One day in January 2019 I didn't go to school. Instead I went to the doctor for a checkup. I told the doctor that I was feeling sick, feeling fatigued. I wasn't really worried because I felt like it was likely because basketball was draining me. After the checkup the doctor requested for me to have my blood drawn. At this time I didn't know what it was for, but I agreed.

I went home and watched a show with my mom. But late that night I heard banging on our front door. My uncle opened the door and outside was a cop. He rushed in and told my mom to call the doctor. The doctor had been trying to call my mom repeatedly, but my mom’s phone was off. So the doctor had called the police. My mom called, putting the phone on speaker. On the phone the doctor told my mom I have cancer. I froze.

My mom, uncle, aunt looked at me, but I was just blankly staring at my mom who fell to the ground in shock. I didn't cry for some reason. I asked myself in my head:”Is this really it? ”Was I going to die?

My step dad picked me, my mom and my sister up to drive us to Boston Children’s Hospital. The whole car ride was just me looking out the window. When I got to the ER, they did more blood tests. Three hours later they told my mom I had acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I didn't know what this was until the doctor explained it  to me. A few hours later they put three different IVs in my hand. I was out of touch with reality. Nothing really fazed me. I felt nothing. Then they brought me to the 6th floor, the cancer floor.

Doctors told me to get treatment I would have to stay a whole month in the hospital.The next day the doctors started the treatment.

The chemotherapy was so bad I would vomit any food I ate. I got headaches and slowly started losing my hair after only a week in the hospital. I just wanted to die, I wished that God would just take me and end my suffering. But a small part of me in my head kept asking me: “What about your family? What will they do without you?”

Everyday I would see little kids on the same floor as me. They seemed happy and excited. Looking at them they didn’t seem to know what death was or felt like. Two days before I left the hospital, I had to get a portacath put into my chest, where they can insert chemotherapy drugs and draw blood. I finally got to go home. Everything outside the hospital looked so different: the air, the people. It felt good being back in my old room.

But the next day I had to go back to the hospital for more treatment.

It would take a full year of outpatient treatment, surgery and chemotherapy on my bone marrow. It would take many prescribed painkiller drugs at home to manage the pain. There were days where I would be in pain because we would run out of painkillers. Across the next year, days got worse and worse. I had an inflamed pancreas. One day I fainted and was rushed to Lowell General by ambulance for doctors to restart my heart. From there I went to another hospital to stay in the ICU.

Many family members thought I was going to die, but I knew I wouldn't for some reason. I always kept it positive. I was told by doctors that I would never walk, talk or even be alive. But all those doctors were wrong. In May I got transported to a rehabilitation center to work on my motor skills:  moving around, strengthening my arms and legs, walking. I got better everyday. I spent eight months working on myself.

In April 2021 I was cancer-free.

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