Slowly Dying Alone

.....Kylie Martin was dying. Of course it didn’t help that she had been dying since she was thirteen, but it was not a situation that she allowed herself to think about. Currently she was sitting on her hospital bed, looking at the paper that had an address on it. There was no name attached to the paper, but Kylie felt it was a sign, she felt like God was giving her someone who would reach out to her, who would understand all of her issues, and be there for her. Kylie quickly got off of her bed and walked over to the desk that had been placed in the pale room. She pulled out a clean sheet of paper, a pen, and Kylie began writing.

..............................................................................December 22, 2009

Kaylin Anne Martin
c/o Sky Ridge Medical Center
10101 RidgeGate Parkway Room 115
Lone Tree, CO 80124

Dear Letter Reader,

(Please do not read this, if you do not want to deal with a sob story.)

.....My name is Kaylin Anne Martin, Kylie for short. I am 16 years old, born on September 16, 1993. I am writing because I happened to find this address sitting on the floor of my hospital room, and felt it had to of been a sign from God. You see, I have cancer, Acute Myeloid Leukemia, to be exact. It was discovered when I was thirteen and since then I have had many different treatments to try and stop the cancer from spreading. At this point there is a 1-in-5 chance that I will make it to my 18th birthday.

.....I know it may seem strange, telling my issue to a stranger, but I have no one else to turn too. You see, I live in the hospital, and when I am done with whatever treatment they put me through, I am thrown right back into our local orphanage.

.....I was 5 years old when both my parents were killed in a car accident. According to the doctors I was lucky to survive, and since there was no other family to take me in, I was placed in the foster care system. A very nice family had taken me in, and they were planning to adopt me when my issues began.

.....It started in school. I was sitting in class and some other child threw their eraser at me. A bruise formed within the hour of the small hit, at first my foster parents just thought I had sensitive skin, and that there was nothing wrong with me. Soon I began sweating in bed, almost like I was having repeated nightmares (even though I would never remember having a nightmare).

.....The foster’s then decided that my parents’ accident was having a late effect on me, and sent me to see a shrink. Then I began to feel warm all times, I would break out into a fever for no reason, to which the foster’s believed this was the result of waking up in a sweat. When ever I would cut myself, I would find that I could sometimes bleed for hours, and even at thirteen I knew that something was wrong with me.

.....At my yearly check-up my doctor began to question me about some of the issues that my foster’s had noted. I explained all the experiences to her, and the doctor said that she wanted to have some test done on me. She first did a physical exam on me. The doctor explained that she was looking for lumps and anything that might be abnormal. She then sent me to a lab and I had many vials of blood taken, in order to do some thorough tests.

.....I was then sent home and a week later, my foster’s were bringing me back to the doctor’s office. The doctor explained that they needed to take some x-rays. She said that after they got the x-ray’s back, I would most likely be sent to a certain specialist. The doctor refused to tell me or the foster’s what was wrong, claiming it was best to wait for all the results, before ‘jumping the gun.’

.....The next week my social worker came to the house, and explained that I was being removed from my home, and being placed in a local orphanage. I looked at the foster’s but they refused to even acknowledge me. I packed my bags, as the tears fell, and I knew that whatever was wrong with me, had to be something serious. I mean why else would my own foster’s send me away? I was soon settled into the orphanage where I had to share a room with twelve other girls. They all looked at me with sympathy, and I began worrying about what was wrong with me.

.....One of the girls had a bandana over her head and it didn’t even look like she had any hair hiding under it. She walked up to me, her face looking very pale and tired, and she kindly asked me what I had. I looked at her and the other girls in confusion, and asked her what she meant. She explained that this was an orphanage for sick kids, kids whose foster parents could no longer handle them. The girl, who I had learned was named Sandy, told me that she had a form of bone cancer and was being treated one last time, before they had to cut her leg off. That night I cried myself to sleep, knowing that there had to be something seriously wrong with me.

.....The next day I was taken to see the specialist and I was told that I had Acute Myeloid Leukemia. My new doctor explained that they were going to have to do a biopsy to see how far the cancer had spread. I was told this test would hurt, and that I would not be allowed to move. At this point, I was scared. They led me to a room and had me change into a gown. I was then placed onto the table, lying on my stomach, and the doctor/nurse lady told me that I was going to have to remain very still, no matter how badly it hurt. Another nurse was brought into the room, and I found myself being held down. I felt a large needle being placed into the skin of my lower hip, right above my butt; it hurt so bad, that I could not stop the tears. The nurse was saying encouraging things, trying to help me not think about the pain, but it didn’t help.

.....Several minutes later, the biopsy was complete and I was shown to another room, where they explained that I would be placed here until they decided what treatment would be best for me. Later that day my specialist and some other doctors came into the room and began explaining things with me.

.....I was told that they were going to begin with many different forms of chemotherapy. I was going to be given different regiments of pills, which were to help kill my immune system. Since they didn’t know which regiment would work for me, I was going to be placed on one regiment until they knew it wasn’t working. They would continue this until they found a regiment that would work for me. They also planned on placing me on a once a week injection chemotherapy, which would last for three hours.

..... I guess this letter went further then I was going to write, but sometimes I find that when I am writing, I just seem to lose myself. I know you probably do not want to hear about my story, so I will not continue my story too you, unless you write me back first. I do hope to hear from you, whoever you are, because life here at the hospital can be very lonely when you have no one else to talk to.

......................................................................................Sincerely,
.............................................................................................Kylie Anne