Lights

Nov. 28, 2013, was the day my whole life changed. It was the first time I ever felt truly anxious. I remember walking into the doctor’s office after taking a test a few days earlier, and the first endo-pedia that we saw said in her calm, monotonous voice, “It says here that this is a cold nodule; we have to do a fine needle biopsy.” She then proceeded to talk about how I might need surgery and all other medical stuff that left me totally freaked out.

Eventually, two other doctors saw me and it was confirmed. I was to undergo surgery on Nov. 28, which happens to be my dad’s birthday. He passed away in 2012. On the day before my operation, my cousins drove me to Philippine General Hospital and there, we waited for two hours before we were escorted to my room. I remember feeling happy because all my favorite relatives were there, but when night came, I had trouble falling asleep. I kept thinking about what the first surgeon that we saw, Dr. Arzadon, told me: “We may have to cut your vocal chords if the cancer has spread.”

On the morning of my operation. I remember watching my mom pacing around my room while I played Candy Crush. Minutes later, the nurses came and I was wheeled into the operating room. “Why are there lights?” I asked. The doctors looked at me in surprise while my mom laughed. “Of course there are lights. How would they see if there weren’t any?” she said. “But in the movies, the operating rooms are so dark,” I insisted as they prepped me. It was sort of comforting.

They put the mask on me. I’m not sure when I fell asleep or when they started the operation. All I remember was Dr. Perez, my anesthesiologist, telling me to close my eyes. The next thing I knew, I was being wheeled out of the operating room. I saw my doctor and my mom before everything went black again.

When I awoke I was in the recovery room. I felt pain all over; the anesthesia was wearing off. I could feel the pain where my neck had been cut up and every little movement I made was painful. But it was all right. I knew everything will be fine after that.

I will never forget this experience. It was the hardest battle I’ve ever fought. But then, it taught me how to always stay positive and not let anything get in the way of how I live life. It made me see that I can do anything despite pain. It taught me why I should not waste my time wallowing in self-pity when I could go out there and do something. It made me realize that I shouldn’t close myself to the world just because I’m sick. This was the first time I felt truly anxious, but I’m stronger than ever. I know I can battle anything and emerge a winner. I have my scar to prove it.

Bianca Angela Dela Cruz, 13, is a Grade 8 student at Paref Woodrose School. She had surgery last year and received radiation treatment to cure her of thyroid cancer. Her father’s passing made her ordeal a lot more difficult, but she believes it is only a matter of time before she is completely healed. This piece was written as part of her performance task in English composition (write a narrative about a personal experience).