Download Living With Cancer. A Collection of Essays from the Gilda's Club New York City Teen Essay Contest PDF

TitleLiving With Cancer. A Collection of Essays from the Gilda's Club New York City Teen Essay Contest
File Size2.1 MB
Total Pages138
Table of Contents
                            Title Page
A note from Gilda's Club CEO, Lily Safani
A note from the Editor, Tonya Hurley
A Special Note from Gilda's Club NYC Ambassador, EMMA STONE
1 About Me
1 Strength in Normalcy
2 A Relay for My Life
3 A Different Route
4 Dreams Deferred
5 A Suburban Life
6 The Broccoli Rabe Blog Story
7 Cancer...Cancer
8 Life is a Journey, Not a Destination
9 Me and My Leukemia
10 Cancer Kickoff
2 My Parents
11 A Soft Blow
12 Aloha Mahuakine: A Story in Pictures
13 An Inspiration to Us All
14 It Was Something
15 My Greatest Accomplishment
16 Untitled
17 Our New Lives with Cancer
18 On The Sidelines
3 Brothers, Sisters, and BFFs
19 The Sibling Story
20 The Strongest Mother
21 One Dreadful Thing
22 The Contradictions of Cancer
23 The Unbreakable Bond
24 The Ripple Effect
25 Indelible
4 My Family
26 Nana
27 A Yellow Bracelet
28 Uncle Santa
29 Always In My Heart
30 Thank You
31 The Emotional Rollercoaster
32 Diagnosis
Document Text Contents
Page 69

Once the chemo got more frequent and intense, she had to move to 16 East at
St. Vincent’s where she was receiving treatment, only really leaving briefly to go
to the cancer center in the East Village. My sister and I went to Barrow Street
Nursery School just a few blocks away from the hospital, and every day after
school we would visit. That year, my grandma and great-aunt moved to New
York to help. My sister and I had a fantastic babysitter Lori helping us, and so
many of my mom’s friends came to visit her.

Page 137



By: Cassidy Latham

You can’t make cancer sound beautiful. Dying isn’t an art.
That’s all you can manage to say. Because it’s midnight and your throat is

knotted. Your eyes burn red and you can’t bear to look in the mirror.
You’re sitting at a red light with your cousin on the way home from the

hospital. And he's not sure what to do when you start crying. And all that you
can see is her shaking, and her eyes flickering helplessly, and the IV pulsing
morphine beneath her ghostly skin. And as of 2:06 a.m., you’ll never see her

The night is cruel. When it’s pitch black and all hope has gone with the
casket spread. They expect your emptiness to be filled with the skin-deep
sorrows of cold apologies.

Sometimes memories are cruel. Sometimes emotions are uncontrollable.
Sometimes you follow a cherry wood casket into a church. Your chest is
hyperventilating, and you keep your eyes on the cross, so you don’t have to look
anybody in the eye. And here you sit, and there she lies. Cancer has stolen
another away.

Her smile’s long gone. She was taken from your heart and put in the ground.
And she won’t be the only one that cancer will take from you. And she can never
give you another birthday card, or come to your school concert and hug you
afterword. She can’t show off about you to her neighbors, or give you just one
last smile.

And the white rose you put on her casket will die, too.
You’d sit at the kitchen table. She’d read your favorite book, and the safety of

her words filled you with warmth. It’s all fun and games when you’re three years
old, isn’t it? But you’re not three years old anymore. So you held her hand. And
the tears streamed down your face, and you got home that night and screamed at

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