08/07/2025
Half a Tank, Still Fighting
They said the word — tumor —
like dropping a stone in a still pond.
No echo. Just ripples that never end.
I smiled at first,
as if politeness could soften the shock,
as if bravery could cancel biology.
But inside, a scream curled up
and never quite uncoiled.
The nights became long corridors without doors.
Google searches like scavenger hunts
that never find treasure, only dead ends and panic.
Doctors in white coats speak in tongues,
stats and scans like riddles,
and I’m left to translate it all
on a heart already breaking.
The world went quiet.
Not in peace, but in absence.
Friends and family faded like fog.
Support was something I read about
in pamphlets I never asked for.
Why would anyone ever get it?
I don’t get it.
A forever pain and worry I can’t explain,
it's just loneliness and fear.
They say, “You’re so strong,”
but what they don’t see
is me crying into my own shoulder,
because my wound is invisible.
Me fighting with insurance
while my brain fights for balance.
I live every day now on half a tank.
Good days are rare, like birds in winter.
One moment I’m laughing at breakfast,
the next I’m weeping at my doctor’s office
because they canceled my appointment with no warning.
The roller coaster doesn’t ask
if I’m ready for the next drop.
It just drops.
And I scream.
I survive.
And then it starts again.
But yes, I am alive.
I woke up today, again.
And for that, I say thank you
with tired eyes
and a heart that’s still learning
how to hold both grief and grace
in the same breath.
I survive most days with trembling hands that nobody sees.
I endure it all with a smile no one knows is stitched on.
This is life now. My every day.
It’s not perfect. It’s not fair.
But it’s real.
I am still here.
And while I am here and able,
I will spread brain tumor awareness
until my last breath
for all who will join the club nobody wants to be in.
Author -Angel
