The doctor stares at me with his beady black eyes, sighing and running his hands through his thick, curly black hair. “Hello, dear,” he says gently when he sees me, and I grip Mum’s hand so hard that I can see her face turn pale.

“Hello,” Mum says, her voice cracking slightly. Her back is completely straight, like a pencil pointing sharply up to the sky, and her eyes cold and fearful. She squeezes my hand back, and we both stand there for a second, staring at the doctor as he stands up from his chair and walks briskly towards us, holding out his hand for Mum to shake. 

“My name is Dr. Anderson, and it’s my pleasure to be able to help you today. Here at UCLA, we work hard to make sure that everyone can have a healthy and thriving future.” He recites the words like a robot with a speech already prepared, and it’s all that I can take to keep from cringing and running out the door. My heart is thumping wildly, my whole future rests on this man and what he does to me.

Mum stares at his hand disdainfully, making no move as if to shake it. “We know that,” she says sharply, and she takes a step towards him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and terror. “But what can you give my daughter?”

He nods and gestures towards several chairs in front of his desk, and me and Mum sit down together. He sits down on his own wheeled chair and gives us a watery smile. “I can assure you that we are doing everything that we can, Ms. Gray. Unfortunately, your daughter’s cancer is already very much rooted in her body, and we’re not sure how much we can help at this stage. We are doing what we can to prolong the symptoms as she begins the chemotherapy, and afterwards the transplant- and I assure you, we will find a donor- but at the current stage, we can’t expect to get rid of the cancer completely.”

I lower my head, fighting to keep tears from popping into my eyes. I knew that, I don’t know why it hurts me so much to hear him so that, but I know that I’ll fight. Even if they can’t get rid of the cancer, then I’ll give it everything I can. I won’t let this cancer crush me. But I’m scared that it already has.

There is a moment of silence, and Dr. Anderson folds his hands together and stares at us intently before he begins typing some notes on a large computer next to him. “I assume you’re ready to begin the chemotherapy today?”

“She’s ready,” Mum says quickly, but he looks past her and meets my eyes.

“I want to hear from your daughter, if you please.”

My whole body seems frozen, my tears blurring the world around me into a fading grey. I can barely manage a nod, barely manage to mumble a “Yes, sir”, and the words slip off my tongue and into the cold, sterile air.

“Very good, my dear. I know this takes a lot of courage, but you’re very brave to be here today. We’re going to help you as much as we can, okay?” His voice changes when he’s talking to me, like I’m some kind of a baby who can’t understand what he’s talking about. I nod slowly, standing up and brushing dust off of my stiff black dress.

He takes my hand, and his hand is cold and clammy. I force myself not to pull away as he stands up and walks me down the hall, and Mum trails behind us with her jaw clenched together and her hands balled into fists. She’s as scared as I am. Maybe more.

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We spin around the corner, and as he swings open the thick metal door to reveal a room that takes my breath away.

It’s a huge room, full of large, comfy couches and a thick rug on the floor. Everywhere I see people, sitting on couches with needles pressed into their arms, doctors sitting next to them, children gathered around them, husbands, mothers, siblings… none of them as young as me. An aching feeling courses through my body, hurt swirls around my head, desperate for a place to stop wandering and finally settle down. All of these people are just like me.

Dr. Anderson’s voice slices through my foggy mind, and I spin around to look at him and Mum.

“Now, Alyssa-” he cuts off and taps his nose thoughtfully. “\We’re going to take this slowly, and after today, you’ll have a week to rest before your second round. I’m going to give you some drugs before you start, to try to make the transition as smooth as possible. It will only last about an hour.”

“Yeah,” I mumble in agreement, clutching my hands together so hard that my knuckles gleam white.

Mum’s hand tightens around my waist, and I fight to take a shaky breath, meeting her eyes and giving a tiny nod. Her eyes are wet with tears, but I don’t cry with her. I have to stay strong. I have to fight this.

I force myself to look away as he slaps on his gloves, tightens the plastic apron around his waist, leading me slowly to a large sofa pushed against the wall. “Please do make yourself comfortable,” he says gently, adjusting the pillows for me to sit back. I lean back, my eyes on Mum the whole time.

Her face is a deathly pale, and she’s shaking wildly, tears slipping down her cheeks. She’s gripping my shoulder so hard that I have to fight not to pull away from her.

Dr. Anderson bends down onto his knee, a large needle in his right hand. He takes my hand and looks up at me with his sharp eyes. “Are you ready?” He says slowly as he wipes a wet cloth smoothly over my hand.

I rub a lock of my hair slowly between my thumb and forefinger, breathing in the smell of the shampoo I lathered on it last night. “I’m ready,” I breathe, and I look up directly at Mum, not tearing my eyes away from her even when I feel the sharp pain in my hand and I know that the needle has gone in. I feel gauze wrapping slowly around my hand, and I let my hand fall to my lap, looking down at the needle protruding from beneath my skin. Right now, it’s completely empty, just sitting there waiting, waiting for something to plug into it, to give it what it needs to fight the disease.

But fighting requires sacrifice. Victory requires death.

And so, as the doctor leads the IV over to the couch, jams the liquid into my skin, I close my eyes and breath in slowly, relaxing my body fully against the couch and taking deep breaths- in and out, in and out. Mum watches me closely, and I fight against the fear threatening to light up my face, against the tears trying to shove their way into my eyes. I can’t let them come, can’t let them touch me, can’t let them be part of the journey I know I have to take.

I watch the liquid slowly drip, the drops of water flowing down the long tube and spiraling into my hand, it’s steady beat like an echo of an old, forgotten song that nobody wanted to sing.

The doctor stays there with me for a mere moment before he goes off to talk to someone else, leaving me and Mum alone with the needle and strangers across from us with nothing in common with us except for the treatment that they are receiving. The two of us stay in silence for a long time, until Mum finally clears her throat, her eyes fixed on the needle protruding from my hand.

“Look, let’s get your head shaved right away, okay? To spare us having to watch your hair fall out piece by piece.”

I rub my fingers along the tube, shrugging my shoulders and struggling not to meet her eyes. “Okay.” I struggle to sound careless but my voice cracks and she knows how scared I am.

She shifts in her seat, massaging her forehead delicately, her face twisted in terrified horror. “I’ll take you after work tomorrow.”

A dull ache washes over my body, and I mumble, “Can’t you stay with-”

But she cuts me off, her voice bitter with crushed hopes and confused fragments of memories. “I will take you after work tomorrow,” she says again, and the catch in her voice tells me once and for all that I shouldn’t ask again.