There I sat, with my parents beside me. The doctor was late, no surprise there, with my test result.
The silence broke when a man in a white lab coat walked in with a folder that had my name. He open the chart and started to pace. I watched as the look on his face turned blank. He sat down and closed the chart. “The x-rays came in, and it’s not a tumor,” he said with a smile on his face. “But there is a build-up in the brain called a cyst.
That’s what is giving you your head-aches. From the size of it, we think it’s been there since birth. So we are going to schedule your surgery as soon as possible.” My mother’s face turned white as she asked what a cyst was. He said, “In this particular case, the cyst is a build of spinal fluid in the side of your son’s brain. It’s operable, but we should act quickly.
” My eyes brightened as I realized what this meant. I could do whatever I want. I could skip the fitness test, because I didn’t want to work out. I didn’t have to do homework; I could play games at school all day. I thought about what I was going to do before I had to go under the knife.
First thing I thought of was to go have a “hope you survive the surgery” party with my friends. My party wouldn’t happen for a few weeks, but when I got back to school, I was being trampled with questions. “What’s wrong?” “What’s a cyst?” “Are there going to be women at your party?” My answer to all the questions was, “Nothing’s wrong. I don’t know what a cyst is. Yes, but it doesn’t matter because you’re not invited to my party!” My peers looked at me with sympathy in their eyes, like I was an old man missing his leg from the war.
Back in middle school, I hated it when people would notice me. When people noticed someone, it was from some story that people blew out of proportion. I found out people thought I had cancer, and was going to die in six months. I had to cancel my party because my friends decided to bring me to the movies instead. We stopped at Wal-Mart to go get some snacks, because snacks at the theater are overpriced.
We went for candy and left with Iron Man toys. We left Wal-Mart and headed to the theater. The movie started in five minutes, so we started to run the ten feet. Although it was a short distance, my pants started to fall down every step I took. I forgot that the main reason we went to Wal-Mart was so that I could get a belt. I pulled my pants that were stuffed with toys up to my belly button, and ran as quickly as I could.
I passed my friends and looked stupid in the process. I walked in the theater with my pants all the way up. The girl behind the desk must have remembered a joke, because she was laughing when I walked in. I received my ticket to see Iron Man 2, and ran to the seats. We sat down in the front row of the theater to be the closest to the movie.
My friends sat around me as the movie started to play. The action started, and I began to feel sick. I started to feel dizzy. I excused myself from the theater to splash some water on my face. I dragged myself to the sink, and as I turned the faucet on, I started to throw up. I stopped myself in time to make it to the toilet.
I sat there in silence until I remembered the movie was still playing. I dusted myself off and walked out of the bathroom. I stopped to get a drink, so I could remove the throw-up taste out of my mouth. I walked into the theater, not sure what was going on in the movie. I was just about to take my seat as an empty can of Mountain Dew hit me in the back of my head. I stumbled back and forth.
I saw the room spin as I fell to the ground, passing out. I woke up in my parents’ car, not knowing what happened. My parents explained that my brother, Chanz, threw the can that knocked me out. I realized two things that night. First, my brother is a jerk.
Second, that this “thing” on my brain has made it so I couldn’t do regular activities, like enjoy a movie, or rough-house with my brothers. I thought about what was happening when I woke up the next morning. I thought that this would be better because I would have a scar, a story to tell, and a piece of mind. I fell back asleep with a smile on my face. I woke up to my mother packing my clothes into a small bag.
My brothers were sitting at the end of my bed, pretending to cry. I told them I was ready, and fell back to sleep. I woke up in the car again. “How did I get in the car?” I asked curiously. Everyone looked to one another and said nothing.
“How did I get dressed?” I snapped at my family. No one said a thing. We sat in silence. “Were here,” my mother whispered to herself. We all got out of the car and headed to the elevator.
When we arrived at the front desk, I looked around at the other patients. All I could see were wires connected to people that I never meet. All the people I saw had blank faces, as if they didn’t care about life. I started to think I would feel this way after my surgery. I looked around for one patient that didn’t seem depresses, but the doctor blocked my line of sight.
He looked at me with a smile, and asked if I was ready to go. I looked at my parents, and nodded in fear. We got to the room where I changed into my gown. The room had a cold feeling to it. My parents walked in to wait with me by my bedside.
I laid there, anxiously, waiting for the doctor to come and bring me to the operating room. I thought about the good thing that would happen after I had my surgery, but everything I thought was good, didn’t seem important now. Finally, the doctor walked in with two nurses. “Were ready for you now,” the doctor announced. “We’ll be right here when you wake up,” my father expressed.
“I know everything will be fine,” I said with doubt in my mind. The nurses walked to my bed and started to roll me out the door. I thought about what I was going to go through. They were going to cut my head open and poke my brain. I started to panic, “I don’t want to do this can you stop the bed?” The nurse continued rolling me and replied, “We can’t stop! You will be fine; I will make sure you get through this.” I looked at her with frightened eyes, and stopped trying to get off the bed.
They finally got me to the operating room and I started to panic again. The operating room reminded me of the doctor’s office; bare, with a disturbed feeling to it. I laid down, with my heart beat gaining speed. “When you wake up, you will be back with your family.” She placed the mask with anesthesia over my face, and I started to fall asleep. Before I went under, I whispered to the nurse, “Make sure I wake up.
Make sure I …” and I fell asleep. I woke up as they were wheeling me back to my room. My head was numb, so I couldn’t feel a thing. My parents walked up to my bed and stared at my head. They all looked at me and laughed. I started to laugh with them.
I looked up at them and asked, “Who wants to go see Iron Man 2?”