As the news I just received was swirling through my head, I pushed open the door and re-entered the waiting room. I glanced around at the small children who had masks over their mouths and no hair. Soon I was going to be just like them. I heard my mom talking to the lady behind the desk who wanted to set up my next appointment. At this moment, reality hit me. I collapsed in a waiting room chair, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was going to start chemotherapy during the first week of my senior year.

I was sobbing now. A child life specialist came to my side asking me what was wrong. I explained that meeting with an oncologist (a cancer specialist) was the last place I thought I would find myself. I was here because what I thought was a strained muscle in my thigh was a tumor. Although the doctors told me it was not cancerous, it has a 40 percent chance of re-appearing after surgery. Therefore, chemotherapy was recommended. Since my tumor is fairly large, the surgeon would have to remove almost all of my largest quadricep muscle. I would lose my hair, I wouldn’t be able to play ultimate frisbee due to the chemo port and I would have to wear a mask in and out of the school because of construction around Marcus.

Why is this happening to me? How long have I had this tumor in my leg? How will this affect my future?

All of these thoughts were spinning around my head as the floodgates opened. Tissues upon tissues piled next to me in the oncologist’s office.

I couldn’t believe that I would not be able to play ultimate frisbee my senior year as a captain. I would have to stay and coach on the sidelines. Sometimes I would think about what it would be like to walk in the school with a mask on and get so many glances in my direction. I might as well be waving a red flag, saying “This girl is on chemo!” I didn’t want people to look at me in a different way. I didn’t want them to treat me differently because of my condition. I didn’t want my tumor to control my life.

My mom and I even started searching for places that make wigs. We found a lady who could make one that was close to my real hair. My mom stayed as strong as humanly possible through all of this news. There were times where I would curl up in her welcoming arms, and we would just cry together.

It took me a while to come to terms with all of these lifestyle changes that were going to happen in my near future. I didn’t always know what the next step was, but I’m so thankful I had support from all of my friends, my coach, my teachers, my church and my family. I don’t know how I could go through this process without all of them. One of my friends in Ultimate said he would shave his head for me in support. I know he might not have actually gone through with it, but it was still a nice gesture to know that I had so many people praying for me and supporting me.

A few months after the diagnosis, we received advice from family friends to get a second opinion from another tumor specialist. So we decided to go to MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. The surgeon showed me my MRI scans and told me my tumor was the size of a lemon.

My entire body tensed up as I prepared to hear her recommendations. I was preparing for the worst, but my jaw suddenly dropped when she said she wanted to watch and wait instead of proceeding with surgery and chemotherapy right away. I showed no symptoms like pain, discomfort or immobility at this time.

She wanted me to see her every three months to monitor its growth and my symptoms. I glanced at my mom and dad in shock. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? Were my ears hearing things wrong?

Other than going down to MD Anderson every three months, I have been able to have the senior year I envisioned, especially since the past two times I have visited, my MRI results have shown that it is stable and causing no harm at all. I have realized that I was given the gift of time. I now have time to finish my senior year with no complications. Chemotherapy and surgery are in my future, but now I can do the things I love as I plan for the next chapter in my life.