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Cinderella(continued) Lymphoma doesn't care who are its victims, as long as it has victims
to torture. Many believe that only those who have the actual disease
inside them that are the victims. However, this wasn't the case. I was
a victim, as well. I had to watch Cindy spit out blood from her deteriorating
organs and do nothing. I had to hug her, knowing that all she would
receive from me in her final moments of existence was sympathy and "I'm
sorrys." I had to accompany her wig shopping and pretend that we
were just hanging out and shopping for a costume party. Her disease,
like her aching body, couldn't be ignored. Cancer had no remorse for
my feelings, for my eagerness in wanting to create the missing memories
that Cindy and I had yet to have. Her cancer just wanted me to say farewell.
After the chemotherapy, I wiped her dry lips and buttoned up her blouse. Dr. Ross handed her a small bag with pills that were to be taken at all hours to maintain new cell formation. She must continue this torturous procedure until August. It was only March. She was also expected to suffer from exhaustive side affects, such as more vomiting, hemorrhage and anemia. Exiting the hospital, I called another taxi, and we were swiftly driven back to her apartment, where Christina, dressed in her usual black velvet garments, opened the door. Cindy's eyes rolled back as her mother lifted up her 90-pound figure to bed. I followed. Once she was gently laid on her bed, her mother dimmed the lights and left. I sat on the mattress next to my cousin and rubbed her bony fingers. She murmured, "Thanks, Steph." I smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back soon," I
responded. "Cuidate." Take care, I said. Those were my final
words before I left her room. Quietly, I closed the door to her room
and tiptoed my way out of the apartment. It has been a couple of weeks since my encounter with Cindy. There
was so much more to know about my cousin, the stranger that I had become
acquainted with. Cancer had made Cindy a weak patient who only came
outside from her room for appointments with Dr. Ross. I only hoped that
we could still become close friends despite the unknown results of this
battle. My usual routine of school and work kept me away from visiting
Cindy. Being young and 20 seemed like a romantic journey in my life
where anything, all or nothing, could have been accomplished within
seconds. Cindy's independence, on the other hand, was stolen away by
lymphoma. She relied on those around her to complete the everyday necessities
she once did on her own. A dashing prince wouldn't come on horseback
and rescue her. Even after my brief meetings with Cindy, I still didn't
know what to make of lymphoma. Yes, I was angry, for who wouldn't be?
The idea of cancer bringing us together, even if it was only for a few
days, aggravated me. It shouldn't be this way. Instead, Cindy and I
should have been able to find each other somehow, whether it was at
a baptismal, graduation or a wedding. We would have felt this connection,
this yearning to know each other more than we already do. Perhaps, this
was one of those things that naturally occurs when someone is sick.
People they suddenly realize that they don't have as much time as they
once thought. Then again, my excitement to meet Cindy wasn't based on
inner guilt. Like any enthusiastic fan, I wanted to meet my starlet,
the only female cousin on my mother's side of the family, the girl I
wasn't.
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