There are two sides to a battle. One always wins, and one always loses. Most battles are fought with two people or teams. There’s always an offense and defense. The offense tries to succeed at something, and the defense tries to stop them. No matter what, there’s always an ending, good or bad. My battle was different. I couldn’t fight like most people. I couldn’t find for myself; I had to have help because my opponent was worse and crueler than most but not even a person.

              I remember when my mom got the call. I had been at the doctor several times that week. I knew something was wrong when she looked at me like I had just had twelve bowling balls thrown at me. I asked her, “Well, what did they say?” I didn’t want to hear what she said that day I didn’t want to know what was really happening to me. I wanted to be told it was just growing pains in my leg, but things don’t always go how you want them to. I blocked out most of that conversation besides the end when my mom said, “It will be okay, I promise.” I believed her. I thought I would end up okay.

              That night, I got so many calls from my family members saying they heard the news and they would be here through each step of my journey. I didn’t want to be treated differently. I just wanted to forget that any of this ever happened.

              My mom scheduled an appointment for the coming weekend. It was just Monday, though. I had to go to school and have people come up to me asking what’s going to happen to me, telling me they are sorry for what’s going on. I wouldn’t mind the attention on a normal day, but this was different. I didn’t want to be interrogated for something I didn’t even know a lot about. I was a sixteen-year-old girl, and I didn’t even know who I was anymore or what was going on with me.

               The next weekend came faster than I wanted it to. The car ride to the hospital was quiet and almost awkward. No one in that car wanted to talk. One, because they wanted to keep me calm and two, because no one knew what to say. We got to the doctor and waited for about 45 minutes for the cat scan, then another 30 minutes to get back the results.  

              Dr. Julian was a very nice man; he didn’t want me to have worries. I felt like I didn’t have any when I talked to him; he knew more about me than even my own parents did. I had to wait outside of a dimmed room while my parents talked to Dr. Julian. Then it was my turn to go in. He confirmed that I had a cancerous tumor in my left leg, and it would be a hard to fight because it was spreading, but slowly. He explained what I would have to do, which I wasn’t the most thrilled with, like quitting my school sport, not being able too run and have to much physical activity. I wasn’t too upset because I knew I was lucky. I knew it would be a battle, one that would not be easy, but I knew I was lucky enough to get the chance to fight.