My legs were splayed in stirrups as I stared up at the ceiling, thinking I could see pictures in the small, square, pock-holed tiles like I could with clouds. I tried to think of anything other than the reason I was here. As I lay on the hard bed with my legs up in the sterile atmosphere, I wanted to imagine the best possible outcome. I wished I would have let my mom stay in the room, but since I was considered an adult at the age of eighteen, I thought I should start acting like one. Of course, I was wrong again. Instead, I had the nurse and the doctor trying their best to calm my fears without giving me false hope. It was another in a long line of mistakes over the past six months. How did my life take such a horrible turn? Could I ever get it back?
Then my stomach dropped as I heard the doctor say, “Chelsea, I am sorry to tell you…”