Fighting For Normal

Embracing the Change (REVISED)

Bernard's persistent whining cut through my sleep like a knife, begging to be let outside. I cracked one eye open, squinting at my phone's clock. 6:15. I still had a solid forty-five minutes before my alarm was supposed to ring. With a groan, I snuggled deeper into my coral comforter, the soft fabric feeling so nice compared to the rough stubble of hair on my teal pillowcase. Not again.

I propped myself up, and the quick motion hit me with a wave of nausea. The bright teal walls felt like they were laughing at me, their lively color clashing with the dull pain in my stomach. With shaky hands, I collected the strands of hair that had fallen on my pillow, each one a painful reminder of what was going on inside me. I could hear Dad and Pops chatting softly in the kitchen, their voices mixed with the sound of mugs clinking and the espresso machine hissing. The mouthwatering scent of whatever Dad was making floated up the stairs, blending with the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

I pushed myself off the bed, letting the soft coral comforter fall to the floor. The cool, smooth walnut floor felt strange against my bare feet as I stood. I forced myself to face the full-length mirror on the closet door, dreading what I would see. My heart sank. My once bright green eyes looked dull and tired, my skin pale and drawn. My thick ash-blonde hair now seemed flat and lifeless, with noticeable thinning spots. My gaze wandered to the volleyball decorations and the photos of friends and family stuck to the mirror. A wave of longing hit me. Would I ever feel like that carefree girl again? I quickly looked away, unable to handle the sight.

Just get it over with, Sloane.

I opened my bedroom door, the cool hallway air a sharp contrast to the warmth of my room. Each step down the stairs felt heavy, as if I were dragging weights behind me.

The kitchen buzzed with energy. Dad was darting between the stove and the counter, his jaw set tight as he expertly flipped pancakes. Pops leaned casually against the counter, sipping his coffee and scrolling through his phone, a gentle smile on his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Pops said, his green eyes sparkling. He looked up from his phone, but his smile faded when he noticed my tear-streaked cheeks. "Whoa, what happened?"

Dad turned quickly, his spatula pausing in the air. "Sloane? Sweetheart, why are you crying?" His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were now filled with worry.

I couldn't find the words, so I just opened my hand to show the clumps of hair I had pulled out.

The silence that followed was heavy. Dad's expression turned serious, his jaw tightening. Pops' smile disappeared, replaced by a deep concern. He pushed off the counter and hurried over, wrapping me in a comforting hug.

"Oh, sunshine," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "I’m so sorry."

Dad put down his spatula with a loud clatter and joined the embrace, his strong arms surrounding both of us. "We're here for you, Sloane," he said, his voice rough but full of love. "Always."

I pulled away from the hug, using the back of my hand to wipe my cheeks. "I... I want to shave it all off," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Dad looked confused. "Shave it off? All of it?"

I nodded, unable to look him in the eye. "It’s just going to keep falling out anyway. I’d rather take control of it myself."

Pops gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his eyes full of understanding. "It's your choice, sweetheart. We’re here for you no matter what."

Dad's face softened. "Alright, Sloane. If that’s what you want, we’ll make it happen." He glanced over at the stove, noticing the pancakes starting to brown. "Let me finish breakfast, and then we’ll sort it out."

A wave of relief washed over me. I really didn’t think I could handle another heavy conversation right now. The idea of facing the day with those thinning patches of hair was just too much.

"Thanks, Dad," I said quietly, a small smile creeping onto my face.

"Of course, sweetheart," he replied, his voice rough yet kind. "Go spend some time with Pops. Breakfast will be ready soon."

I nodded and made my way to the table in the breakfast nook, sinking into one of the wooden chairs. Pops followed me, his hand resting comfortingly on my shoulder. Even with the anxiety still hanging around, I felt a sense of peace starting to settle in.

As the delicious aroma of pancakes and bacon wafted through the air, Stetson shuffled into the kitchen, his messy dirty-blond curls sticking up in all directions.

"Morning, everyone," he mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. He let out a big yawn, then his blue eyes widened as they landed on me. "Whoa, Sloane, what’s up? You look like you’ve been crying."

Before I could respond, he glanced at Dad and Pops, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wait, is this a family intervention? Am I in trouble?" He pretended to be clueless, a grin spreading across his face.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Stop being ridiculous, Stet."

"Ridiculous? Me? Never," he shot back, his grin growing even bigger. He plopped down in a chair, his eyes flicking between Dad, Pops, and me. "But seriously, what’s going on?"

Dad set a plate overflowing with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon in front of Stetson. "Eat your breakfast," he said, his tone both firm and kind. "We’ll explain in a minute."

Stetson, always ready for food, dove into his breakfast with enthusiasm.

Pops cleared his throat. "Sloane has something to share with you, Stet." He paused, his expression softening. "It’s about her hair."

Stetson’s playful attitude faded instantly. He turned to me, concern filling his blue eyes. "Your hair? What’s wrong with it?"

I took a deep breath, preparing myself. "It’s falling out, Stet. I’m going to shave it all off."

Stetson’s mouth dropped open. He stared at me, momentarily speechless. Then, his expression changed, and understanding washed over his face. "Wow. Okay. If you’re doing it, you’re going to look amazing. Totally badass."

I managed a small smile. "Thanks, Stet."

"Honey," Dad said to Pops, "could you grab the clippers?"

Pops nodded and walked down the hallway. A moment later, he returned with the clippers in hand.

The sound of the clippers buzzed around me, oddly calming. I watched as my long ash-blonde hair tumbled to the ground, each piece a small reminder of what I was letting go. Once Pops finished, I ran my hand over my head, feeling the smooth, bare skin. It was a strange sensation, unfamiliar yet freeing.

Dad handed me his phone. "Check this out."

I looked at my reflection on the screen, and my heart raced. I looked... different. My features appeared more defined, and my eyes seemed larger. I barely recognized myself.

Just then, the doorbell rang, breaking the stillness. My stomach dropped. Evan! I had totally forgotten he was coming with me to chemo today.

"Don't answer it!" I yelled, leaping from the chair. "I need to get dressed!"

I dashed up the stairs, my bare feet thumping on the wooden steps. Bursting into my room, I went straight to the closet. I needed something cute, something that would boost my confidence and make me feel strong. After a quick look, I grabbed a pair of high-waisted denim shorts and a flowy white crop top with pretty lace details. I added a splash of color with a coral beanie, pulling it snugly over my head. A quick check in the mirror made me decide to throw on a few delicate gold necklaces and a stack of beaded bracelets. Finally, I slipped into my white Converse high-tops, the familiar worn canvas feeling comforting.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my bedroom door and headed back downstairs, ready to tackle whatever the day had in store for me.

The infusion center was buzzing with activity, nurses moving quickly and patients of all ages receiving their treatments. I spotted Lylah right away; her bright lavender wig stood out against the sea of dull colors. She was sitting in one of the cozy armchairs, a book resting on her lap, her amethyst eyes sparkling with laughter as she observed a group of younger kids bickering over a board game.

"Lylah!" I shouted, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. Seeing her familiar face always made me feel better.

She looked up, her face lighting up with a big smile. "Sloane! You made it! I love your beanie, by the way. So stylish!"

I grinned, adjusting the coral beanie on my head. "Thanks! It’s new."

"You totally pull it off," she said, her eyes shining. "Come on, take a seat. And who’s this?" she asked, glancing at Evan.

"This is Evan," I said, giving him a little push forward. "Evan, meet Lylah."

"Nice to meet you, Evan," Lylah said, reaching out her hand.

Evan, looking a bit nervous, shook her hand. "Nice to meet you too."

We settled into the armchairs, the gentle hum of the infusion pumps creating a soothing background noise.

"So," Lylah started, her voice lively, "how are you feeling? Did those blood tests go well?"

"Better," I replied, sinking into the comfy chair. "I’m still tired, but my white blood cell count is finally high enough to start the IE and Mesna."

Lylah nodded enthusiastically. "That’s great news! We’ll have you back to your old self in no time." Then her expression turned serious. "But remember, don’t overdo it, okay? Listen to your body."

I smiled appreciatively. "I will."

Just then, Dad and Pops peeked into the room. "Hey, Sloane," Dad said. "We’re heading to the mall for a bit. We’ll come back to pick you up when you’re done."

"Okay," I replied, watching them walk down the hallway. I turned back to Lylah, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside me. Even with everything going on, it felt nice to be back in this familiar routine, surrounded by friends and support.

We talked for a bit, catching up on everything that had happened since my last treatment. Lylah shared the latest gossip from the teen support group, and I filled her in on the drama from my favorite TV show. Evan, who had been pretty quiet at first, started to relax and joined in, his earlier awkwardness fading as he got into our conversation.

Just as Lylah was about to tell a funny story about her cat, Nurse Hanna came into the room, her bright green eyes shining.

"Sloane," she said with a friendly tone, "it looks like your pre-meds are almost done. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," I said, smiling at her. "No nausea at all."

"That's wonderful to hear," she replied while checking my IV line. "I've got your IE and Mesna ready. Just a heads-up, the IE might make you feel a little tired and could cause some bladder irritation, which is why we have the Mesna. It helps protect your bladder from the side effects of the ifosfamide."

"Ifosfamide?" Evan asked, looking confused.

Hanna smiled kindly. "Ifosfamide is one of the chemotherapy drugs in Sloane's IE mix. It's known as an alkylating agent, which means it damages the DNA of cancer cells to stop them from growing and dividing. The 'E' stands for etoposide, which is a topoisomerase inhibitor that also affects cancer cell DNA but in a different way. And the Mesna, as I mentioned, helps prevent bladder issues."

"Wow," Evan said, clearly impressed. "That sounds... complicated."

Hanna laughed lightly. "It can be a bit tricky, but the important thing is that these medications are working together to fight those stubborn cancer cells and help you get back to feeling your best." She gave my arm a comforting pat. "Now, let’s get started."

As Hanna connected the IV bags, Lylah leaned in closer, her amethyst eyes glinting with playful mischief. "Don't stress, Sloane. The IE drip is actually a top-secret government project designed to give you superpowers. Soon, you'll be able to fly and turn invisible!"

I chuckled, feeling the tension lift. "I’d be happy just to feel normal again."

Evan, on the other hand, looked worried. "Wait, is that for real? Are there side effects they’re not telling us about?"

Hanna, with a playful sparkle in her eye, reassured him, "No secret experiments here, Evan. Just some good old-fashioned medicine. But if Sloane does end up with superpowers, we’ll definitely keep you in the loop."

With a final wink, Hanna left the room, and we settled into the familiar atmosphere of the infusion center. The soft hum of the machines, the low chatter, and the occasional laughter created a strange sense of comfort, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this fight.

As the medication coursed through my veins, I closed my eyes, envisioning those powerful drugs hunting down and obliterating every last cancer cell in my body. I pictured myself healthy and vibrant, back on the volleyball court, feeling the sun on my face and the wind in my hair - or what would eventually be my hair once it grew back.

With a renewed sense of hope, I drifted into a light sleep, wrapped in the warmth of Lylah's presence and Evan's quiet support, like a cozy blanket.

Hours later, I stirred awake to the soft nudging of Dad's hand on my shoulder.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he said quietly. "It's time to head home."

I blinked a few times, feeling a bit confused, but then I smiled when I saw Dad and Pops next to me, their faces showing both worry and relief. Evan had dozed off too, his head leaning against the back of the chair.

"Are you ready to go?" Pops asked, his green eyes crinkling with a smile.

I nodded, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over me. Just then, Lylah and her mom walked by.

"See you later, Sloane!" Lylah shouted, waving at me. "Take care, okay?"

"I will," I said, waving back at her.

As we stepped out of the infusion center, the bright sunlight hit my face, a refreshing change from the clinical atmosphere I was leaving. A feeling of calmness enveloped me. I had confronted my fears, gone through the treatment, and come out stronger. And I knew for sure that I wasn’t fighting this battle alone.