The web I can’t unweave

I woke up again in the same room I imagined in my nightmare. Only this time, it was empty of everyone but me and all the wires and monitoring devices that I previously had on had been removed carefully. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. And there was nothing I could do to change it. I waited anxiously for someone to walk through the door but after ten minutes. I figured that they’d been avoiding me thinking I was resting or something far worse. After weighing out the possibilities, I feel the urge to get up. I slowly drag myself to a sitting position and dangle my feet off the side of the bed. I sit there for a minute silently judging myself on how badly I must’ve failed to end up here. I then slowly and quietly wiggle out of bed and make my way to the restroom located right by my hospital room door. I take a minute to steady myself. Holding onto the bathroom sink, I look up to see my reflection. Looking back at me, I see the same as always. Vivid green eyes, hourglass figure, long blac

I have cancer? I’ve never been one to question an informed or proper diagnosis. If the evidence and research are there then it must be true but I have cancer? I’m only nineteen. I just graduated, I just applied for my top-choice universities. I just applied for internships that would make my name in this world. I was just taking my SAT exam and now I’m sitting here being told I have cancer. That I’m going to die before I have the opportunity to build my legacy. I stare blankly at the doctor as my parents cling to me to steady themselves as they cry. I have so much to do. I have so much I haven’t done. I have no legacy yet. I haven’t fallen in love like the movies. Not that love wasn’t my greatest priority but I’d like to at least try it once. I haven’t lived. And now life is deciding that I shouldn’t be able too. “How long do I have?” I ask in anticipation of a morbid response. It’s not that I wanted to know, I needed to. I don’t like to start things I’ll leave unf

I spent hours in my apartment thinking of what I could have done wrong to end up here but I don’t think there’s an answer. So I picked up my jumbled brain and began to focus on my emails. I open my nightstand to find my laptop and decide to distract myself with an other chatroom. I’ve used this chatroom to try and socialize with other people my age. It helps that it’s a chatroom for intelligent kids to pick each other’s brains and it’s mostly anonymous. Especially since socializing is not my strong suit. I log on and wait for my first IM to arrive. M: Hey, how are you? C: Hard day but nothing a good conversation can’t fix. (It wasn’t a lie - A moment like this makes me wish I had someone to snuggle up with and forget). M: Care to share? C: With a stranger? I think not. What would he say? Sorry? Pity wasn’t what I needed. M: You don’t remember me, do you? C: Have we met? M: We haven’t officially but we chatted a couple of times. How’d your SAT testing go? C: Appa

I wake up not knowing how long I’d been asleep. I sheepishly look for my phone as I feel a slight pulsating sensation in my head. I like to think that’s my head injury and not the tumor that upheaved my life. I finally find my phone while rustling through the sheets and see that it says Thursday. I had slept for two days? Along with the date, I notice the dozen missed calls from my parents and a text from Maverick dated yesterday. I decided to call my parents back to ensure them I was okay. I’m sure they would’ve stopped by now but I recalled they had a few meetings lined of this week. My parents both sat on the board committee for Sonoma, a small city outside of San Francisco. The same city I’ve grown up in my whole life. It’s not a bad place. Just a small town of about 11,000 people with ambitions and dreams. Just not the same as mine. I wanted a legacy to reach all ends of the country whereas the legacy most people built here was a family, suburban living and comfort. After speakin

It took me about ten minutes of fiddling with the clip on my IV line to be able to remove it and watch the medication reach my body. It was like flipping an hourglass and watching the sand try to reach the bottom. I look up at Dr. Rosario who smiles lightly back at me. I assume he’s proud of me but I get the feeling there’s something else too. Maybe it’s just in my head. “Am I supposed to feel itchy?” I ask as I suddenly feel prickly like a cactus and try not to scratch myself raw. “It can itch. It’s a mild reaction and you’re doing great so far. Do you feel anything else?” He asks with care. Care like he is really hoping I won’t run out of here screaming or light myself on fire in protest. “No. Am I going to go bald?” I couldn’t help but ask. I saw the woman in the waiting area as she left and I’m not able to contain my fear any longer. I start to shake mildly from anxiety and fear of what his answer would be. My appearance wasn’t important to me. It never was. But my ability