Freshman Madeleine Ingle and her mother Mary Anne O’Neal pose for a photo in July of 2016. During this time, Mary Anne was cancer free. Photo courtesy of Madeleine Ingle.
By MADELEINE INGLE – Staff Writer
Freshman Madeleine Ingle shares her mother’s battle with cancer and how it has impacted her.
I am 11 years old, it is a Tuesday night in April. I should be doing my homework, eating dinner with my family, taking a shower and going to sleep. That is what an 11-year-old should be doing on a Tuesday night in April.
That is normal.
Instead, I am lying on the floor of a hospital waiting room cradled in the arms of my father on that Tuesday night in April.
I would give anything to have a normal Tuesday night.
“It might just be the four of us from now on,” my father mutters. “Me, you, your brother and your sister. We’re going to have to learn to live without your mother.”
The thought of never having my mother to make my lunches and tuck me in at night makes me sick to my stomach. After all, I am only 11 and she is my mommy.
I thought my mother was going to be alright, at least that’s what everyone told me.
But they’re lying. My mother is not alright because she has cancer.
My palms are sweating and my legs are shaking on that Tuesday night in April. It is the uncertainty of it all that scares me the most. In the same building I’m sitting in, my mother is in pain. In the same building I’m sitting in, my mother is in surgery. In the same building I’m sitting in, my mother is dying and there is nothing I can do about it.
I’m helpless.
I am 12 years old, it is Christmas morning. I should be gathered around my Christmas tree with my family, opening presents and spending time together. This is what a 12 year old should be doing on Christmas morning.
That is normal.
Instead, my family is gathered in my mother’s bedroom. She couldn’t make it up the stairs to see our tree, open presents or spend time with my family. No matter how much I wish to have a normal Christmas morning, I’m helpless.
I am 14 years old, and I should be in school, probably nodding off or doodling in my notebook. This is what a 14 year old should be doing on a Monday afternoon.
This is normal.
Instead, I find myself laying on the same hospital floor, praying to something, anything, that my mother’s cancer hasn’t returned. The feelings of helplessness wash over me the same way they had three years ago. I will continue to worry until I hear that my mother is completely cancer free, I will continue to feel helpless until I no longer have to.
This is my new normal.
