The Good Cancer

Cut Me Open

It is a white, snowy morning in February. I have my surgery in a few hours. I am nervous and anxious. I have never had surgery before. Plus, it isn't like the weather is being all that cooperative. A good friend of the family, the person I knew like an uncle growing up, John Bailey, comes to drive us all to the hospital in his big SUV. By us, I mean myself, my parents, and my "aunt" Lucy.

The drive takes forever. It probably would've gone slowly regardless, but we were literally slowed down by the amount of snow on the roads. Not many other cars joined ours. It was a lonely drive despite being around family and friends. I felt isolated. No one said anything to me. I don't think they knew what they could say to fill the silence. We were all nervous.

I clutch my portable CD player to my chest as Hillary Duff surrounds and fills my ear drums. I wanted something familiar, something comforting. It did help to calm me. I close my eyes try to forget about what I am about to go through. I try to forget that I have cancer. I try to forget about all the possible complications from the surgery the doctor mentioned. I try to forget that I may never talk again or that part of my face may be permanently paralyzed. I try to forget that they will need to stick me with needles and fill my veins with foreign substances. I try to imagine myself anywhere else, but it isn't working.

We get to the children's hospital. I am 13 and therefore still considered a child. It is early and not many other people join us in the lobby. My mom walks over to the counter to check me in. I find a seat on a couch towards the back corner of the room. The walls are decorated, making them more kid friendly. There are toys in the center of the room. Too bad I'm too old to play with them. My CD player is in the car, but Hillary Duff still lingers in my ears. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I follow my mom up to the front counter to check in. It's still early in the morning and the place looks empty. It is hard to think that later on all of the chairs will be full with parents anxiously waiting and children putting those toys to good use. It is hard to think that my parents will be in the group that is waiting for x amount of hours. What will they and the others do to occupy their time and take their minds off what is really happening? Will they tell stories? Will they laugh? Or will they sit there in silence and pray?

We don't have to wait long before a nurse comes and calls us back. We go into a room where I will be prepped for surgery. Not many people are here either. I still wonder if this is even real. I can't be the only one having surgery, right? There has to be other sick children in the world. Not that I wish for other children to be sick, but I just want to feel like I'm not alone.

I am lying down on a bed. I have changed into my hospital gown, the one I could possibly meet Jesus in if things do not go as planned. Will he think I look pretty? Will he welcome me with open arms? I sigh as I try to get comfortable on the bed. I wait for someone to start my IV so I can be wheeled away to my destination. Waiting only adds to the anxiety.

There is a TV in the room and my mom turns it on. She hands me the remote. Since it is my special day, I get to choose what we view. I begin to skim through the channels, not really interested. The last thing I want to do right now is watch TV. However, maybe something I like will be on and it can take my mind off the reality of the situation for now.

My wish comes true as I stumble upon Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At the time, it was my favorite show. All of my friends and even those who weren't my friends knew I was a "Buffy fanatic." Some people even called me Buffy. In my mind, I was as strong as she was. I could fight anything that came my way. All monsters and demons did not stand a chance against me. I could take on the world at any given moment and come out on top. I could even beat the cancer that was growing inside of me. I was Buffy. I could slay cancer.

Time began to pass more quickly as I watched Buffy on the screen fighting the weekly big bad. Two male nurses entered to give me my IV. They gave me something they explained would make me feel more relaxed. Apparently they thought I might be a little anxious or stressed. I wonder why. I was only 13 and about to go have my thyroid taken out. Don't all the cool kids do that these days?

As they wheeled me away, I began to laugh. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe it was whatever they gave me. Maybe it was because I actually found something funny. Maybe it was because laughing was a whole lot easier than crying. Although, I probably laughed so hard that tears escaped my eyes anyway. Tears that felt hot against my cool skin. Tears that formed from laugher as well as fear. This was it. Nothing could have possibly prepared me for how I felt in this moment. Oh God, I couldn't stop laughing.

After what seemed like an eternity, we entered a large, white room. It was to be where I would spend the next few hours of my life, cut open with my insides for the world to see. They place a mask over my face and tell me to count backwards from ten. I suddenly forget how to do that, but I try anyway. I sit up and begin coughing violently. Someone pushes me back down with brute force. I whisper another number and everything goes black.