Personal Narrative: How Chemotherapy Changed My Life

I hadn't been feeling like myself. I was nine years old and I had been visiting my neighborhood pediatrician's office very frequently, but apparently nothing was wrong. Then one day, I woke up and realized that I had a bump on my neck; I didn't think much of it but I showed my mom anyways. She then immediately took me to the hospital. In the cab ride to the hospital, all I could think about was what was wrong with me as I looked at the buildings zooming out of sight.
After waiting about tan hour and a half in the emergency room, I was finally examined by a doctor. They took my blood, examined my neck, and said close to nothing to my mother, and now father, who had just arrived. Another hour passed and the doctor told my parents that a biopsy was necessary to affirm their beliefs. They agreed and the surgery was done.
I came back from surgery, now in my own hospital room and spent the night there with my mom. It was April 14, 2009 and my parents get called out of the room to speak with an oncologist. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I saw my parents crying. They came back two minutes later and I finally knew what was wrong.
I started chemotherapy, whose side effects include but certainly aren’t limited to: loss of appetite, constant nausea, and of course, hairloss. On top of that, I couldn’t relate to anyone around me and I felt completely alone. The doctors treating me were some of the first white people I had ever interacted with and my family acted like I was a totally different person. No one knew how to talk to the girl with cancer, and if they did talk to me, it was about how God the Almighty was going to heal me, which I thought (still think) was a joke. I didn’t want their pity or prayers, I just wanted them to treat me like the girl they knew just two weeks