"You have cancer,"
I’ve been alive for eighteen years, and I’ve been talking for almost seventeen years. Each of these words have been said around me millions of times, but I never thought that I would hear the three of them together. My knuckles were white, and my head was spinning. feeling like the doctor had knocked the wind out of me, I felt my lunch coming back up. Terrified, I sat and listened as the oncologist spoke. Distantly, I heard his voice, however, there was only one word that was booming over and over again in my skull, taunting me. That word, was cancer.
There was a tumour inside me. It was in my brain, and if I didn’t stop it, I would die. After the doctor said that I had a tumour, I promise you that I could feel it. Calmly, my options were explained to me: I can fight it, or run from it. Of course, my oncologist wanted me to be treated, and explained how chemotherapy, radiotherapy, or surgery could help me.
Physically, I might have been in the office, but in my mind I was a thousand miles away. I had just graduated from high school two months ago, and had my eighteenth birthday a week ago. Sitting there, I was ready to go away to my dream university, but my future was just out of my reach. I wanted to go to university and become a physiotherapist so that I could help people. I wanted to make new
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I had heard all of the stories about fighting cancer, and I knew about the physical and emotional toll that it would have on me. My doctor told me that if I were to receive chemotherapy or radiotherapy, I would have a seventeen percent chance of survival for ten years. To me, those odds are quite low, but they are still a chance at life. I would have a chance to live out my dreams, and an opportunity to see my brother get married. I wanted to see these things happen, but I didn’t want to be in too much pain to clap at my brother’s wedding and to not be able to leave the province for university. That just wouldn’t be a life that I could or would