There I was, 11 years old scrawny, bruised, and extremely fatigued. While we were in the waiting room of Brooklyn Hospital I sat there rolling my eyes at other families crying together. In the meantime i was attempting to control myself from playing with things my mother told me were not mine, and was not to touch. Isn’t the hospital supposed to be the comforting, relaxing place? Yet the painted jungle animals on the walls tempted me in some ways more than others to aggressively play with the younger snot-nosed children. Some of them were bald, and all of us wore masks. We were told it was to prevent  “little people” from climbing  inside us, and fighting the good guys by accident.  I already knew why those kids were here. 99% of the peds unit, didn't really find the feeling of hyperventilating and suffocation the (supposedly “helpful”),  masks conveniently provided during activities too enjoyable. And the 1% that did find it fun, were kids my age that thought they were ninja masks. Every now and then in the office you could hear some of the parents fighting, bribing, and begging their kids to keep the mask on for their safety. I found it ironic how the kids who screamed and fought as if the mask endangered their lives. Just then a skinny, 20 something year old,  brunette with blue eyes approached us. “Jones.”The named rolled off her tongue as if it was sadly routine. Immediately my mother shot up, and grabbed me.
I could tell something was wrong, why else would she be so jumpy? We sat in the pediatric room and for the first time there was an unsettling feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t long until the doctor came in the room with sad eyes and a smile. That alone crushed my hopes of the situation being positive whatsoever. My mom just sat there with this gleam in her eyes. It was as if her eyes were screaming for the doctor to diagnose her instead of me. He simply glanced at me and then turned to my mother and spoke as if I wasn't even in the room; if the situation had nothing to do with me. “She has Lupus. Its an  autoimmune deficiency disease that affects any part of the body. She’s going to some rough days and other days she'll feel fairly normal. Our job is to help her have more normal days than bad days.” As she began her question,within her voice was a small crack of hopelessness. “ How serious is this? And can she still do sports and activities?” “Well lupus is a disease that varies amongst each patient, so it would require a series of tests and time. Over time it will attack different things in her body some more scenarios may be more serious than others. Like I said, the disease is very unpredictable. Based on her results on her kidneys,  she should have limited interaction with people who have a cold,the flu, etc.,  I would recommend homeschooling to prevent further damage during treatment. Physical activities would unfortunately fatigue her unnecessarily, and her body is going to need any energy she can get.” A range of emotions encapsulated the room and we all took some time intake the curveball that was pitched. Everyone was so concerned about walking on eggshells for the sake of protecting my mothers feelings, and no one even cared to ask me how I felt. I mean, wasn’t I the one at risk here? Tears welled up in my eyes and anger spewed from my mouth. I stood upright to give the illusion that my height would increase my maturity. “I’m eleven not stupid,” I shouted, shock slapped them in their faces as I broke my silence. I turned to open the door, I raced out the office and into the waiting room.
It was in that moment I deemed the fourth floor of Brooklyn Hospital “The Floor of Tears”. It was in that moment I realised that the next kid that would come in would roll their eyes at me for crying, as I did upon arrival. The nurse came over and knelt beside my chair and asked me what was wrong. I stared at the wall as she persisted. “You know, youre mom means well. The doct-  “ Don’t pretend like you know me or that you understand how I feel, because you don't!” She excessively blinked as if I spoke Chinese, then walked away. In that moment I felt not the slightest bit of remorse as my heart and tongue teamed up and argued in anger, my first victory throughout the situation.
Just when I thought she got the hint, she returns with a peace offering of jell-o for two and handed it to me. If she thought that was going to help the situation she was wrong, and from her pocket she pulled out candy. It was going to take a lot more to allow me to hear her out, suddenly oreos appear from behind her. Now she has my attention. I take the snacks from her and she made herself comfortable beside me. We stared at the business of the city streets and began to think out loud. “You know you’re right?” It sounded like a statement and a question at the same time. I remained quiet and she continued. “ I don't know how you, or any of the other kids feel, unless you guys tell me. I don’t know how it feels to be sick in the way you guys are. But do you wanna know what I see?” I nodded my head. “I see a floor filled with fighters. I see you never letting yourself down. Let alone anyone else” I hated myself for the way I treated everyone else thus far, I hated myself for the way I was going to have to live. “I hate that everyone treats me like I’m a little kid. This is about me right? I don’t understand why no one is even telling me what’s going on. Its not fair! Quit everything and start over? I won’t! No!” Once again I started crying. All I can think about is how people might think I never made it to the correct section, and belonged in the psychiatric unit on the fifth floor, but in that moment I didn’t care. She held me while I cried myself to sleep.
I must’ve been so tired because when I woke up I had already been admitted and was in my very own room. As I examined the room and the colors’ failed attempt to lift my spirits my mom was in the chair sleeping, and the nurse was beside my bed with a cup full of pills. Right on time to try my morning sarcasm on my nurse. Quickly scanning her I.D, I put my fakest smile on and reached for my pills.  “Oh goody Julie, more great ideas. What if I choke?” She returned the fake smile and replied, “ Well thanks for finally recognizing my name tag and you're in a Hospital. This is the perfect place to choke.” We both laughed, but the smile quickly faded as my mom woke up and the doctor walked in the room. “How do you feel?” he asked and his student assistant wrote details down. “Like I’m on top of the world. What do you think? I’m tired,” My mother shot me a menacing look, then apologized for my attitude.  While my mother was trying to justify my actions the doctor interrupted her to discuss what was going on with me, his actual patient. He explained to me the internal and external dilemmas. He went on explaining to me exactly how I would feel emotionally, and that I would soon return to school at some point and the severity of choosing a risky lifestyle. “If you don’t follow proper guidelines and instructions, this could make you sicker. Understand?” Even though I didn’t pay attention to every word he said, I pretty much got the message. So I simply nodded my head yes and returned to my room.
Throughout the week I began to feel the full effects of the medications and the war within my body. That week consisted of extensive treatments for my kidneys, disgusting diets, brutal migraines accompanied by nosebleeds, several naps, tests, and shots. On my final day, I knew I would soon return but was going to miss the people I would soon call my second family. But I would miss Julie the most for putting up with all the hell I put her through. While my mom gathered my things, Julie and I went for a walk to the same spot we first met, and brought our favorite essentials. Within that emotional spot: was us, our jell-o, candy and chocolate. We sat and ate in silence this time, yet somehow our silence conveyed a message we both understood. After we finished our snacks we returned to the room and grabbed my stuff. My first round of treatment was done and a new one would begin in another two months.
As we approached the car I hugged Julie and as usual she was the strong one and I was the one crying. She held my shoulders while I wiped my tears. “I know you’re not going to listen to the doctor about the whole sports thing, so I want you to go hard or go home, just not this home. Be careful.” I nodded and we laughed together  for the last time and entered the car. As we drove off I refused to look back at the hospital, because it would be an unsettling reminder of how this would be my lifestyle forever.
They told me I would have limitations, boundaries, fences and obstacles. I’ve always reached higher, and pushed harder. I never let any obstacle remain an obstacle, just a mere bump in the road. Though I know my life is different than other teenagers my age, I am normal. I can do the things other people can do. My good days have outweighed the bad. During Julie’s moment of silence with me, we both vowed to live by our saying, “Go hard, or go home, because failure is not an option.”