Personal Narrative Essay: The Cause Of Lung Cancer

Prologue

I sat in the waiting room, head in my hands, expecting the worst. My little sister was sitting next to me, playing with her barbie doll. It seemed as if she was completely unaware that we were sitting in this room because she may have cancer. And maybe she didn’t. Maybe my mom hadn’t told her. Maybe she never would. I prayed with all my heart and hoped and prayed some more that she didn’t have cancer. That the tumor inside of her lungs wasn’t carcinogenic. I had been doing research on the topic, against my mom’s suggestions. What I found had truly scared me. The survival rate for lung cancer was only 54%, but if it wasn’t detected early, the survival rate was 4%. I was starting to tear up, but didn’t want Rose to see me cry. So I hid my face in a

That’s how long the doctors predicted Rose had left to live. Two more month. Unless some miracle happened, I only had thirty more days with my beloved sister. And there was nothing I could do to help her. I felt so helpless. When I got up that morning, I felt worse than I normally did, which was saying something. I wore my usual brown shirt, black pants, and boots combo and went downstairs. My mom was already at work. She had to take on an extra job to pay for Rose’s hospital bills. I didn’t see what the point of keeping her at the hospital now was. The doctors had already done all they could to try and help her. But my mom, forever the optimist, thought they still could save her.

I ate some instant oatmeal, (cinnamon apple, my favorite type) and sulked onto the bus which took me to my dark prison of a school. Washington Middle, my school, was a sullen, grey, concrete, five story school located a few minutes away from my house, within walking distance. My forever-happy best friend, Stella greeted me by the door.

“Hey Cat!” she shouted, practically bouncing up and down.

“Hi,” I said with no energy or interest apparent in my voice.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“This world,” I said