Personal Narrative: Prostate Cancer

Who knew that three jarring words would cause a hurricane. Like any other day, I swiftly walked home after school. I skipped up to my watermelon colored room and clicked away to Candy Crush. Then my dad hollered for my brothers and me. Running down the stairs, I hoped to discuss our next tropical destination. Reaching the bottom, I entered into the kitchen only to find glistening tears beginning to swell up in my dad's eyes.
"So, there's a small problem with my health," he paused for a brief moment, "I have cancer, prostate cancer." Instantly, those three words crushed me. I felt as if I got punched in the gut while my skin turned as white as a ghost. As his best treatment, he selected “the DaVinci” robotic surgery performed by Dr. Shelhav at the University of Chicago. In four short days, it would be time.

As an eighth grader, ‘prostate cancer’ was unknown to me since my life wasn't surrounded by textbooks about cells and cancer.

I devoted my precious Candy Crush time into researching as much information as possible. I spent countless hours on the internet soon learning how intrigued I was with the world of medicine.
That Tuesday, my mom woke me up to the darkness of the world to get ready to embark on our expedition to the hospital. As we arrived, my dad got wheeled away for surgery. Afterwards, Dr. Shelhav called my mother and me into his office describing that everything went as expected, but he took a biopsy to ensure there was no nerve damage. Biopsy I quickly scribbled down in my notebook knowing I'll have to do more research.
Later that night, my mom journeyed home with my brother who was in high school while I stayed. I became intrigued by the IV’s draped down his veiny wrists, tubes coming out of his abdomen, and this dark red bloody draining balloon dangling off the side of his white bed. Never seeing half of the medical equipment or knowing what was happening, I questioned

everything.
“Why do you have to flip the balloon for the fluid to drain?” “What are you injecting into his IV?” “How can he already walk when he just had surgery?”
There was one point where Dr. Shelhav needed to remove my dad's draining tube. All I remember is that my dad inhaled, and as he exhaled a multiple foot tube slithered out like a spaghetti noodle. Even my dad did not want to look, but I had to gain a grasp upon everything I was being exposed to.
I slept on a small hard chair just to make sure I was by my dad's side the whole night helping out. As he says, I was his "little nurse". One of the nurses knew I wanted to help out, so she gave me small tasks to do.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" She asked me.
"I'm thinking of being a veterinarian".
"Animals huh? Well I believe you would be an excellent person to become a doctor" she replied.
You know what? This is what I want to do. This is where I belong. In a hospital helping others. Helping families who go through cancer and have to encounter the pain involved. In fact, the Fall after his surgery, I began volunteering, spending hours in my local hospital's emergency room, infusion center, and family birthing center. This soon became my second home.
My dad always knew I wanted to go into the medical field; however, he does not know that his illness has changed my life. I want to work my hardest to make my dad proud. My dad's biggest struggle became my reason to succeed in school and pursue my dream of becoming a doctor.