Holding On

Chapter 1

I have Acute lymphocytic leukemia.

Kind of depressing, isn't it? Everything is when you're going to die. Don't say I'm not going to. Don't say those stupid things adults say to you when they want to make you feel better.

Don't tell me, Fight through it. You can live. Not everyone dies.

What a bunch of crap.

I am dying. I can feel it in my bones, and I can see it in my thin face with its pale, sunken cheekbones and shadows of ghosts dancing in my eyes. Every time I cough, I think, This is it. Time to die.

Guess not.

Something selfish about the wishing, the wanting, is hair. It used to grow in long, cascading waves of smooth chocolate curls. I was convinced it was my best feature. It said goodbye early after my first treatment.

It's starting to grow back, I guess. Maybe I should explain my misfortune of acquiring this quite limiting disease.

It started with the nosebleeds.

Really, nosebleeds were more common for me, doing sports and everything. But these bleeds...
They were different.

  I was walking to the front of my science classroom to present my cells project, way back in seventh grade. I was nervous; I didn't like presentations so much. What I was about to learn, though, was that I was about to hate them a whole lot more. My hands were sweating and shaking, and my breath hitched in my throat. I made it to the front, then faced my class, all looking at me, some bored, some anticipating my presentation.

  "Hello, I'm Sharon... um, this is my, uh, Cells Project. Um, cells have many organelles, and, um, there's a jelly-like substance, called, um, cytoplasm, keeping them in place. The organelles, I mean." Gosh, I was feeling more and more stupid by the second; I had mixed up my papers and was supposed to start with the nucleus.

  "The nucleus is- I mean, the nucleus of the cell is like the brain, because it stores DNA and controls it. DNA stands for deoxyribonucleic acid. And... oh, oh my... gosh... oh my f- okay..."

  My nose had begun to bleed. Really, really bleed. It could have rivaled Niagara. I ran to the desk with the tissue box laying on it, then tried to stem the flow of blood. It wouldn't stop, and my teacher finally sent me to the nurse.

  The nurse was a rather old, short, plump woman. Nurse Peach looked up from her fashion magazine filled with glittery, photoshopped models smiling up with their "perfect" figures and teeth. "Yes, Miss Abbot?" She asked in a pleasant tone of voice, as if she didn't notice the blood dripping down my front at a rate of 780 miles per hour.

"Um... can you help me clean this up, ma'am?" I asked timidly. She blinked, seemingly just noticing my nose issue. "Well, honey, why didn't you say so? We need to clean this up immediately!" She cried, racing towards me to mop up the blood.

Everything was cleaned up, and only after I had gone through half a box of tissues did the bleeding stop. The nurse asked me several questions about my nosebleed, then typed things in my student file furiously, her fingers clicking against the keyboard loudly. Nurse Peach decided to call my mother, which at the time I thought was a bit unnecessary.

"Yes, this is Nurse Peach. From Westbrook School. This is Samantha Abbot, correct? Good.... mhm. Yes. I was calling to say that your daughter had a rather severe nosebleed today. She looks pale and weaker than she normally looks...Of course. Yes, I have looked at her. Thank you.... She is fine; I'll send her back to class if you don't need to take her anywhere. Alright, goodbye."