My Journey

From mind to paper and back again.

My first marked piece of fiction

on November 11, 2008

The crystal white sheets sparkled in their own special sterile way, the smell of bleach from where the orderly had just mopped and dried the polished floor and the nurses uniforms were all pristine. As she looked around the ward the fear of the operation she was about to have set in. She was having a tumour removed and at the moment her pride and self image had been thoroughly injured. She was still a teenager and was having to fight off cancer. While she lay in the bed waiting for her mum to arrive she thought of the day she had found out. She’d only gone back to the hospital for some different painkillers because the ones she had weren’t working. It was as if they’d given her sweets instead of tablets they did that little. She remembered being sat down in the office with her specialists colleague explaining that the tablets weren’t working and then came the dreaded moment. The one that she hadn’t been able to get out of her head ever since.

‘I’m glad you came in, we needed to talk to you about the date for the operation to remove the tumour.’

She felt her knees go week, had she not already been sat down she would have fallen into the chair.

‘T… tumour?’ She managed to stammer through the tears threatening to burst their banks and overflow onto her face. The lady explained what this meant, that she needed an operation and soon. She explained exactly what would happen before during and even after the operation . None of this went in though, there was one word circling incessantly in her mind – Cancer. After signing the documents and walking out of there in a daze she went to her Mum’s house, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.

She came out of the memory and touched her fingers to her cheeks, they came back wet. She was still crying now, months later there was still one word running through her . She looked up as her Mum walked in a teddy bear in her hands not much use though, the theatre had to be sterile. No teddies allowed there, no comfort. Just a stark cold operating table. Within seconds she was in a wheel chair, on her way to the preparation room, the two bands on her wrists tight and itching – one told the doctors and surgeons who she was, the other what she was allergic to. The doctor put a mask over her face and told her to count backwards from ten, he said not to worry. The gas tasted like the sweets, Palma Violets. She got to seven before the purple mist clouded her eyes. The next thing she remembered was waking up, being dosed up with morphine and being in a whole lot of pain. The scar on her neck was ugly, one of a kind. It would be there all of her life a constant reminder of what she went through, a constant reminder of what she beat. If only she could look at it in that light, she had fought it and won. Now was the time for moving on and making a new start of her life.

Unfortunately her self image was shattered, her self confidence and motivation taken with it to rock bottom. This injury to herself was harder than having the operation, harder than hearing she had cancer. She had a scar in a very real place, somewhere everyone could see, somewhere that she would see every time she looks in the mirror. It was something that she would be reminded of everyday, and everyday it still made her feel the way she did when she came round from the operation. In pain, upset and without motivation. It was as if she was the Moon fighting a constant battle to make its way around the Earth just one more time but having to start that same battle over at the start of each new day. The feelings never went away, never changed. She was learning to accept them, it was a hard acceptance since so much had changed, her job was new, her relationship had died a painful death and her family were all treating her like she was a breakable object on a bumpy ride, which in a way she was. As time went on though the more she healed and the more the ride smoothed out. The scar faded though the thought of the injury hadn’t, her life’s in the process of being rebuilt a new boyfriend, looking for a new job, moved house and a whole new start. What more could she want or need? Hope? Faith? Love? All three?

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One response to “My first marked piece of fiction

  1. nick says:

    mine hasnt been marked yet.
     
    What grade did you get?

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