I was much too young at seventeen.
"Why do I have to face all this rage?"
I constantly wanted to scream.
When I saw kids out playing innocently,
I just did not understand.
Why am I the one going through chemotherapy?
Why did I have to have a swollen gland?
Just one of the many horrors
that crashed into me as hard as a train
was when I developed mouth sores;
I was in severe pain.
I cannot count all the ways
that I felt ill.
I was tired on most days
and often had to pop many pills.
A doctor installed a port in my chest,
so they did not have to prick my arm for IVs.
I used it for the chemo but not blood tests;
the solution they flushed it with was smelly.
The second month of having it had just begun
when the port obtained a small hole or cut.
During surgery to put in another one,
I woke up while they were stitching me shut!
Then it came time to lose my hair.
The doctor said I would for sure.
It was not fair,
all the pain I had to endure.
It began to fall out when I brushed it,
but not fast like they said it would.
I started to lose just a little bit;
I kept my hair longer than they thought I could.
Wearing a wig was hell.
It took forever to make it look okay.
I was afraid everyone could tell
or that the wind would blow it away.
My world became murky and dark.
I was in a living nightmare.
The littlest thing ignited a spark,
as I entered a helpless despair.
Soon my white blood cell count was too low,
and I was forced to give myself shots of Neupogen.
It was yet another blow;
injecting myself became a part of life then.
I passed out in the parking lot.
What happened that day is still unknown.
Will I ever recall or not?
I gained weight by the end of summer.
One of the drugs caused an increased appetite.
It was such a bummer;
My clothes either did not fit or were tight.
I was drowning in my own tears.
They did not stop once they started.
I was overwhelmed with rational fears,
and each one left me broken-hearted.
My right arm twitched all of October.
It itched so bad that it hurt,
but I laughed it off instead of turning sober.
I also had a shortness of breath.
One drug was stopped after it affected my lungs.
They did not want to cause my death,
but the damage was already done.
My eighteenth birthday was December 1st.
Going for chemo is what I had to do.
The day could have been much worse;
The oncologists were always nice to talk to.
By the middle of December 1999,
the chemo was finally done.
My body was all mine,
and I could do whatever I wanted for fun.
The doctor mentioned radiation,
which only made me frustrated.
After looking through much information,
I felt the results were too debated.
Even before I had CT Scans,
no was my decision.
Nothing would have changed my plans,
but my doctor had the same opinion.
I was not cured but in remission.
The cancerous tumors were really gone.
Hodgkin's disease was more than I ever envisioned,
but I'm still happy to be Dawn.
Please do not copy my poem or use it for any means of plagiarism.