I was always an active daughter in the household. I used to argue and fight with my dad over dumb things for the fun of it. It was always something we did for fun, but as I got older, my dad's leg happened to get weaker. All I knew was that his leg was "bad." Both my Mom and Dad made it sound like it was purely because of stress or work or aging. Years later, a week or two before my sixteenth birthday, my dad ended up going to the hospital to get surgery on his leg. By then I knew something was wrong, but I knew my parents didn't want to worry me with whatever was going on. That was when my mom sat my brother and I down and told us he had cancer.
Everything suddenly became clear as to why my dad was having trouble walking and was in almost constant pain, whether it was major or minor. I wasn't scared about losing him to cancer, I was certain he'd live since they found the cancer early on. I knew he was going to be fine, but that didn't stop me from worrying about what was to come. I didn't know how long he'd be hospitalized, nor did I know if/when he'd fully recover. I didn't know how the surgery would affect my dad, both physically and mentally. I was worried he wouldn't be able to work again. I was worried the surgery wouldn't be successful. I worry enough over the smallest things, but when it comes to bigger problems, my mind immediately falls into a vortex or concerns.
A few months prior to my father's operation, I had developed a close relationship with someone going through cancer problems as well. I didn't know when I first met them, but they later explained their condition. I found out they had lung cancer, and they played it off like it was nothing. Although I was concerned, I reluctantly believed them and went about our conversation, until they started coughing up blood and was immediately rushed to the hospital. This happened on more than one occasion, and I vividly remember how these incidents unfolded. I remember how sudden it happened, how they refused to stop texting me on the way to the hospital, saying things would be okay. I remember talking to their cousin while they were being cared for. I remember how weak and hoarse they sounded over the phone, and I especially remember being told how their heart monitor suddenly displayed a flat line.
Three times this happened. Three times I almost lost them. Three times I could've never seen or heard them again.
The feeling of almost losing someone is among one of the most horrifying feelings in the whole world. It's like falling asleep on a plane then waking up to it spiraling out of the sky. (Sorry if I made anyone's fear of planes worse.)
I'd be lying if I said I was calm and collected during the entire event. I was anything but calm and collected. I stayed close to my device, holding it to my chest and anxiously waiting to be updated on the situation. I tried my best to remain normal while I ate dinner with my family and excused my self to call them and ensure they were alive and breathing. Thankfully they had regained consciousness and could speak, although they sounded beyond exhausted. Even when I insisted they should rest, they wanted to makes sure I was okay.
To this day, the two of them are cancer free. My dad is gradually walking more and more, even if it's with a slight limp. As for the other person, they've completely recovered, although their lungs are a bit weak every now and then. I'm incredibly fortunate to not have lost anyone to cancer. I'm immensely thankful that I get to see and talk to those who were affected and beat cancer, both my friends and family, and the families of my friends as well.
To those going through cancer or who may know someone going through it themselves, please remain hopeful. Don't focus on the negatives, stay positive that they'll recover. Cherish the time you get to spend with those you love, and fight as hard as you can against cancer.
