two metal bars at my side. The timer reads twenty seconds, but my goal is one minute.
My legs fall limp underneath my hips, making it hard for me to go anywhere but down. As my arms begin to shake, I call for the wheelchair.
"I can't."
Breathing hard; my lungs have difficulty catching a good breath while I slump into my seat.
"That was good," He states while rolling me backward.
I nod my head, still trying to catch my breath. Frustration floods my body as I attempt to get back up. It feels like all my energy has escaped from my limbs, and I am dragging along dead weight.
"Don't push yourself too hard; it's only been four days since your surgery." Chris states.
I know he means well, but that's not what I want to hear right now.
My fingers slide across the scar on my neck, and I am painfully reminded of the awful tube going down my throat. After the first two days, I couldn't take the pain anymore, so I begged Dr. Khan to have it removed.
After a bit of arguing, he finally agreed to remove it as long as I carried an inhaler with me at all times and stayed in the hospital while I was recovering.
I haven't been outside in a week, and it's slowly hurting my soul. Dr. Khan claims that the cold air would cause more harm to my lungs than smoking would.
I might as well be a smoker with how bad my lungs are.
I look around. The PT room is full of people, all recovering from different injuries. There are small children and teenagers all struggling just as hard as I am. The clinking and clanging of various machines fill my hearing.
Chris reaches for a small green foam brick and pulls it off a high shelf.
"Let's try this," He suggests with an encouraging tone.
I sigh, continuing with the task of putting the block behind my back to improve my posture.
After another half an hour of brutally torturing my body, I am finally allowed to go back to my room.
Despite the nurse's pleads for me to accept help, I am walking on my own.
It may take me a little longer than normal, but I will suffer through it if it means not having to use a wheelchair.
As I lean against the wall for a much-needed break, I meet a new face.
A tall blonde guy walks over, holding his little sister's hand. His tan features make him look like he just came from the beach. I hold on tightly to the counter and dig my toes into the ground.
"Hey, do you know where the pediatric wing is?" His voice turns my head.
