Day 123:
Today is hell.  I've been puking up liquid for two minutes and it won't stop coming.  It burns my throat when it comes up. It hurts my stomach and my hopes every time it comes up, but these things don't seem to matter. Not to the chemicals causing my stomach to convulse and reject the mixture of medicines within it.

I cough up what I hope is the last of it, but I keep my head hanging over the toilet as I hold onto the side of the sink as if for dear life because I know if I let go my body will simply collapse. I don't, at present, have the strength to hold it up right by myself. Between the puking and the crying and the uninvited guest that has taken up residence on my lymph nodes and drained my energy as much as it possibly could, I simply can't hold myself up without the sink.

The sink is a godsend.

I wait here, in this Friday/Saturday night position for three minutes, or what I presume to be three minutes.  No more fluids climb their way up my to my throat and force their way out of my mouth.  My stomach is no longer doing the most unfortunate type of summersaults.

I'm fine... generally speaking.

I slowly stand up, tears still falling from my eyes, though I've not given them permission either.  I flush the toilet, only just now realizing how I'd forgotten to before standing up, then I wash my hands.

I wash my mouth.

I wash my face.

I look at what's left of me in the mirror.  I usually have my hair wrapped up the way mommy taught me.  Wrap it around from front to back, twist it tightly, then wrap it around itself and put it in a knot.  She bought me a different wrap for every type of outfit.

One for school, it matches the uniform.  Two for formal occasions, they don't happen much, but the silver wrap and the gold wrap go perfectly with any type of dress and jewelry I'd wear to a formal anything.  Three for casual occasions, I only ever wear the black one, but the white one and the black and white embroidered one are both used well enough to justify the purchase.

I'm not wearing a wrap right now, though. My head is bare and the strands of hair that are left make me look like one of those cartoon characters that you always say should just go bald.

I don't have the heart to shave it, though.

My hair was my pride, so now my pride is gone. My heart is broken. Nothing is left.

Nothing but the shell of a young lady that stares back at me.

I leave the bathroom, done with torturing myself with what was and what won't be again for several months, maybe a year or more.

I leave and lay on the couch, clutching my stomach as it feels as if something else is still trying to claw its way up. It must be my stomach itself which wishes to be free because I'm sure there's not even any water left inside it to be released.

"I threw up," I say to my older sister, whose been taking care of me while mommy is away at her conference in New York City. I've been regretting telling her I'd be fine during my long day without her ever since I woke up this morning. As it says in the song from How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying, it's been a long day.

"Ok," my sister responded.

"But I already drank all the water my doctor said I had to drink. Do I have to do it again?"

"I don't know... I'll call mommy and ask."

It seemed like a question I should already know the answer to. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I had already had all these ideas, all these preconceived notions about what it would be like based on its representation in various forms of media- mainly movies, though news and books certainly didn't help any. Yet, I had rarely felt truly nauseous, though my stomach definitely felt uneasy at times. In fact, more often I got God-awful headaches and a burning sensation inside my nose, though I never informed my doctor about either for no other reason than that I didn't want to.

But this is the first time I've ever thrown up. It's awful and I hate it, but I expected it to be my day in and day out. I expected to be in the hospital 24/7 and to be told not to travel at all.

I guess that's just with really extreme cases of cancer or maybe just particular types or maybe I'm a lucky SOB because I went to a water park in Pennsylvania and then to Georgia for my mom's class reunion (and some away from home time) while I was going through chemo.

"Ok, mommy said that the doctor said that the water was just to flush the medicine out of your system, so you don't have to drink all of that water all over again since throwing up did the job," my sister finally said after getting off the phone. "But mommy said you have to drink at least three glasses of water before bed to rehydrate."

I sighed a long grunt of a sigh. I hate drinking water and I really just want to sleep. I feel like crap, I have a PSAT in the morning, and I really just want to make it all stop and sleep for the next 10 years.

But I do as I'm told.

When it comes to being sick, I'm not stupid enough not to listen to mommy. She's never been wrong, never. She's said stuff like "gargle salt water" which makes no sense as a way to combat a sore throat, but it worked. "Drink some ginger ale," "drink water," "stop eating dairy"... It's all worked and I don't understand why or how. I highly doubt there's any scientific proof behind it, but it works.

It's just one of those mom things, you know?

I drink the three cups of water as quickly as I can and drag myself to back to bed at 7:30 pm.  Well, 7:34...

I lay in bed, still feeling that unbearable pain in my stomach and willing it to go away along with the tears that intrude my sleep time.  I twist and turn, restless as the pain doesn't subside even in the least and I begin wishing I held some religious beliefs so that I could pray to someone and have faith they'd do what they could to help.

But I don't.

I lay in my pain and my suffering, flipping through all the religions in my mind and figuring out logically which one's god I should pray to before giving up and praying to all the ones I know.

I only know three.

Day 124:
Today is limbo.

I don't know which of the three gods I prayed to answered my prayer or if my body and mind eventually just gave up and let me sleep, but at least I eventually got to sleep and wake up at 6:30am, just in time to rush around the house so I can catch the bus.

I'm still uncomfortable, but thankfully I'm in no pain.  My mind isn't all there at all and I feel like I'm just going through motions, but I'm here, I'm not hurting, and I'm stubborn as my seventh grade history teacher in his teaching of how Columbus discovered America even after I reminded him that you can't discover something that's already been discovered.

My sister, upon seeing my clearly unfocused state, reminds me that my guidance counselor did say I could take my PSAT another time because today was the day after my treatment and she could probably still do something even though this was last minute.  I remind her that I'm completely fine before grabbing the toast I made myself for breakfast and the lunch I'd made myself (which consisted solely of snack foods).

Even as the day moves forward, I can't remember any of it.  I can't focus on any of it.  I'm unsure of if its reality or a lucid dream at times, but my mind isn't so hazy that I can't take a standardized test.  That I can do.  It's easier than trying to focus in class and PSATs don't count much in 10th grade anyways.

Day 126:
Today I find out that there is a heaven.

Well, not literally.  I wake up and go to school as I usually do, feeling like myself instead of the weakling I felt like three days ago or the shell I felt like two days ago.  Third period I have chemistry and we have a quiz.

56%

Yes, I failed it that badly.  To be fair, I didn't study much.  She told us on Monday and between Monday and today I've had chemo, a PSAT and even if I didn't have one I wouldn't have studies because I wouldn't have remembered a thing I read, and a lot of work to catch up on.  So... it was bad timing to say the least.

Mrs. Winter pulls me aside at the end of the day having already graded the quizzes.  "I graded your quiz and you failed it," she states concerned as she shows me my test.  My heart drops a little but I know I can bring my grade up from that and I expected a grade like that anyway.

She continues to speak.  "It occurred to me that I may have told you all about the quiz while you were out.  Did I forget to tell you about it?"

"Uh... Yeah..." I respond.

"I thought so.  Well, you can make it up after school next week. When can you come?"

"Monday?"

"Are you sure?  You don't need more time than that!"

"No... I can take it Monday," I assure her.  She accepts it and walks away as I make my way toward the bus.

I don't usually take advantage of people's concern for me, I mean I even told my guidance counselor I didn't need to take the PSAT on a different day and I refuse to let any of my classmates know about what's happening with me.  But retaking that quiz was an opportunity.  I knew about it and all, but it's not like chemo didn't affect my ability to study for it, so retaking it wasn't completely taking advantage, was it?

It's too late.  I get on the bus and pull out my chemistry notebook.  I might as well study.