So, I decided to type up a new story because I was bored on a bus trip and did not have my laptop...so no access to any of my already typed stories. This story came about one night while I was listening to "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I guess it was also inspired (in part) by John Green's The Fault in our Stars. P.S, typing on iPhones is really hard to do...but I managed.

Lastly, I'm "directing" a preview for this story. It's kinda cool. I'll post it on my Twitter when it's finished. Follow me if you'd like to keep updated with what's going on with my Fanfiction! Information is on my Fanfiction profile!

Enjoy chapter 1!

Chapter 1: What's Left To Fight For?

Like a small boat on the ocean

Sending big waves into motion

You never think it can happen to you. Sometimes you'll see those stories on the news and you feel bad for the person or the family who seems to have hit rock bottom. You feel bad briefly, but you can't relate so you move on with your life. You may not think it but, unconsciously, you feel that life could never get that bad for you. Then it does.

I know all about that.

Cancer will do that to you.

Before my diagnosis, cancer had always felt like this umbrella-term. In this idea of cancer, it always seemed to come up when something bad happened. It was never anything entirely specific. Just cancer. Hence "umbrella-term."

Cancer seemed to be the butt of every joke, the extremely demented hidden punchline that sent all the kids into fits of laughter. Well...we were all kids and that's just how kids are. So naive. So carefree.

Cancer was always just a loose term. Never all that descriptive, but that tends to happen when you don't know enough about something.

I had joked about cancer too. It was never intentional or mean, but I guess this is just my karma or "just desserts" or whatever punishment you'd consider it.

My diagnosis came on a day that was supposed to be special. My eleventh birthday. Some gift...and I couldn't even return it in exchange for money. The days leading up to the diagnosis were no better. I was tired all the time and my whole body was in pain constantly. Being the headstrong preteen that I was, I'd tried to stay tough and not let it get to me. I knew my parents could tell that something was up, but they are the cool type that trust me enough to let me come to them. My plan to just play it cool ultimately failed when I fell asleep in class and my teacher could not wake me up. I woke up in the nurse's office with the nurse and my parents huddled nearby. That's when the hushed conversations started. As if the adults all thought I could not handle the news. For the record, I could handle it; I just did not want to have to. I wanted to be normal...like everyone else. Also for the record, that was when my "normal" died forever.

From the school nurse, my "case" went to my family doctor and then it went to some specialist (or two...it all runs together now). Finally, it ended in a hospital. The Berk Regional Medical Center, to be exact. Until that diagnosis, it had been doctor visit after doctor visit. Then, the results came back.

It was an extremely rare cancer, so rare, in fact, that it did not even have a name yet and researchers were still learning about it. Basically, though, the cancer cells were attacking my red blood cells and turning my blood into sludge...more or less. The cancer cells multiplied at high rates and starved my body out of the blood that it so desperately needed. Because they were still learning about this cancer themselves, the doctors had no idea what the mortality rate was for this type of cancer. It's been four years and I'm still breathing; I guess that's saying something.

It started off slow. Three days a week my mother would drag me back out to Berk Regional Medical Center for chemo. That was horrible. I mean, it is impossible to come out of those treatments without feeling sick. The only thing that made it almost bearable was knowing that the therapy was helping and that the evil attacking cancer cells were being killed off.

Suffering through these hours-long treatments made me severely miss school. When the chemo started, I had to say goodbye to public school. My mother would homeschool me until I was finished with the chemo. That was the plan.

That plan died too. The cancer became resistant to chemo a few months later. Luckily, the researchers quickly developed a serum that they claimed would kill off the cancer cells. I was starting to think that I was slowly becoming their "guinea pig". The serum was administered through injection and could be done at home. Every week, my mother had to stop by the hospital and pick up the allotted amount of serum injections and needles for the week. Once a day, each morning, I needed to give myself a rather hefty dose that would work throughout the day.

As tedious as that was, I did it without reminding or prompting from my parents. I guess the idea that it could be the only thing sustaining my life was enough incentive for me. Some normality returned to my life. My hair grew back and I was able to return to school as my immune system built itself back up again. Although, I did have to adjust to attending middle school. I had missed so much. Still, I was extremely grateful that I could return to an almost normal life. For just a moment, I could allow myself to almost forget that I was "sick".

That moment ended all too quickly as well. It was another school day that I ended up spending most of the time in the nurse's office before she called my parents to pick me up. Of course when they arrived, they were concerned and immediately got me an emergency appointment with my cancer doctor over at BRMC. Another scan confirmed the bad news: the cancer had grown resistant to the injections too. The cancer cell count had skyrocketed. It had silently multiplied while we had blindingly believed that everything was going well.

I was admitted to the hospital that afternoon. The researchers had developed yet another method. A slow drip that provided just enough medication to attack the cancer cells without administering it fast enough for the cancer to become resistant against it. Their hope was that it would slowly, over time, kill off the cancer cells and slow the reproduction rate of remaining cells to finally take them out too. All the doctors were optimistic that I would be released from the hospital soon. They encouraged me daily to just keep fighting and that I would be home soon.

It's been two years...and I'm still here in the hospital. That's the downside to the slow drip. It has to be set up in the hospital. I just want to go home, but I know that they'll never let me leave until my cancer goes into remission. IF it goes into remission. I'm starting to wonder now if it'll ever go away. I mean...the initial diagnosis was four years ago AND the cancer became resistant against two different types of treatments. How long until it becomes resistant to the slow drip too?

Being stuck in the hospital gives you a lot of time to think. I've thought a lot over the past two years. A topic that always crosses my mind is death. I don't want to die; the thought frightens me. After your breathing ceases and your heartbeat slows to a stop, then what? What becomes of you then? Your body is placed into some fancy wooden box and buried six feet under. Do you just cease to exist then or is there some afterlife that you just automatically know the way to and fly off to then? I think it's the uncertainty that scares me most.

Well, there you have it. My life pretty much sucks. I'm still afraid of the uncertainty of death, but there really isn't much worth living for at the moment. What's left to fight for anyway anymore?

I hope that you all enjoyed reading this first chapter! I'm really enjoying this story idea so hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter out to you soon! By the way, this story is going to be fairly short. Only about ten chapters.

Thank you all for reading and supporting My Fight Song!

Posted: September 27, 2016