Time To De-Liver
I was sitting on a cold, metal table in a stark, white room smelling of over sanitization when I heard a soft tap on the door. The doctor was here. I stared up at him in my paper-thin dressing gown, eyes wide with hope, and yearning for him to say the words I longed to hear. Much to my dissatisfaction, however, his eyes looked tired and dull. His wrinkled face frowned, and he shook his head. “Polly, you have Hepatocellular carcinoma in your liver,” he said sadly. “You might have a year to live if you’re lucky. If we can stop the spread, perhaps longer.” Cancer. My heart almost stopped. How? Why me? My mother grabbed a fistful of tissues and clutched them so tight her knuckles turned the same color as the white Kleenex. She let out a loud sob as the doctor continued to ramble on and on about Hepatocellular carcinoma. “Treatment is always an option; we can try for sure, but—” …show more content…
“You basically just said I’m going to die. Who wants to die at sixteen? Who wants to die ever? What’s the point of life if you’re just going to die?” The doctor stared at me with an open mouth for a second before quickly shutting his jaw. He began to talk but stopped as if he knew better. He pulled out an old watch, checking the time before putting it back in his pocket. The seconds of silence passed intensely as I shoot icy glares at the floor and roll my
I was sitting on a cold, metal table in a stark, white room smelling of over sanitization when I heard a soft tap on the door. The doctor was here. I stared up at him in my paper-thin dressing gown, eyes wide with hope, and yearning for him to say the words I longed to hear. Much to my dissatisfaction, however, his eyes looked tired and dull. His wrinkled face frowned, and he shook his head. “Polly, you have Hepatocellular carcinoma in your liver,” he said sadly. “You might have a year to live if you’re lucky. If we can stop the spread, perhaps longer.” Cancer. My heart almost stopped. How? Why me? My mother grabbed a fistful of tissues and clutched them so tight her knuckles turned the same color as the white Kleenex. She let out a loud sob as the doctor continued to ramble on and on about Hepatocellular carcinoma. “Treatment is always an option; we can try for sure, but—” …show more content…
“You basically just said I’m going to die. Who wants to die at sixteen? Who wants to die ever? What’s the point of life if you’re just going to die?” The doctor stared at me with an open mouth for a second before quickly shutting his jaw. He began to talk but stopped as if he knew better. He pulled out an old watch, checking the time before putting it back in his pocket. The seconds of silence passed intensely as I shoot icy glares at the floor and roll my