wasn’t right. They ran endless tests, and that was when they found it—a black blob inside my head.
It turns out, the blob was a glioblastoma, also known as grade four astrocytoma, which was devouring the right side of my brain. In layman’s terms, I had an inoperable brain tumor.
However, I refused to accept my fate, adamant there was some mistake. This didn’t happen to people like me. How naïve I was because no matter who I saw, the prognosis was always the same.
The symptoms amplified weeks later. I was a car wreck. Not only did I have blurred vision, occasional blackouts, and spoke with a stutter, but I also walked with a slight limp. It goes without saying the supposedly best years of my life ended up being my worst.
All of my so-called friends hit the road when things got serious, proving to me just how superficial and shallow my life really was.
My mother couldn’t deal with everyone looking at her differently because word spread the Van Allen name was tarnished. That’s how smallminded the social circle my mother belonged to was—the circle I once belonged to.
But I made the most out of my shitty situation. For the first time in my life, I opened a book and studied. I became the master of my own disease; educating myself, I was determined to find a cure. I exhausted every drug my doctors gave me, but to no avail. The chemotherapy drugs may as well have been aspirin.
It took me a long while, but finally, my perseverance paid off. A doctor in Germany claimed to have found a drug that broke down the protein in the tumor I had, thus reducing the size. Trials were taking place in Germany, and I wanted in.
I phoned my doctor, Dr. Carter, who was aware of the trials. He said I didn’t have anything to lose, and I was put on the wait list.
Three weeks later, I was taking every color of drug known to mankind four times a day for the next year. The side effects were hideous, but so was having the sword of Damocles hanging over my head. I was constantly sick with flu-like symptoms as the drugs depleted my immune system. My hair fell out completely, which was fine, as it was thinning from the chemo anyway. But to my mother, I highlighted the fact that her perfect life wasn’t so perfect after all. She preferred me the spoiled brat I once was as opposed to the sick young woman I became.
But I continued because, after the first quarter of the trial, my tumor had shrunk. It was now roughly the size of a small lemon.
Dr. Carter told me not to get my hopes up, but I was thrilled. I was convinced I would beat this. I was beating the odds as it was for surviving for as long as I had, but it was all in vain. Regardless, for the first time in a long time, I had hope. And that hope was thanks to someone who changed my life forever.
Georgia Faye was my one and only true friend. All my socialite friends had long forgotten about me, and our “friendship” presented itself for what it truly was—superficial, just like the world I once lived and thrived in.
I met Georgia while she too was receiving the trial drugs. We would chat daily, and it was nice to have someone who understood just how hard life was. Soon, we grew inseparable, as our dire circumstances bound us together.
We decided we wouldn’t let this disease beat us without a fight. Georgia’s tumor was slightly larger and more aggressive than mine was, but that only inspired her to fight harder. Georgia was the most positive and inspirational person I knew.
We joined a gym, grew strong, and obliterated the stigma that came with being sick. We drank disgusting potions believed to keep the brain healthy, but we downed that gunk like it was going out of fashion. Everything was better back then because Georgia was by my side.
When our results came back as showing improvement, we felt like the luckiest girls alive.
Both our muscle masses had grown thanks to our strenuous workouts, so my limp was gone. Georgia helped me with my stutter while I helped her with her blackouts by teaching her some meditation I learned in yoga.
Life was good. Well, as good as good can be for two women, such as Georgia and me.