Beep. Beep. Beep.
The familiar sound of the machine that kept my lungs at work sounded as I lied still in my stale hospital bed.
Six months.
Six months left to live.
As soon as Doctor Spencer bore the news of my untimely demise, my Mother dropped to her knees.
A waterfall streamed down her pale cheeks as I watched her shattered into a million pieces.
What did I think of the whole ordeal?
I was emotionless, numb to everything in the world.
Lung cancer would be the death of me.
I was told to go home and live out my last six months as happily as possible and apparently that could only happen at home.
In truth I didn't want to go home.
I knew my Mother would send me back to school, she'd save every last ounce of hope in her bones that I would miraculously live past my six month sentencing.
I knew she wanted me to be happy and live a long life, but let's face it, I'm a dead girl walking.
After gathering all of my belongings I was told to sit in a wheel chair and my exhausted Mother rolled me out of the hospital.
Some nurses helped me into my Moms mini van and assisted with my bags, along with gently placing my oxygen tank in the back seat right behind me.
My Mom plopped into the driver's seat and started up the engine.
Home here I come.