Chronicle

The PASCAL ChronicleENGLISHThe beginningMy throat was burning and I was chocking on my own saliva. But then came a point when my eyeswere almost dried out. I had to; I just had to blink once. I knew I did more than blink when I felt sizzlingrivers of tears engraving their paths on my cheeks; permanent paths that would stain my life forever. Myrib cage began shaking so hard that I couldn’t stop it. But why cease? Dr. Johnson knew. Somebody whoused to be a stranger to me just the week before knew my deepest secret. There was no point in pretendingin front of him. So, I let the salty teardrops dry off on my skin and the new ones to fall on my lap.Holding the test results in my hand, I imagined the malignant cells moving from one part of mybody to the next, leaving only destruction in their way. I imagined marauding armies of evil, battles andthe dreadful moments when one by one, my organs would surrender to the extensive fight with cancer. Myknees crackled and my thoughts copied them by not lining up like good soldiers. I needed to think; thinkhard and make solid decisions. Decisions that would determine the rest of my life; how long or short itwould be. Still, I couldn’t concentrate.Leaving the doctor’s office I went through the children’s ward. I was perusing for a solution, a wayout, a way back; back to when everything was alright with the world. Back to my lunchbox years when gettinghurt meant tripping in a game of tug of war. Back to when an injury could be cured with a lollipop anda kiss on the wound…The smiles and laughter were the only ones overlapping with my flashback. Besides that, nothingelse did. Survivors; I saw survivors. Unable to jump or swirl around, they were fighting against somethingmuch bigger than them. Dolls and balls are meant for kids, not cancer... At the sight of them struggling,my heart skipped a beat.Between those two heartbeats, I decided I wasn’t having the operation. I knew that this was mymoment, my choice, my future. I wasn’t going down without a fight, but I wasn’t going to spend the rest ofmy life under fluorescent light and feeding tubes either. I wanted to avoid vomits from long lasting chemo,failing hopes and dreams being crushed like waves on rocks during a thunderstorm.A few mistakes ago I would have surrendered to the latest medicines and treatments hopelesslywanting the rivers of tears to vanish along with the gigantic tumor in my brain. The truth is it can’t and itwon’t; the cancer has advanced far too much. I decided that this time I wouldn’t make the same mistake oftrying to fix something out of my reach. This time, I would grasp life in my hands and make the best use ofwhat’s left of it. Whether that includes a wig or a headscarf on my freshly saved head, I can’t tell. But forone thing I am sure, no more pre-planning for me. From now on it’s only spur of the moment decisions.That day I fell in love with life; challenges and sacrifices; past and future. I realised and appreciatedthe opportunities I’ve had. Sooner or later the day will come when I’ll be gone. When pictures andstories are the only thing left of me, I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered for living, notdying. That day at the hospital was a new beginning; my beginning.Elena Hadjivassili 6DDisaster strikesShe looked in front of her. The disaster washuge and irreversible Everything looked as if ithad been placed in the mixer and scuffed beyondrepair. She shouted: “Mum, I can’t goout like this! Look at my hair and clothes!”Irene Kattou, 1A58