Day One. The pain came out of nowhere. It was like someone was stabbing a knife and turning my insides out. I sought relief, only to be stabbed once more and then to be led to what would be my home for the next two months of my life.

Day two. Day two was just a continuation of another painful and unwanted long day of never ending testing. Testing for a cause that would not let me be in peace for another month and a half. Testing for a cause that would keep me in bed with a knife in bed for another million hours.

Day three was a day of ovaries, family, bed, attitude and awkwardness at the hospital. Receiving the news of an orange-sized cist choking my ovary, while in pain of having twenty-thousand asking questions, and yet still being tested like pregnant women isn’t all that great when you want to be alone.

Day eight I received a friend over, Jimena. The only friend from school that would come to visit me while I was riding through this rollercoaster of emotions and symptoms.

Day ten: After family making friends with the ice-handed nurses, I was sent home to my bed. Or as I would like to call it, my cave.

Day twelve: My father left work to come take cars of me while I was in my cave. This day marked the beginning of a new time zone for the both of us. The time zone was called no sleep. This would be our time zone for the following week and a half.

Day nineteen: After having half of the world me frustrate me with “Everything will be fine, everything is fine.”, I was advised a doctor for “pregnant” women. Even though I was told that I was fine, I was forced to make an appointment to see the cist in detail.

Day twenty-seven was an additional day to make my anxiety come out.  Stress from a surgery prescription was established to the piles of medicine….

Day thirty-five (part one): I woke up that morning starving and incredibly scared; it was my first surgery ever! So, to calm my nerves down, my godmother came to help me through it all (along with my family).

Day thirty-five (part two): the second part of that day, I woke up to an even worse pain, even worse than before. “Rate your pain from one to ten, ten being the worst pain you ever felt and zero being no pain at all.”, was put of the question. All I was able capable of doing was crying and seeing my family with a blur. I clearly remember being told by doctor how I would be placed in my anterior room after the surgery was done. A few moments after, I recognized how unrecognizable the room I was currently in was. Realizing the pain, the room and the two bandages around my waist, I was alarmed to find my right ovary missing.

Day fifty: crackers popsicles and Chez-its keep me living through the rude nurses that made me walk.

Day fifty-two was the day I was finally sent home for another week. A week full of Netflix shows and more popsicles.

Day sixty-three: After missing two whole months of an MYP school, I met up with a at home teacher. This would help me and prepare me for my return. I mostly was given a stack of homework to do. I surprisingly was able to do all of it by myself, I really didn’t have a choice.

Day seventy: My life was as normal as it was going to get. I was at school stressing and pulling all-nighters. Yet every P.E class was ever so different. My reflection in that locker room was never the same. That horizontal never-ending line stretched across my stomach.  It would stare and remind me how cruel pain could be. The never-ending line reminded me to be thankful for the life I had and to be thankful for my remaining ovary.