This is the essay that I need to hand up to the teacher. The prompt was "saying goodbye". I don't know if it's suitable. All help will be greatly appreciated.
It can never happen to me. That was what I told myself. The doctors told me something wholly different. "Test results have shown that you're suffering from pancreatic cancer. Treatment includes radiotherapy, chemotherapy and surgery. However, you must realize that there is no known cure for pancreatic cancer. These treatments serve only to prolong your life and increase the quality of it..." I tune the doctor out as I sat on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the white wall behind him, admonished with Tweety-birds and hearts.
That's the problem with kiddie hospital rooms, they come with cartoon characters. I thought absentmindedly, as I fiddled with my long hair. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to laugh till tears roll down my cheeks. "...I'll leave you to rest," The doctor, ending his "speech" and exited the room, only to be replaced with anxious relatives. Their faces blurred into one as my eyes closed involuntarily and I sank down into the welcoming darkness.
I awoke. The events of the previous day had finally caught up with me. I am going to die, I thought, strangely calm. I was so scared that I had forgotten even how to cry. I am only fifteen and I am going to die. How can the doctors tell me my expiration date? How long do I have to do the things I want to? Study hard. Get good results. Make my parents proud. Fall in love. Kiss a boy. Laugh. Cry. How long do I have to... say goodbye? One day, one week, one month, one year, one lifetime?
It is time to make changes. I have tons of people to say goodbye to. Tons of promises to keep. Tons of books to study. Tons of homework to complete. Tons of people to befriend. I pulled out the IV stuck in my left hand and stepped onto the cold tiled floor. A wave of nausea hit me and my knees buckled. Because my determination was stronger than the nausea, I remained standing. You have dealt me a cruel blow, world. But I'll show you who's boss. I thought. I picked up the telephone at the side of the hospital room. I wiped away my tears as I dialed the first number.
"Hey, Mandy! How are you?" I asked, faking cheeriness. No point upsetting them.
"Okay, I guess. Heard you're hospitalized? Anything serious?"
I shrugged. "I hope not. Maybe I'll have an operation and get an interesting scar to show you after my stint?" I lied, laughing as she laughed.
"Well, get well soon. When will you be back anyway?"
"I well... I am not very sure. So I'll see you around?"
"Awesome,"
"Goodbye, Mandy. Sorry I wasn't there for you when your grandmother died,"
"No biggie,"
I disconnected the phone and dialed another number. Soon, I had called almost all of my friends. And everybody asked me the same question, "When will you be back?" I gave an evasive answer and told them goodbye and how sorry I was at not being there for them.
More test results come in, charting my progress with cancer. Friends came and went as I started losing my appetite. My family stayed on. Then, I started vomiting constantly, some of my relatives stopped visiting me. My parents and siblings stayed on. After that, I lost my hair, a few strands at a time. I was in pain constantly and I believed, addicted to painkillers. I was in and out of consciousness at times, almost always on a euphoria created by the painkillers. The people who cared most about me stayed on steadfastly by my side. My parents, my siblings, my grandmother, my favourite aunt. For that I was grateful. They were my pillars of support.
"An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship." How I could relate to that saying. How I knew it to be true. My family were the hardest to say goodbye to. When my doctor gave me another four weeks to live, I decided it was time. To say goodbye. I got my family together with me. Saying goodbye was difficult. But I need to say goodbye to them-the people who loved me the most.
The tears came. Two months too late.
This is a very evocative and moving essay. I'm sure your teacher will like it, provided that you were allowed to write narrative fiction rather than an expository essay on the topic. (You may want to check in with the teacher to be sure.)
Forum members, take heed: Read this piece and think about what makes it so powerful. It's the details! The Tweety-bird wallpaper. The exact number of months. The dialogue. These are elements that make a story specific and therefore moving. Even in non-fiction, the same emotional effect can be achieved by judicious inclusion of evocative details.
And now, some critique:
I tune the doctor out as I sat on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the white wall behind him, admonished with Tweety-birds and hearts.
Notice that you change verb tense, from present ("tune") to past ("sat") in the middle of the sentence. Watch out for that. Writers sometimes like to use present tense when writing of the past in order to enhance the sense of immediacy of the story. That is acceptable, but only if you are able to have the discipline to carry the present tense all the way through.
