Hazel:
Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided that I was depressed. Mostly because I devoted most of my time to watching reality shows, sleeping, and re-reading the same book over and over again. So she made me go to this hideous cancer support group inside of an episcopal church in "The Literal Heart of Jesus", where Patrick, hosted this cancer support group and talked about his cancer experience, and how that led to him having to lose his nuts. He did this every. Single. Time. I'm not going to explain all of the gruesome details about his ball-lessness, so let me tell you a little bit about my cancer experience: I was thirteen when the doctors discovered cancer in my thyroid glands, which spread to my lungs. They thought I wasn't going to last for much longer, until they decided to put me on Phalanxifor. It's one of those medications that are famous for not working in the republic of cancervania. But it worked on me. It helps shrink the tumors, but it will still be terminal.
I'm not particularly friends with anyone in support group, except for a kid named Issac. He's my age, and has cancer in eyes. He had one taken out when he was younger, and has a glass eye in its place, and his glasses have a ridiculously large magnification which only makes it look worse. He's getting his other eye taken out so he will be blind. We communicate with each other using sighs. When someone talks about certain diets to get rid of cancer or snorting up ground shark fin or whatever he looks at me, and sighs. I sigh back. He has a girlfriend at least. Her name is Monica. I will never have a boyfriend considering my pageboy haircut and my puffy round face. Don't forget my oxygen tank and cannula that I have to drag around and wear every single day since my lungs sucked at being lungs. But I have to live with it, however long I live. I sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself but in truth what I live with is just a side effect of dying.