I have decided to live. I have decided to live over and over since I was just a little thing, sick with everything and missing a total of two years of school. I have decided to live when chicken pox tried to take me down and the battle raged for months. A mysterious illness socked me in bed for three months of my fourteenth year, kept me from eating, drinking, walking, waking. I took my fluids through an IV. My big brother watched me try to lift my head and I saw his eyes well up like he was afraid I wouldn't make it to fifteen. But I did. I decided to live. I could have let go and slip comfortably into sleep forever, but what a ridiculous option. I decided to live.
Every major illness and injury has tried to steal my breath and my blood, but I refuse to be compromised. Massive blood loss post-surgery couldn't take me down. Bacteria pneumonia turned me purple but I wouldn't be bested. All these scrimmages have just been practice for the big show. I'm a feather-weight prize fighter; I've got a flawless bout record. It's all led up to the championship match: me vs. my failing bone marrow and let me tell you there is no other outcome than my absolute victory because
I have decided to live.
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