A second time around (Opinion)

I was back again. Less than a year later.

Different hospital, yet same emotions. The same nerves and anxiety, like a jolt of energy continuously running through my system. This was the second time around. The second time she had to go through this. The second time that she could win her fight.

Every day after school, I went to the hospital. Luckily, she wasn’t too far away; about five minutes until I could see her beautiful face. Yet she came with an IV and the many thick black sharpie marks that we had seen since day one. But she was still the same woman that gave birth to me, the same woman that has taught me so many lessons in life, the same woman that would always be known as my mother.

My mother has never given up without a fight. After the first time, we knew what to expect. We knew that the recovery process consisted of walking laps around the hospital floor, adjusting to a new diet, and regaining core muscles once again. We knew it would be hard, but she never stopped working.

It broke my heart every time I had to walk into that sterilized room, full of machines and valves connected to what seems like every inch of her body. I tried to distract her, by telling her all about my boring history class, and that my favorite band was coming out with new music. I did whatever I could to make her smile, through the ups and the downs.

A couple days later, she was told that she didn’t need any extra treatments. She was free to leave. Free to leave the hospital and free to leave these days behind. It was now time to move forward. For the second time, she won her battle.

Cancer didn’t know who it was messing with.