You don't really appreciate life and realize you have it better than anyone until you hear that six-lettered word pronounced "cancer". It’s not until you're faced with the realization that you might possibly carry around the carcinogen that has infected you, and you can only sit by as your body slowly attacks itself until the tests come back. They take more blood each time. Always wanting to poke, and prod, and touch your neck to feel how swollen it is. You feel as though you're being choked and you can't breathe. It's when you try to speak, try to tell them the sensation you have to just scream out "Stop! Just leave me alone!" you know it can't stop, and they won't leave you alone. You are now their guinea pig. To take blood from whenever they want. To poke whenever. To prod whenever. To give whatever medication they want. Even though your mother is there, consoled by the "possibility" that it isn't cancer. But there's a difference between thinking and knowing. A possibility is reflection of chance. A mere gamble at fate. My life, to them, means nothing if they fill it with hopeful in significations. But as she thanks God and kisses your cheek, sending up all thanks to the Heaven's above as if you were absolutely fine, you fight back those tears that swell your eyes because you are only just now finding out that cancer was even a chance. When she has known for over a month. And as you fight back every tear, every word that is pushing so hard up to escape your throat, and that sickening feeling makes your want to run away and never look back, you see life now. You're limited to so little; held back by a strong chain wrapped tightly around your throat that you can't even speak, or cry, or scream.