The year was 2010; when I was 11 years old, I was diagnosed with cancer. I saw blood that was dark “wine-colored” red in my colostomy bag (which is basically a bag that has to drain the intestine), while I was waking up from my long night’s sleep in my hospital room. I immediately alerted my mom, but I don’t recall exactly what she said. But I do recall the nurse button being pushed on the bedside remote, and the nurse rushing in with the doctors. That was the last moment I remember my life, as a new bowel recipient, being bright and full of hope. The next thing I recall was being in the Chemotherapy wing of the hospital and going into the room I was “admitted to” for the time that I was given my cancer medication (or what I call “the cancer killer”). The duration in which I had my chemotherapy was pure hell; mainly because I was on A LOT of Benadryl (I was allergic to my chemo). I lost a fist full of hair each day, and I had bone weakness due to the chemo which caused a LOT of fractures.
I was on chemotherapy for six months until the PTLD was completely out of my system.
I hope you liked this summary of my life both as a survivor and on chemotherapy. I hope this inspires you guys, too.