Faith dies young

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Have you ever felt a shiver creeping down your skin as your told something that sounds as fictional as a Dr.Seuss book. As if all your life you’ve lived regretting nothing but the moment you awoke that very day. Does that bring up any memories? maybe some nightmares? Because to me, its more than just a memory or a dream; to me its the climax of my life. That feeling of regret and sorrow flowing through my veins and my parents voices shrinking into a whisper and the words of an empathetic doctor constantly repeated in my mind, “..I’m sorry to tell you this, but we’ll be having to perform surgery..”  

 

  It was december 10th, 2009 and I awoke in the middle of the night in a panic of fear. Sweat stains soak the bed sheets behind me as I quickly make my way into the hallway. My body felt as if it was kept in an oven overnight, but the windows were as cold as ice. Everything but the skin around my unprotected bones felt completely fine. But I kept walking up and down the hall, looking for a way to cool down. My mind screamed sanity but my eyes slowly shut; I felt myself getting weaker and weaker. I then walked into the bathroom and took one last breath…. the next day I awoke on the bathroom floor, still as if my body was a lit candle, slowly melting as the flames grew greater and greater.

A week later, the 18th, I began getting daily headaches and my eyes were as red as a rose. I remember being unable to go to school and vomiting without eating a single thing. I felt my life being sucked out of me, but still I kept my mouth shut and said nothing because I did not feel like the hospital was needed to treat “such a small, little” stomach ache.

A few days later my legs became weak, migraines took control of anything above my neck and anything under was in constant pain. I didnt have any option but to tell my mother how terribly ill I felt, but even after all the constant limping and coughing, she thought of it as a stomach flu and sent me to the store to buy myself a ginger ale. After that I just let it be, I hid the pain and kept in my room all day either sleeping or watching movies. This went on for about a week, until my parents walked in on me while I was “sleeping” and saw my body shaking as though under fear of some sort of terrible “nightmare” I was supposedly having.


  The next day, New Years Eve, I awoke in the hospital with tubes and wires running through my right arm. My mother was sitting next to the bed smiling, as though happy to see me awake, and the doctor later made his way into the room; her voice sounded safe and humble, but the words she spoke made my heart race faster and faster. “Your sons appendix is inflamed, Im sorry to tell you this, but we’ll be having to perform surgery tomorrow morning.” Those words danced around my head as I slowly closed my eyes and went soundly to sleep. That day I dreamt of fireworks, and promised myself that never again will I lie and argue over something that is clearly correct.

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