The Bruise

The Bruise appeared when I was six. It nestled itself in the middle of my spine, the deep purple color made it not a bruise but The Bruise. It lasted for two months before my mom got worried about the ugly purple bruise, by that time I had many smaller blue bruises trickling down my spine, but I could only stare at The Bruise. When I went to the doctor, they were worried about the bruise. They said it wasn’t from tripping on the playground or falling off the swings, they said I needed tests done because of The Bruise. I sat in the large, metallic machine. it looked like a space ship and made noises about as loud as one too. The machine jolted and turned around my small fragile body and then the doctors discussed. They sat around a large meeting table with us, my parents sat at the end and me at a small chair with some crayons. I don’t remember much of what they said, I remember looking up to see my parents crying and hugging each other. My parents came over to me and I don’t remember much of what they said either, besides the word Brain Cancer that was forever burned into my brain after this day. I didn’t know much about cancer but I knew it was bad. The next few months were motionless thanks to the bruise, the chemo destroyed me and the cancer took over. I lay motionless day and night; only getting up to throw up or use the bathroom; if I was lucky enough to make it. My eyes sunk to the back of my head, and my hair fell out in large chunks until I finally told them just to shave it. Somehow these weren’t the things that made me ashamed of what I now was, it was The Bruise. The Bruise began an array of painful and horrendous physical changes, among many more mental challenges. The Bruise which took my childhood away from me and bankrupt my parents into not having another child. The Bruise that caused me to watch my parents hover over me everyday, whispering and softly sobbing as I drifted in and out. Two years later when I was eight, they said it was finally working. My hair grew back in chunks, I almost had a comb-able head of hair. My body became more than a sack of bones, I could move again. Everyday the bruise got smaller, everyday the bruise meant less to me. I am myself again, and the bruise is no one again.