It's been a week since Hiccup died. The shock and grief has been giving me the most horrendous migraines all week. To make matters worse, my vision has been getting blurry very rapidly, mostly on one side. Mom has already made an appointment with the eye doctor to see if I need glasses. It reminds me of the time that Hiccup told me that he actually needed glasses as well.

000Flashback000

We sat in my room, working on a history project. We weren't quite dating yet, just really good friends. Hiccup was researching some information on New Orleans with my ancient laptop, and I was writing down our notes on a poster board that we'd picked out together. I noticed Hiccup was squinting at the computer screen while he researches, as if he's really tired. When I ask him why, he tells me that he actually needs glasses. "Reading glasses actually, but that they are seventy-five dollars. Dad said we didn't have the money, so I never got them." What? Now I am really confused. His dad made good money as a mechanic, where did it all go? Hiccup wasn't telling me something, there is something he's hiding. I was definitely going to figure it out, before it made his life at home worse than it already was.

000End Flashback000

The police investigation revealed that Stoic was a heavy drinker and gambler. He had gambled away so much money that at times Hiccup had to get a job just to keep some food on the table. Even then, Hiccup sometimes went hungry. But he never complained. I never heard him say he was hungry, and he never scarfed down his food. He sat and quietly ate, never eating a whole lot of food. I don't know how he could stand it, but he did. He acted just like every other kid in the school, except that he was well behaved and polite. How? How did he remain so happy all the time? Pondering this thought, I continue with my chores.

Today is the day that I get my eyes checked to see what is wrong. They will suddenly be bad, then clear up a bit. I sit in the waiting room while the doctor talks to mom, then to me. I tell her about my blurriness, and she looks concerned, almost scared. Like the I-hope-it's-not-what-I-think-it-is look that you hope you will never get from a doctor. We go into the darkroom, with all the machines, and I sit in the chair. "Now place your chin in the chin rest, and look straight at the red hot-air balloons." she says. I follow her instructions, looking at the very out-of-focus red blobs. I hear the clicks of the doctor taking pictures of my eye.

The doctor has a grimace on her face as she leads me to the room with the chart and the eye-clearing-1-2-3-thing. The doctor pokes her head in the room. "Mrs. Hofferson, could you follow me please?" Mom leaves the room, and I wait. About three minutes later, the two enter again, and Mom looks as if somebody hit her in the face with a pan. She plops down in the chair, and looks blankly at me, without any recognition.

"Astrid." the doctor says. "There isn't any kind or gentle way to put this. I think you may have brain cancer." I stare, not understanding. There's no way I could have cancer. No one in our family has cancer. No one in my immediate family smoked. Why would I have cancer? There must be a mistake. I don't here the rest of what the doctor says, just the last bit where she's recommending other doctors to see. "The only way to confirm the cancer is a MRI., so she should get one done as soon as possible. This would also tell us how far the cancer has spread and what stage it's at." The doctor yammers on, and on, and on. I am too much in shock to register her words, so I let Mom carefully steer me to the car again, two times in one week. How could I have cancer?

000After the M.R.I.000

Cancer. What a disgusting, hideous, terrible word. Why would God create such a horrendous thing? The MRI confirmed the eye doctor's suspicion. I have cancer. Brain cancer. Oh wait, it gets better. It has spread all over my cerebrum, my frontal lobe. That is what is causing the blindness and headaches. That is what will, no doubt, kill me. They don't even think I will last a year. Mom started crying silently, tears dripping down her motionless face. I? I am terrified at what will eventually come. The chemotherapy, the surgeries, the chance of dying at any time. But at least I will be with Hiccup and Dad soon.

000Eight months later000

I lay on my white hospital bed with its clean sheets, listening to the cars on the highway. We are waiting for the results from the latest treatment to come in. Doctor Mitty pokes his head in, then enters. Just by the look on his face, I know it didn't work. "It was unsuccessful." he says, turning pages on his clipboard. "It has spread too far, and you are too weak Astrid." I nod, but Mom looks like she might cry. "Thank you doctor. You did your best." I smile a weak smile at him, and sleep.

000A week later000

As I lie on my crisp hospital bed in my room, I know I am dying. I look at Mom, who is sleeping. "Mom. Mom!" she wakes up, and looks at me through eyes rimmed with black rings left by many sleepless nights. "It's time." She nods, and starts crying again. "I don't want a big funeral, just a small memorial service. And I want to be buried next to Hiccup. Please?" She just nods, still crying. I smile at her, and she seems to understand. "Goodbye Mom." She smiles kindly at me, and kisses my cheek. "Goodbye dear." She says. I smile, and pass on.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeee…

And that's it. I'm going to call this quits, so I'm sorry to all the wonderful readers who wanted this to be a story. I am going to continue writing angst though, because I am told that I am good at it. Thank you to all my wonderful supporters, and I hope to see you soon! Also, I am not a cancer patient, nor has any of my immediate family been one, so if I get anything wrong, feel free to holler my way. Thank you again for your support.

~Yours in insanity, Joan McCreedy.