Ramblings and Roses Rachel Shoop

I am sick. Not like “cough-cough” sick, but like chemotherapy sick. For the sake of my story and to save some time, the type of sickness doesn’t matter, but all you need to know is that it requires me to visit the hospital more times than any human should.

I guess going to chemo isn’t as bad as it once was. Like, before the new children’s hospital was built, I always went to an outdated pediatric specialty clinic for my chemo. It had these yellowing walls and faded paintings of unrecognizable shapes like clouds and airplanes. Not to mention it was full of sick kids.

Chemotherapy is already a pretty nasty thing, but throw in some innocent children, and you get the closest thing to hell on Earth. For me, I was one year away from being a legal adult when I first entered the children’s cancer center, so I had to witness these young kids throwing up or being knocked out while getting poison injected into their bodies. I had to hear small babies crying in the room next to me because of how unfair life is, and I had to endure that messed up shit while also putting poison in my body. I knew it was depressing, and my dad—the person responsible for taking me to chemo—also knew it was fucked up.

I don’t know if it’s like a sixth sense or just plain common sense, but my dad always knows I feel terrible after every round of chemo. So, to make me feel better, my dad and I always go to Trader Joe’s after every hospital visit. And I know what you are all probably thinking, “but it’s just a grocery store, how can getting groceries make a person feel

happy?” Like I get it, it sounds kind of weird, but if you have never walked into a Trader Joe’s before, it’s like visiting my own version of a floral heaven.

I wish I could take you from wherever you are reading this and scoop you up and just throw you into my brain, so you understand and see what I’m talking about. Walking in, you become engulfed by pink, white, yellow, orange, purple and green flowers. All these plants welcome you into the store like you’re their old friend and envelop you into a big brightly-colored and pollen-scented hug.

When I see all the colors and shapes of flowers, everything stops for me. The world stops spinning, all clocks freeze, and time no longer exists. It’s like within that moment of entering the store, I forget about everything, I forget about being stuck at the hospital, I forget having to miss class for appointments, I forget about chemotherapy, the IVs, the needles, the blood, and I forget about being sick. I only care about the beautiful things I see in front of me. Seeing all the plants and flowers, I instantly become intoxicated with happiness. And this is now my dad and I’s unspoken tradition: flowers after chemo.

Cars and Angels Hannah Mougin

May 10th, 2018— it was from that day on that I prayed to my angels everyday when merging onto the intimidating interstate.

Screeching sounds replay in my head, the sound of confusion followed by fear, the longest thirty seconds of my life, the pain that could have been caused.

Cedar Rapids’ S curves are now my hidden fear, a hidden emotion, a loss of trust in all other drivers. Lay it to rest, bury it they say, but all I can do is rewind it in my head.

Driving past it everyday seeing my side mirrors still lying at the scene. The goose bumps come back as I relive it in my head.

All I can hear is the screeching of the tires, followed by the impact of the cement wall hitting the front of the car, the roll that lasted what felt like years.

Climbing out the back-passenger door, looking at the mess that has been made. The shattered windshield of my sharply painted Kia that had been my dream car, now demolished and caved in at the top.

Looking at the red Jeep involved, with only a faint scratch of silver paint on the grill thinking to myself, “how is it that all the damage has been put on me?”

Telling the ambulance to leave, the cost was too expensive for my needs.

Hugging my parents and driving away, leaving my brand-new car of only short two years, my beauty, behind me, dead.

Realizing how thankful I am, for my angels in heaven looking down on me.