Sick Creative Writing

Sick It had been a long, rainy day. Some cold, pre-November weather. School work piled up on me quickly, and the conditioning workouts after school only became longer and harder. It was late, and I was taking a much needed shower when my mother knocked on the bathroom door and told me we needed to talk, I didn’t think much of it, we always went to each other for advice about life drama, or any other issue we faced during the day, so I continued washing my hair. But she shared drama I was not prepared for.
Once I dried off, I put on some warm pajamas, and stepped into her room where she sat slouching on her bed. My sister was across from her. The wind outside blew hard against the windows, the house creaked against it’s force. The heat from the vents filled the house. The little family dog was wrapped up in the blankets and

But we are healthy now, and we hope to stay that way for as long as possible.
For a long time, I couldn’t talk about it to anyone, not even my family members, or closest friends. If I tried to explain to them why I was down, my throat seemed to close, I couldn’t mouth the words, my body would not let me speak. It was like a dirty secret I couldn’t tell, or a curse that wouldn’t break until I accepted that the problem was there, and there was nothing I could do to fix it.
This wasn’t the worst emotion I had ever felt, but it was up there. That feeling of wanting so bad to help someone, or wanting to change the course of events, but you can’t. There’s nothing you can do to change anything. You’re powerless. Like a little ant in the hands of a curious child.
This event was fatalistic, bound to happen, nothing to stop it, nothing to prevent it, and it was hard to accept it, but we did. We overcame. It could’ve been a whole lot worse. She could have been diagnosed too late, the cancer could have spread too far, we might have never even caught it. But we