Her Cancer Story (completed)

Month Eight

Month eight took a sudden turn for the worst. I woke up at 2am with my chest burning. I gasped for breath, struggling to breathe.

Next thing I knew I was in the ICU, oxygen mask strapped around my head. I felt terrible. My IV pole held my chemo and fluids.

I was in miserable pain.

My whole body ached.

My head throbbed.

I vomited in the plastic bucket every half hour.

Tears streamed my cheeks, running down my neck every waking hour.

By week two I was in and out of consciousness every few minutes. I felt a warm, familiar hand in mine. Normally, I would keep it there, knowing it was just my mom or dad. But this time it felt... too familiar?

"Jonah...?" I breathed, too weak to open my eyes. He said nothing. His body came close, hugging mine. I snuggled my face into his hair, breathing in his warm scent. We said nothing. His hair soaking in my tears.

My breathe came into gasps as I sobbed into his chest. I didn't know why I was crying. Maybe it was because he was here. Maybe it was because I was in this hospital bed. Or maybe, maybe it was because of what I was thinking.

It's Sunday, the start of week three on this eighth month. And I've been thinking...

Jonah is here. It's nice. I don't know where he disappeared to. All I know is that he's here now.

Today... I'm telling my parents to stop all treatment. I can't do this anymore. The pain. The vomiting. The night sweats. The gasps for breath. The tears. The hot flashes. The headaches. The emotions. The emotional pain.

I'm done. I quit. I quit treatment. Because dying a few months early won't change a thing for me. Especially if I've completing almost everything on my To-Do List.

I put down my journal, tucked it under my bed cushion, along with my pen. I wiped the tears with the back of my hand, taking a deep breath.