Cancer.
I hate that word.
That's the word that could mean the difference between life and death.
That's the word that is tearing my family apart.
That's the word that is killing my daughter.
She was diagnosed 6 months ago, on June 14th. As soon as the Doctor called us to say he had the results, I knew it was bad news. Over the last few months, Morgan – my daughter – had started to act strange; getting headaches, being more distant, having nose bleeds frequently, sleeping for longer, etc. I put it doen to stress, as she's been having a hard time in school lately. But no, it's Cancer. Brain Cancer. Terminal brain Cancer.
They say that wen something important happens in your life, everything goes silent, and that's exactly what happened to me. I didn't hear the Doctor apologising that he couldn't help. I didn't hear him ask us if we were ok. I didn't hear the bleeping of his computer as he got an email. The only thing I was focused on was the face of my little girl, as she sat there, emotionless. At first, I thought she didn't understand what was going on. But, as I looked into those big, innocent eyes, I knew she understood. She understood something that no child, or even adult, should have to understand. Morgan understood that she was dying.