Okay so I should totally be writing chapters to my other two stories instead of starting a new one... SorryNotsorry
These may be quite short chapters as some are meant to be viewed as blog posts, and others as background and all the other filler to kind of puffle out the story. I'm also planning to write a prequel in the future, maybe when Kyle is first diagnosed or something.
Thank you for reading, and I promise you my everlasting adoration if you review!

Fifteen, Jewish, cancer. The definition of the pity case that is Kyle Broflovski. When middle aged people, the very epitome of prejudice towards teenagers, stand up to offer me their seat on the bus, I know it is not because they believe in being polite to all citizens whether they be old or young, but because they know of me only as the Poor Boy with Cancer.
On my more 'rebellious' days, I reject this pitying offer on the pretence that standing for a twenty minute bus ride won't result in my keeling over in a state of near-death, but mostly I just accept.
After all, it is my role as the sick person- to act ill, and allow for the rest of society to treat me accordingly.

I suppose in a totally cliché way, we are all dying. A counsellor once told me that, in response to the popular phrase, no time is 'borrowed'; that we are all here to serve a purpose whether it lasts 16 years or 60.
Ignoring the cheeseyness factor, it is a thought that makes me feel somewhat better, accepting the idea that I have made some type of impact on the Earth and will continue to do so until my no-doubt untimely death.
It all started when I was ten years old; with weird bruising, nosebleeds, and blood test that landed myself in the oncology unit at Hell's Pass Hospital. With the diagnosis of Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia and it's treatment also came years of being treated differently- all for this damn sickness. When cancer or death jokes are made on TV, I often find that my family and even friends will look to me before reacting to them, whether positively or negatively. I am expected to somehow be offended, but I guess I never have been. The assumption that I require to be treated like some porcelain doll is far more aggravating than the jokes themselves. You have to understand, reader, that I am not a one-trick pony. The ability to spurt copious amounts of blood from my nose at random intervals is not my only hobby, and when I'm not having toxic medicine pumped into my bloodstream I also enjoy reading, and the odd pluck of a guitar string or six. At some point, I am hoping that people will come to the sudden realisation that I am Kyle, A student and musician (cancer), not Cancer (Kyle). If that makes sense.

I guess that a little background information is in order, or this waffling about how my life sucks will quickly become dull.
As previously mentioned, I was diagnosed with ALL at the tender (or not so much in my case) age of ten, at which point I was promised that surely I would be one of the 80-90% of patients whose bodies are forced into complete remission with treatment.
But, as always, life doesn't tend to work out as promised, and although I had a period of remission when I was 11 ½, I relapsed a while back and shown little sign of recovery since.
At our last meeting three, my oncologist -Doctor Blake Dahl if anyone happens to care- suggested that I move onto a more aggressive course of chemotherapy, and sent me along with the final words of 'Give it some thought- it's your cancer after all'. That's what I like about Dr. Dahl, the fact that he's always made it clear that my body is my own, and because the treatments for cancer are often threatening in their own right, I should be the one to make the choices of what drugs are pushed into me, what hazardous gamma rays are used to damage the evil evil cancer cells.
At this point, anyone who knows my mother can probably guess that this is not the frame of mind she wants me to be in- her counterargument has always been that as a family we fight the cancer together and as my mother she should also have a say in the strength of my treatments. Of course, she does not mean this in the literal sense. She is not the one whose body has to work overtime to replace the good cells -e.g. my infection battling leukocytes- destroyed by the chemo, she is not the one who has to lie still on a cold table in a hospital gown with a tight mask over my face to protect me somewhat from the harmful rays during radiotherapy.
But, in the figurative sense, I suppose my mother has a point by stating that we face my illness as a family. She quickly gave herself he role of Chief Executive of Kyle's Life; driving me to and from appointments, controlling my diet, telling me when I can and can't go outside, and being at my beck and call whenever infection does get the better of my tired body. I guess I can't expect anything less of her.
My father, despite being an esteemed lawyer, most definitely does not wear the pants in the relationship. While he would be happy for me to go out and hang with my friends like a normal kid does, any disagreement to mom he may have quickly ends with his backing down. It's annoying, don't get me wrong. But it kind of works.
Ike, my adopted kid brother, is the one who'll crack inappropriate jokes when I'm feeling most crappy, sneaks me fries and other unhealthy foods that are usually banned from my diet, and doesn't kick up a fuss when I get the attention and he is left to his on devices.
In all honesty, it could easily present itself as the obvious scenario- overbearing mother, cowardly father and the second-born (kinda) who lives in the shadows of his sick older brother. But Ike plays his part with good humour, and uses it to the advantage of being able to get away with everything and anything because his brother has cancer. Aside from my family, I also have a few friends who keep me going, but more on them later. Right now I'm tired -one of the side-effects of becoming cancer free- and just about ready to crash for a while.

Signing off,
Kyle Broflovski, the cancerous teenager

Good, bad, not worth continuing? Pleeeease let me know in the form of a review (I know it's cheeky begging for them but y'know, I could totally be doing school work right now instead). Please keep in mind that I am fortunate enough to have limited experience with leukaemia (and American spelling) so it may seem a little stupid at times.
Thank you so much for reading!