At 19, one should be joyfully heading to university amidst the cicada-filled summer, experiencing the crispness of a pen scratching across paper in class, and enjoying the fiery youth of chatting with classmates and looking forward to the future; wearing bright clothes and riding a spirited steed, with a promising future ahead, is the most natural footnote at this age. However, the suddenness of fate completely changed the picture.
The day I was diagnosed with cancer, I had just carefully unfolded my college admission letter, the hot-stamped name of the university still warm. The diagnosis of malignant tumor brought an abrupt end to my originally peaceful life. From denial and resistance to multiple hospital check-ups, the cold results shattered all my hopes time and again. The sudden illness, like fine needles, pricked the softest part of my heart, sharp and lingering.
There was no crying or breakdown. Instead, I gently hugged my sobbing mother and said in a calm yet firm voice, "It's okay, don't worry, I can handle it." Behind those words "I can handle it" lies an unimaginable torment for ordinary people. Hospitalization, surgery, chemotherapy, a series of painful treatments followed one after another. The side effects of chemotherapy came crashing down like a tidal wave. Looking at the unfamiliar self in the mirror, I fell silent.
During my hospitalization in the cancer hospital, most of my roommates spent their time scrolling through their phones, staring blankly, and killing time. However, in front of my hospital bed, there were always textbooks, notes, and exercise books. Without a spacious desk, I used the hospital bed as a study desk; without a stable environment, I ignored the ticking sound of the chemotherapy pump, the clashing sound of medical equipment, and the hurried footsteps in the hallway; I completed my homework on time, even if I was too weak to lift my hands, and insisted on recording the knowledge points in my notebook.
The nurses who checked on him and his fellow patients were all moved. The nurse always said, "I've cared for countless patients, but I've never seen such a determined and sensible child. The illness hasn't defeated him; instead, it has made him more determined." Some well-wishers also advised, "Child, focus on getting better first. There will be plenty of time to study later. Don't make yourself so hard on yourself."
But I always respond, "Learning is not a burden; it's my weapon against the disease. As long as I'm reading and studying, it means I haven't been defeated by the pain, and it means I'm still striving for my future." In my heart, the dream of attending university is not an unattainable luxury, but the belief that sustains me through every painful treatment. I treat every puncture as a challenge, every improvement in my indicators as a reward, and every successful chemotherapy session as a step forward. Even if the path ahead is full of thorns and the future is filled with uncertainty, I refuse to stop moving forward.
I believe that tomorrow will be better, and I also believe that those who, like me, are tormented by illness, can all hold onto the light deep within their hearts. There is no need to force oneself to be strong immediately; allow emotions to ebb and flow, but never give up hope. Illness may consume the body, but it cannot take away the love and dreams in the heart. May we all encourage each other on the long journey of healing, endure all the difficult moments, and wait for the day when the hardships end and sweetness prevails, to embark on our own journey and see our own scenery.
Article source: An anti-cancer teenager who persists in his dream
Typesetting: Huang Guifang
Reviewed by: Jiang Bei