The Scar of Life
When I was 13 months old, my mom noticed my skin was yellow, so she took me to the doctor. I was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia (cancer of the blood). My white blood cells were destroying my red blood cells instead of destroying bacteria, so my body was dying. My mom fell to her knees screaming and crying.
Throughout my childhood, I was constantly in the hospital. My father was the only one with the same blood type, so he donated his blood, but even that wasn’t enough. Every time a nurse would come in the room, my father would leave because he couldn’t bear to see me in pain at such a young age. About five nurses would hold me down so they could give me more chemo in my spine or through my portacatheter. One time, the chemo backfired and I started vomiting blood. I can remember sitting on the hospital bed, drawing a picture of me with my mom and dad. We all had sad faces.
The day I turned five, I was in the bathroom watching my mom put on her makeup when the phone rang. It was the hospital telling her that I was in remission, that I was cured! She called my dad to tell him the news, and they both cried tears of joy.
Today I am 19, in college, and 100% cured. I may have a scar on my chest from the portacatheter but I consider it the scar of life.
Pembroke Pines, FL