literature

::Magic Wand::

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Literature Text

There were thousands of people; maybe even a hundred thousand and as I walked through the crowd of white and pink, I clutched my mother’s hand until we found a clear spot to wait for our walk to begin. My biggest fear was not being able to finish. I was afraid I could not walk the whole 3K, for I was out of shape and the day was hot. But I did not let fear stop me. Today was not for me. Today was for her.

“I have breast cancer.” These four words tore my world apart. Thoughts of my mother possibly losing the battle against breast cancer brought me to instant tears but with hugs she comforted me, telling me she’d be all right. “Hey, I’ll be fine. Don’t cry, sweetie. I’ve already talked to the doctors. I’m going to get a lumpectomy which will be followed by six weeks of radiation.” I still cry. I am still afraid. My mother has breast cancer. I wish I had a magic wand to get rid of it.

The 3K walk begins and along with our friends, I walk by my mother’s side, surrounded by people I didn’t know, but we all knew why we were here. We were here at this Race for the Cure because of a friend. A mother. A daughter. A sister. A cousin. A grandmother. We were here because our lives had been affected by breast cancer and we were going to get to that finish line, to prove we were strong—to prove there is hope.

My mother is weak. The lumpectomy went wrong. She had to go back the next day because they nicked something. Her breast had been swelling with fluid. She is weak and I cannot help her. I can only comfort and so I feel weak for not being able to do anything. Still it is not over. She will have to go through radiation and all that goes through my head is wishing she didn’t have to do any of this. Her worries were my worries. Her fears were my fears. And our worries and our fears revolved around money and the outcome. A mother of three working a full-time job was trying to pay for all this, keep up with three kids, and a job. Even with my help there was much to bear. I wish I had a magic wand. I wish I could take it all away.

We scream. We cheer. We raise our cameras high to take the amazing shot before us. As we peek over a hill, we can see below the swarming crowd, huddled together walking, and we know behind us is the exact same thing. There are thousands of us all working towards the same goal. And the sight is amazing. It brings tears. It brings smiles. It brings the feeling of joy and triumph. I take pictures as my mother gapes in awe, for even the photograph I had taken did not do any justice to the magnificence before us.

The radiation made her sick. Even after only two treatments, it had made her so sick, no doctor could explain it. They had never seen such a negative reaction. It would be more dangerous to keep her on radiation than anything. We sit in the doctor’s office. And he is honest to a point I cannot stand. “Beth, there is a one in five chance you will get breast cancer in your left breast again. The second time has a high chance of being worse.” “Then what options do we have?” “Well, you can either do nothing and hope for the best. But as your doctor, I would highly suggest a mastectomy. I’m not telling you what to do, but I am just letting you know.” She cries. And I cry. Why does she have to go through this? I want a magic wand.

I grow tired and hot. My mother is fine and that’s all that matters to me. But as always she worries, so slows her pace. We talk and chatter and though I see people on the sides I would like to get pictures of, I don’t have to energy to sprint over and sprint back. So I stay by her side. Though I am the one who should be proud of her, for being a survivor and coming out here today, she looks at me and says “I am proud of you.” She tells me she knows this walk is hard for me because I am sensitive to heat and out of shape. And then she thanks me for being with her today. “I’d walk 100K if I had to for you.” I say this to her. These words are true.

I wish I could make it stop. I wish I could make it go away. She is suffering both physically and emotionally. Her breast is gone now. It is gone and it will not come back. Many nights she cries herself to sleep and I feel helpless. My grandmother tells me all I can do is be there for her and I am. Some nights I sleep in bed with her and I hold her while she cries. I try my best to keep the house tidy while keeping up with my school work and my after school activities. But still it is not enough. I don’t want her to have to go through this. I find myself screaming at God to make it go away—to give me a magic wand and stop all this.

Before us is the finish line and the view is breath-taking. In the distance is the Arch and thousands swarm in that direction. We are hooting and we are hollering. We have made it to the end. I grasp my mother’s hand and she squeezes. We smile at each other because we finished our first Race for the Cure. And as we finish, I feel a part of me filled with relief. It was as if…

Lifting up my shirt, I show her what I did. My mother cries heavily. Upon my left breast I got a tattoo. The pink ribbon flows upon my flesh and on it is one word ‘mom’. For her I did this. She lost her left breast and in memory of all her suffering, I did this. When I put my shirt down, we hug and she laughs, asking me how bad it hurt. And I tell her it didn’t hurt at all, which was surprisingly the truth. We hug again and part of me believes…

…I got my magic wand but it could not make it all go away. It could only make everything just okay. But just okay was all we needed. And even today, it’s all we ask for.
:icondonotplz::iconusemyartplz:

This is my literature entry for ^JunkbyJen's Think Pink Contest. The story is true. And it made me cry writing it up. I love my mother and even if I don't win the contest, it doesn't matter. This story is written for her, so we never forget.
© 2008 - 2024 ImaginationCubed
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aalyj's avatar
This is so beautiful. Almost made me cry.