Holding On

Chapter One

Two years now, I've been holding on. My life has been a blur of pain, dizziness, radiation, hospital tags, white sheeted beds, tears, trepidation. We know so little. There is an abyss of unknown things. Including my burning question.

How much longer will I have to hold on?

I can feel my hands slipping on the invisible rope. They are scarred, and calloused from holding on so long. The rope is stained with invisible blood, my eyes are stained with visible tears. My family's eyes are outlined with black rings like a raccoon. They all live with fear every day, and they don't deserve it. Maybe I should let go of my fraying rope and leave all my worries behind. Should I give up the battle waging on in my beaten up body. Should I keep holding on?

I am Maddie Johnson, and I have chronic lymphocytic leukemia. And, the worst part of it all is that I'm only 12 years old.

I was 10 when it all started. First came dizziness. I remember days on end when I laid in my turquoise bed as the world spun. That bed is now stone cold. I haven't been in it for two whole years. Then came the loss of appetite. I cringed when I even looked at food. It swished around in my stomach. I started to become skinny, until I was an unhealthy weight. Then came the bleeding. My mouth would bleed so much. I would brush my teeth, and the toothbrush would come out dotted in blood. My skin started fading until it was practically transparent. I could hardly breathe, and when I did it was with a raspy tone. I became weaker and weaker until my parents could bear it no longer. They took me into the white walled hospital on a day where I was barely alive. The doctors took one look at my pathetically frail body and brought me right into a white sheeted hospital room where the doctors hooked up different machines to me and watched me until they had a diagnosis. Honestly, I was focusing all my energy on holding on that I wasn't that much affected by the diagnosis. My parents were a different story. They hung their heads low and cried into each other's shoulder. Their hushed whispers drifted on the breeze like the whispers of ghosts. My brother was too young to understand it all, but his face was grimacing and a mournful sound escaped his petite sized mouth. The doctors and my parents talked in hushed voices, and finally decided on radiation therapy. It made me feel weak, and I cried for days on end. My hair fell from my head like leaves from a tree at winter time. My heart shattered like a glass vase. Dark tendrils of vine seemed to claw at my heart. I hated to see my family so distraught. Nothing has changed in two years except all the hospitals I've been to. Countless treatments that have never seemed to work, yet something my doctors called a miracle keeping me alive. My friends stopped visiting me years ago, and I sit like a lonely child on the first day of kindergarten in my jail cell. The hospital room is like a jail cell, caging in my soul which begs to be let free.

Today is a bad day. I'm slipping on the rope, nearing the bottom. Crystal tears streak down my ghostly face. My mom rubs her calloused finger on my shoulder. Tears leak from her eyes, although she is trying to stay strong. My father and my brother stand off to the side, trying to catch glimpses of my ghostly body. My mother's eyes tell a story. A story of loss, heartache, tears, and the unknown. Her eyes, still welling with tears glimpse at the monitor that measures my heart rate. It is low.

Deathly low.

The nurses rush into my room. I can feel myself letting go. I am nearing the bottom. I know, it is almost time. I feebly call for my family to grant them my goodbyes. To my mom I say "Mother, you have been the greatest mom a girl could ask for. You have been so loyal to me. I love you." Then I turned my head to my father who leaned over me I said "Father, I love you so much. I admire you. You work so hard every day. I love you." Finally, I turned to my brother. He was only eight. His scrappy hair hung over his brown eyes that showed deep fear. "Ryan, I love you so much. You are too young for all this. Work hard. Get a hole in one. I love you!" With that, I slipped lower on the rope. Until I saw the tears. My brother's cheeks are tarnished with tears.

I feel a surge of energy and climb up the rope. I am still barely holding on.