When I first walked through my grandmother’s front door, I smelt an odor that I remember quite vividly, even to this day. At the naïve age of seven, I had assumed everything in my life to be normal, not knowing that my life would not be “normal” ever again.
As I entered the family room, a disturbing sight met my eyes. Laying face-down on the floor was my uncle. As I continued to watch he lunged for a blue bucket at his side, placed his face into the bucket, and began to vomit. At only about seven and a half years old, I finally understood what it meant for my uncle to have cancer. My grandmother saw me watching and quickly shuffled me off, and told me, “He is fighting his hardest.” He was fighting to survive.
While not a model student, after seeing my uncle the way he was I began to fall further and further behind in school. My grades were far from notoriety and I caused more trouble for my teachers than ever before. But what did it matter, my uncle was dying; I had an excuse to give up. I could not have been more wrong. By fighting the disease, he endured another day of suffering to live another day with his family. He gave up self to be with those who needed him, and depended on him I soon realized that his choices were in fact a life lesson. Never give up. If he was able to endure constant pain over the years, I should be more than capable to survive a few months school.
After reaching this decision, shortly after the eighth grade, I decided that I would make it one of my personal goals to be able to cure, if not prevent cancer. Since this goal I have become increasingly interested in the medical field, as well as sciences of all kinds. This goal motivates me to keep going because I cannot help my uncle if I choose to give up. While I must admit I do have times where I find it almost pointless to keep trying. Yet I remember that my uncle has always been there for me, and to stop trying is an insult to everything he has done for me, even as a patient...