*Trigger Warning* This post talks about my diagnosis day and some emotional things I’ve been dealing with.
It is 2:15 in the morning. I can't sleep. I tossed and turned for forever before finally sitting up to read, hoping I would eventually drift off. It's been over an hour, and here I am, wide awake. Iron and Wine softly plays on my Echo Dot. Red sleeps silently on my floor. The string of lights on my wall are on, shining light on pictures. On memories. There's my brother and I holding up Austin F.C jerseys. There's the drumline performing for the student section at a football game. There's my dad and I goofing off. There's a picture of me on Christmas morning with a pair of socks. They say something.
"If you're reading this, I'm kicking cancer's ass."
I remember why I can't sleep. 2 years ago, everything changed. On April 17th, 2020, I was told that I had leukemia.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I had run fever the night before, and because COVID was in full swing I was being quarantined in my room. My mom and I went to the doctor that morning, where bloodwork and an ultrasound of my appendix were ordered (due to severe abdominal pain that I had been dealing with for about a week). I didn't eat anything before we left. I should've. Because I was scared of needles (and because I hadn't eaten anything), I almost passed out when they drew blood. The ultrasound hurt like hell. It felt like I was getting stabbed in the stomach, but all I could do was lay there. When we finally got home, we ordered food from Fire Bowl Café and turned on Despicable Me. I ate until I couldn't eat anymore. Then Mom got a phone call. She stepped outside. It felt like she was outside for forever. When she finally came in, I asked what she was told. It wasn't good news. She told me there were abnormalities in the bloodwork and that we had to go to the hospital so they could run more tests. Something that I've learned along this journey is that abnormalities is usually code word for cancer. I vomited from anxiety, cried as we packed, and then my mom and I headed off to the ER. That ER visit is an entire story in itself.
Here I am 2 years later, looking back at one of the worst days of my life. It seems so surreal, but so many things in my life today I can attribute to cancer. Red, the USWNT and Austin FC jerseys hanging on my walls, the custom Pura Vida bracelet tied to my wrist, the Bill Snyder autograph taped to my bookshelf. Sometimes I think about how different my life would be if cancer hadn't taken it from me. Would I have the same friends? Would I still be playing soccer? So many questions, and they will forever remain unanswered.
Today, I don't know what to feel. I don't know whether to be happy, sad, mad, or whatever other emotion I could apply to the situation. I could be happy and celebrate how far I've come along this journey. I could be sad and reflect on pre-COVID life, longing for what is now gone. I could be mad, because there are 7 billion other people in the world and cancer chose me. Right now, at 2:40 in the morning, I feel a little mixture of everything.
I will never know how different my life could be. That is something that I struggle with everyday. It tugs at my mind, and I can't quite let go of it. There will always be a part of me that will wonder "What If?"
It is 2:43 in the morning. Today is my "cancerversary", and I can't sleep.
"I'm unsure which pain is worse-- the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will."
-Unknown
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