The next day, we went to the oncologist's office.
My heart sank.
"C-cancer?" Lily stuttered.
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The doctor, with a solemn look on his face, replied, "Yes."
"Well, is she going to be okay?" I asked anxiously.
"We don't know for sure. It could be weeks before we find out. I'm going to run some tests, and we will see." He looked down.
"It's official. We're dying your hair pink," I said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Adelaide!" My mother snapped. "Lily is staying alive, meaning no alternative hair colors for her."
We all laughed a little bit. I couldn't imagine my identical twin, or either of us for that matter, with pink hair.
"Well, if we decide to use chemotherapy, it's possible Lily will lose her hair," Dr. Simon, the oncologist said.
The slightly happy moment vanished. Lily started crying. I hugged her and whispered that everything would be okay. Then mom started crying. I hugged her too. I sat between them in the oncologist's office, on a tacky purple couch from the 70's.
Then I started crying. It took a lot to get tears out of me, and when I did cry, it meant something real was happening. Something that would change my life for the worst.
And that was the day that the cancer cloud blocked my sunlight.
How lovely to be exposed to such wonderful young writers. From that tiny piece I am already so curious as to how the story ends.
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