So I’m sitting (more like laying) there at my best friend's house and we’re talking about our worries and stuff. Like you know getting back into shape to make lacrosse (her) cheerleading (me) and it’s funny because during that time I’m genuinely worried about getting my running back to speed. And then we talk about school and guys and I’m honestly just thinking about him or that group of girls or whatever.

And then i go home. And I’m with my family. And we’re about to go to bed. And they say prayers. And my mom says, “Help dad get better”. And he interjects in saying, “I need a miracle”. And then Snap back to reality, oh! there goes gravity and suddenly I feel guilty for having worried about running, talked about boys, gossiped about girls. I feel terrible for having been happy when he was feeling miserable.

They say cancer changes people. Gives them a whole new out look on life. Makes them be someone.

When does cancer stop coming first? When will cancer come second to anything? When will it stop being the answer to every question? How do you act like everything is normal when it’s not? How long until you stop crying? When does cancer stop being the period to your every thought? When will it stop controlling life?

No one has an answer to these questions. Or if they did it’s probably annoyingly vague like “It’s different for everyone”. Maybe there is no real answer.

When cancer infects your life it’s like your living in a bubble. Cancer is the bubble. You go reach out to something outside the bubble, something that unnecessary and sting, cancer, you pull your hand back inside. Or maybe you’re strong enough and have the will power you stick your hand out of the bubble and indure the sting. You reach around. You find something and pick it and try to bring inside the bubble. On the way back in - sting, cancer and you drop it.

Cancer has become my conscience. It has clouded up my sense of right and wrong. Being too happy has become equal to lighting up in a church. I could be out with my friends, laughing, having a great time and then a guy wearing a sweatshirt from my dad’s old high school walks by. That’s when I feel a tugging on my sleeve, I look down and there’s this little child, his name is Cancer, and he just shakes his head. And I don’t feel happy anymore, I feel bad. Guilty. Wrong. I stop laughing. Stop smiling. Maybe tears come, maybe they don’t. My friends ask what’s wrong, completely confused as to the new change in mood. And I lie. I walk away. I run away. I turn away. That’s the only way to escape cancer, to get away. Try to forget. But you can’t forget. Can’t forget when it’s the background to every single thing running through your mind.

Doctor’s promise you that cancer does not always end lives. But cancer halts them. It puts your life on pause while everyone else’s on play. It’s like standing still in the middle of Time Square. If you’re lucky everyone just walks around you. More often than not, they hit you. Maybe not intentionally. But it hurts. Getting hit time, after time, after time. It takes all your will power to stay standing, and not just fall to the ground.

I don’t worry that he won’t survive. I don’t worry that it’ll go wrong. I have complete faith that he will be fine. Cancer just changes everything, it’s changed me and the way I live, I think, I feel. The scary thing about cancer, you don’t know if you’ll ever change back.