It was a Tuesday, the day my life changed forever. Slow, blurred movements clog my memory, though I remember it like the back of my hand. I had no idea at the time, but it was the start of a long treacherous journey that would take 6 months to complete.

About a month before this particular Tuesday, everything was perfectly normal. School was the same, my afternoon schedule remained full of dance classes, and my usual dinner with the family was still routine. I had no worries in the world, and was probably one of the luckiest kids in Kirkwood! I had food on the table, a warm home to resort to, and a loving circle of family and friends. What more can a 14 year old girl ask for?

This all changed one week later. Though I thought nothing of it... People get sick all the time, and my dad had a great immune system and was sure to fight the bug off fast!

That was not the case. His shortness of breath, and tiredness was soon diagnosed by the doctor as pneumonia. No one was scared. Doctors have treated many cases of pneumonia, and my Dad’s would be no different from the rest.

However, the pain in his chest was unusual, and the doctors wanted to conduct a few tests just to be on the safe side. There were cat scans and MRIs, and series of blood samples. The amount of needles at the time seemed endless, but I soon learned they were not comparable.

A few days later an odd image showed up on one of the MRIs. I was told it was a tumor the size of a kiwi, right in the middle of my dad’s chest. They didn’t know what caused this growth, or really what it was.

So they did more tests.

The test that would ultimately determine what was growing in my father was rapidly approaching. The surgery took about an hour. He laid on a table, only half conscious, while the surgeons streamed a needle into his body to take a sample of the material.
“Ssssup, ssssup,” was the way my dad described how the biopsy sounded.

A few days later, it was Tuesday, and the call came. I was standing next to my mom, who was sitting at the counter.

Her voice suddenly filled with worry. I somehow knew, deep in the pit of my stomach that whatever the call was about, it was not good.

I loaded into the car for dance, still not fully aware of what was going on. And suddenly, out of the blue, my strong as an ox mother broke down into uncontrollable sobs. I felt so helpless, just sitting there, quietly. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to soothe her, because I was still unaware of what the test had revealed.

Then, through her muffled cries, the earsplitting words came out.

“Your father has cancer...It’s called Lymphoma.”

I didn’t know what to feel. I had never before experienced anything like this. Only in my nightmares have I imagined a family member having cancer. There are so many books and stories on the news about the devastating effects of this mysterious disease. Never in a million years did I think my father would soon go through the chemotherapy treatments, and doctors office’s, the needles, and radiation. Never.

The car ride to dance was silent, except for the occasional question from my mom, wondering if I was all right.

I played the tough girl. I pretended that I was strong and nothing could defeat me, that I didn’t need to talk to anyone, and that this horrible situation wouldn’t affect my life whatsoever. I was selfish, and had no one else in mind but myself.

We arrived at dance, and my mom walked me in. While she talked to my teachers, I kept my head held high and strode into the studio. It was very hot that night, and there was a feeling as if my head were about to explode.

After class, we headed home. I walked slowly into the house, not wanting to face my dad. But I couldn’t hide in the mud room forever, and I eventually saw him. By then however, I broke down, and could not stop the waterfall of tears streaming down my face.

We talked for a long time, and he told me everything would be okay. For a few brief minutes, I actually believed him.

It is now three months later, and my dad just finished his third round of Chemotherapy. For the most part, everything is normal. However, the constant sound of ringing phones, and meals being brought to our door is definitely out of the ordinary.


There was this time a few weeks ago that is very vivd in my mind. I was standing at the top of the stairs, and I was talking to my dad who was by the front door. By then I had gotten use to him not having any hair, but never before had I seen the exhaustion. Huge, black bags hung from his eyes. He looked nothing like the man from 4 months ago.

I feel that when this all started, he lost a piece his spirit, his drive. This, in my opinion is the hardest part of all. It is almost unbearable, having to watch one of your closest friends be injected with quarts of chemicals, and then not be able to move for a week because it is too painful, but it even harder to see him constantly so sad.

My dad is the most outgoing, and fun loving person I’ve ever met. Even though the cancer has masked that enthusiasm for the time being, I have to remember it is only temporary.

His birthday was 4 days ago, probably the best day he’s had in a very long time! I am so thankful for all the good days, when he isn't too tired to talk, and too nauseous to eat. They are what keep all of us going. And until everyday is a good day, we must stay strong, and just surround my dad with love!