When the stems that supported me throughout this young existence started to ache when I was six years old, it was a pain I had never experienced before and haven’t felt since.
The pain held me so tightly on one day that seemed usual that I couldn’t help but scream into the air and my legs couldn’t carry me any further. When my mother came to get me, she carried my small body across the hallway with the kind of stern power I’ve always admired in her.
I considered it a stroke of fate that once I hurried to the nearest hospital, they saw the signals and sent us straight to the main Royal Hospital in the closest city. Another small coincidence that I believe had a purpose at the time was my father, who was at the time working on inspecting some new construction on the same site. As a child and a mother who was unaware of her child’s suffering, our connection with my father was confusing and unstable as a result of his abuse, yet this provided us with some solace.
You can read my narrative of his narcissistic abuse and my conflicts with his death here if you’d want some information on my early life.
To determine what was causing me to feel as though my legs were being torn apart by a medieval torture device, they started a variety of tests. My mother’s eyes held a fear I had never seen before, and she spoke a phrase that I had heard countless times but couldn’t really comprehend its significance. Cancer. Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, to be precise. Too many white blood cells are produced in this type of cancer, which attacks the body. These blood cells combat infections, and they have an impact on the bones, particularly the bone marrow.
Leukemia patients’ bone marrow produces blood cells that are ineffective for our bodies, making it impossible for our systems to keep us safe from pathogens. after filling the.
