“I'm afraid I'll have to test Willow for leukemia. She's displaying nearly all of the symptoms, from what she and you have told me. Constant headaches and fevers, night sweats, joint pain. You tell me she also has pain in her belly and has lost her appetite. It also seems like she has some swelling in her neck area,” my doctor, Dr. Montgomery, told my mother, keeping his eyes on her, though his gaze occasionally shifted towards me.
I just sat there, stunned. Silent. I mean, what could I even say to that? I could possibly have cancer. I couldn't just...brush that off. Instead, I sat up there, on the examine table, my head hung slightly, allowing brown wisps of hair to fall in front of my eyes. My hands were clasped together tightly in my lap, the knuckles turning white, and a lump had formed in my throat, though I kept my lips firmly pressed together. That didn't stop the burning sensation in my eyes. It didn't stop the few tears that leaked out, marked a clear trail down my cheeks, before they dripped off at the end of my jawline.
I'd stopped listening, too numb to think about anything other than those words. I know, I had no reason to freak out yet, but freaking out was natural for me. Sometimes, it may seem like I'm careless, that I don't care about anything, but I did. And right now? I was afraid. Terrified. How could this be happening to me? Heck, why was it even happening? Had I done something wrong? That had to be it. I must have done something wrong and now I was paying for it. What could I have done so wrong though? I'm only
seventeen. People my age make mistakes. Stupid ones. Really stupid ones. Right?
Shut up, Willow. This is all your fault.“Willow? Sweetheart, it'll be okay. There's nothing to be afraid of,” a voice beside me said. My mother. She placed a hand on my back, her thumb rubbing small, soothing circles. “Come on, let's go get your blood test done first, and then go home, alright?.”
I looked at her, nodded, and hopped down to the ground. “Yeah, sure,” I forced myself to say. Looking around the room, I saw that Dr. Montgomery had left, probably to check on his next patient. Pushing my hair back, I walked ahead of my mother, wiping at my eyes and cheeks. I don't think that they're too red. That would just be embarrassing. It would just make things painstakingly obvious. That I, Willow Claire Fontana, was crying. For something that could possibly just be a false concern.
Walking out of the back room, I made sure I made no eye contact with anybody, as I walked out of the waiting room, out the clinic, and got into my mother's 2009 Accord Coupe EX passenger seat. There, I sat, waiting for her to climb in. Waiting to go see if what the doctor suspected was true. Which it couldn't be. Doctors just worried a lot. They were worry-warts. Always making up some sort of worst case scenario for something simple. I could simply have the flu, am I not right?
