I had been in the hospital a week now.
This white, antagonizing place had contained me for seven whole days now and I had a strong feeling this wouldn't be the end of those neverending days. I hated this place. Though the cold air was comforting and sweet, the loathsome smell and uncomfortable feelings you get while here make it absolutely excrutiating.
This whole mess started about three weeks ago. Lately I had been feeling drained of energy. At first I thought it was only because of all the extra schoolwork I was doing. Not getting too much sleep. Just school all the time. So I started getting more sleep at night, stopped the work overload. But I noticed it wasn't helping and in addition to my wearniess my joints began to hurt. The first few days it was only a bit uncomfortable but after trying to work it off it came to a terrible pain all throughout my body. After that, I resulted in going to the doctor. He asked me if there were any known diseases in my family. Alzheimers, Cancer Etc. The answer was no, as far as I knew. And as far as I knew would have to do because there was no way I was going to Charlie with this for unnecessary reasons. I would only tell him anything if there were actually something wrong with me. He doesn't need to be worrying about me. The doctor had put me on a medication, a type of "advanced Advil" he'd called it. It was to help me sleep at night, calm my muscles and all that good stuff. I had to say, it was difficult to be in a room with a doctor, because doctors always reminded me of Carlisle Cullen, his adoptive father.
The medication didn't help. I was warned at the doctor that if this were the case, my condition was most likely serious. What I did after realizing the medicine wasn't working was nonsuprisingly stupid of me. I simply ignored it. I didn't believe that I was sickly girl. It was probably just stress and unresolved issues that medicine couldn't prevent or help, these were the irrational thoughts going through my head. I went on with school, cooking for Charlie, my so called life with the aching pains. But I never complained, nor went back to the doctor. After almost a week of that, I collapsed on my bathroom floor. When Charlie rushed me to the hospital, he believed I had over-dosed on a sleeping pill of some type. He knew I was unhappy and had the theory of depression lurking through my body. I felt so bad when I heard he thought I was trying to kill myself. I was unhappy, it was true. But it was nothing Charlie had caused. It pained me so deeply to even think he though that I would kill myself because of something he did. Mostly because it wasn't something HE did.
This hospital has grown so tired in the past week. I hated this. I hated all of it. I wanted to go away from this place. With these all flaky painted bright white walls and the disgusting smells, and not being able to so much as slightly move without a seering pain flowing through my blood stream. I wanted to leave here. So bad. But as I lay steadily in my hospital bed, watching the dreaded white walls close in on me; I realized this suspense and torcher would all end soon enough. I would find out what exactly what the matter was with me today. After a hand full of tests and taking blood and Xrays, I would finally figure out what this horrible thing was flowing inside of me. This was suprisingly relieving. To know what IT was that was killing me. I was no more in denial. I was dying. It was clear to me. It was clear to me every time I moved. Every time I felt that pain. I was going to die and I wanted to know what was killing me.
Ironically, just then my doctor strode into the hospital room. Dr. Roberts, he said his name was. Though I supposed it didn't matter. I never called him by name. It was usually "You" or "Doctor". Dr. Roberts had a concerned face on as he made his way to my not-so-home-like hospital bed. His face made me nervous. This doctor was usually so bubbly and full of life. And I couldn't help but fear his troubles reguarded my test results.
"Bella," he said, his face struggling to stay plain, or perhaps some type of disturbed happiness.
But it wasn't working. Something was wrong. It was absolute. "I have your test results," he continued, biting his lip and pausing at the end.
I couldn't take it. This was my fate. To hell with dramatic effect and pausings! I wanted to know what it was that was killing me!
"And.." I prompted, impatient and rudely.
But he didn't seem to mind the rudeness. I would be one to think that anyone would be a bit cranky if they were going to be burried six feet under at eighteen. He frowned, and with a clear of the throat continued.
"Bella, I don't know how this is possible. You say this illness doesn't come from your family and before this you were as healthy as a horse.." He paused again, looking down.
I saw sadness and his eyes and it made me sad too. Not really that I was dying. That didn't bother me much, mostly because I had nothing to live for. But it made me sad that this doctor, a stranger; was sad for my life.
"Doctor, please continue.." I said again. I was suprised by how calm I sounded. How calm I actually felt. How much I didn't care.
"You have cancer, Bella." Dr. Roberts finished in a terrified tone before turning his back to me and slowly walking out of the room.