Her daytime routine wasn't as entertaining as the life she led in her sleep.
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She had become tired of watching patients arrive and others leave; the blood work and doctor visits were becoming unbearable. She would listen to the nurses’ life stories, about being late to pick up their kids from after-school programs, divorcing their husbands and planning anniversaries. The mundane details of shifts, biking, pie recipes, pets and mall purchases were all parts of a life that was no longer applicable to her. She stopped caring about that newly released song, the latest diet, politics and world events. She simply felt like she did not fit in anymore.
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Throughout her 28 years of life, she did not have many accomplishments apart from learning how to walk, study and sing. Perhaps God had given up on her and instead directed his attention to someone more interesting. Maybe that person would become a scientist, an astronaut or a musician who would astound the world with their talent and make the time they had on earth count.
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​​​What if she took for granted the time she was given? Did she spit in the face of the one who gave her life itself? Was she being punished for not being remarkable? She was just an average young woman, and maybe that was not enough.  In a way, her time in this life was up, but she would soon be able to begin anew, learning to walk and sing again, as someone else…

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During her year-long stay in the hospital, she learned one thing: when you're sick, you die a little each morning.
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You awaken from your dream to be reminded of your diagnosis and those lab results that keep getting worse and worse. After a while, to combat the fear, she began convincing her mind to replace those frightful thoughts with games she made up. Instead of waking up to the thought of her cancer, she thought of old memories like the light blue teacup she saw during her visit to Italy or dolphins playing with one another in the wild. She realised how intricate human brains were and how they were able to hold onto details that most people did not realise were ingrained in their memory.
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Her mind games came to an abrupt end the moment she opened her weary eyes. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured all over her head, and her eyelids were too heavy to be controlled. Before the nurses usually arrived, she was able to predict how her day would look based on how she felt when waking up. The sound of the beeping monitors, nausea, numbness, and constant fevers were her norm.
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She always thought that dying either in the afternoon or before dark would make the most sense to avoid inconveniencing her family and the people working around her. There would be no late-night drives or overtired nurses during that time, and to her, that was appealing to know. The evenings were always busy with procedures and IVs, after which she usually fell asleep because of how exhausted she had become. All the lights would be turned off in her room, yet every hue from all the monitors and machines surrounding her would prevail. Depending on the dosage of drugs she received, she would be placed in a specific room, sometimes with fewer lights, if she was lucky.
 

Once she was asleep, her mind would take over, allowing her to morph into any being of her liking, such as an animal or a fairy. She could be young or old, blonde or grey-haired, rich or poor, and that ability to escape reality was the only perk she had after receiving her diagnosis nine months ago. She could not remember much from that day; perhaps due to the state of shock she was in or her inability to comprehend her new life. After a few hours of testing at the hospital, fear and panic engulfed her body as she heard her mother wailing near her ear, mourning her daughter before she was even gone.
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She was determined to get her questions answered that day: the why’s and how’s, the side effects, results, and more. She was angry at whoever or whatever caused it, mad for cursing her and not someone else. She felt guilty knowing that she would rather have a stranger, whose life she did not know, whose parents or children it may affect, be in her shoes rather than herself. Sitting in front of the mirror, she watched herself cry. She cried until her migraine was unbearable, realising that crying was the least helpful thing to do. She was aware that this thing that was taking control of her was beyond her knowledge and her power.
 

A couple of days after receiving the lab results that confirmed her diagnosis, she visited a church. She found a strange peace in that atmosphere, especially the smell of the burning candles, which provided her with a calming sensation. The people there quietly whispered, whether it was with prayers or not, and the church organ sound soothed her mind. She tried to pray too, asking whoever was up there in the nothingness to help her. But she knew that simply mouthing the prayer was not quite enough. She did not feel mentally or physically connected to this idea in the way the others had said she would. If only she could take back all the things she had done wrong in her life, perhaps she would not have been in this situation. Who was she kidding? Everyone makes at least one wrong decision in their lifetime, and nothing would change the path she had been put on.
 

Her friend next door had no name, at least that was the way she liked it. ‘Call me whatever you want,’ she said, ‘that way we can be as weird as we want and never have to worry about ever seeing each other again!’ She was very funny and they always laughed together, sharing everything from the details of their nighttime routines to the way they felt after a long day of chemotherapy.
 

Early one morning, her friend came back sounding different, and an hour later, the nurses took away her limp body. The death of her nameless friend did not scare her. Instead, she replaced any sad thoughts with the idea that Room Seven, her friend’s room, was the room of the angel. That night, she dreamt about Room number 7 and its contents.
 

From that point on, room dreams frequented her, so she began naming them based on what she saw as soon as she walked into them. One night, she found herself in what she named the Red Room. There she was surrounded by red tulips as she lay on the grass, gazing up at the heavens. She bounced from one cloud to the next, touching the sun with her bare hands, feeling no warmth or pain.
 

The magical Woodland Room was among her favorites; the morning dew tickled her feet beneath her as she embraced the tree of life, with its leaves ethereally singing amidst the cascade of foliage. The tree then turned into a flower and scattered into a myriad of particles, drifting upward towards the sky.
 

After a long night of chemo, her mind conjured up a new room. From that room, she saw people leaving the hospital with flowers on their lap and a blinding smile. Not many people were fortunate enough to be able to escape this room, she thought to herself. In another room, the windows only afforded her a glimpse of either the sun, white snow, or rain, but she was unable to see which of those it was. In rooms like these, she was unsure of their uncovered purpose, but visiting them was nonetheless enticing.
 

The room that left her most in awe was the Egyptian Room. In this dream, she followed a black cat into a room filled with the aroma of an ancient lotus flower. She was delighted to finally experience the smell of a lotus flower; a combination of jasmine, nutmeg and sandalwood, intermingled as one whole scent. The camels and pyramids were getting closer to the sun before they seamlessly disappeared amid a gorgeous sunset. She reached the pyramid entrance. Golden sand spilled onto her forearms as she entered. The narrow walls were decorated with snapshots from her own life, from her joyous laughter on her father’s shoulders to the tender embrace of her new puppy on her twelfth birthday. The stairs led her to the highest point, where she took in the freshest breath of air.
 

The view of the world she got to see filled her with a desire to start singing an aria from Aida, Glory of Egypt. The sky above the top of the pyramid glistened with millions of stars, providing a dazzling backdrop that lulled her to sleep as she returned to her dream and awoke to her real life.
 

The monitor’s signals caused a disturbance as she felt the nurses unwrapping her body. Another perfect morning she could potentially die in, yet the machinery surrounding her with dozens of tubes and sensors was there to fight for her life when she could not. She was unable to move, but her eyes took in the scene in the room.

 

Her mother was there, despite her begging her not to come, or at least not every day. She tried everything to keep her away, yelling, insulting her and other tactics to convince her that visiting the hospital was a waste of both their time. Those maternal bemoaning cries were hard to handle once the drugs began to wear off. She would bring cards and board games and tell stories about other people to brighten up her daughter's day. Little did she know, her daughter was half-listening most of the time, empathising with her life- giver's struggles and admiring her determination.
 

Her youngest brother was very blunt and asked her if she was going to die, and when. Although strange, it was the most constructive and honest conversation she had had since she was diagnosed.

 

After she passes away, all of her memories will be lost forever. The dreams she never followed, and the sorrows she endured will be gone, leaving only a faint trace of the life she had once lived. She will never again know the joy of singing in La Scala, the thrill of riding her bike, or the bitterness of zucchini. She will not remember the hurt she felt when she caught her mother cheating on her father, or the hate she felt for the head cheerleader in high school. All of her memories would burn away into dust alongside her body.
 

She thought of the things she never got to do and realised she had no desire to accomplish anything else before she crossed over. There was no wish list; no last words for her family or obligations owed to anyone. The man she dated for a year was long gone, only willing to send a ‘get well soon card’. She had no regrets, no unfinished business and no need to tie up loose ends. All she wanted to do was to enjoy the life she had left as far away from reality as possible.
 

If it wasn’t for her disease, she would have cared more; however, she knew it was not worth overthinking. At that point, her fate was between her and the divinity in the sky. She did always wonder why people referred to the sky when talking about God, even though most people would eventually be buried beneath the living. Everyone, including herself, wanted to know what happens when one sees the light… Would she stand in front of a board of angels with a completed form in her hands? Or would she be reborn as a daffodil or puppy after they decided to send her back to Earth?
 

What would she be if she came back as a human? Would she be a boy or a girl?  Would she be born in the United Kingdom or Arizona? Would she live in ancient times or in a futuristic world?
 

She sat in front of the mirror and said to herself, ‘You are going to die’. Surprisingly, this thought brought her a strange sense of peace.
 

To skip empty promises and optimistic speeches, all she asked of the people around her was to be given the medication. Then, she could reach her eternal version of euphoria, visiting the Rooms.
 

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Stretto
 

On the 288th night, she showered for the last time. Her eyes were moist, and her heart pounded in her chest as she caressed her own body, murmuring apologies and farewells.
 

She read the label on the medication that the nurse was administering into the syringe, feeling her stomach flutter with anticipation. She knew that Room 288 would be a special one, one that no one had gotten to open. Tonight, she was hoping to be the lucky one.
 

She lay down in her bed after combing through what was left of her hair and let the nurses do their job. After they had left, she closed her eyes and whispered, ‘I’m ready’.

She began walking through the dimly lit corridor, aware of the diminished connection to her physical self. She hurried along, seeking out the door she yearned to peek into, looking left and right whilst passing the ones she had visited times before. She gasped for air as her feet stopped before her, facing Door Number 288.

 

Before she could reach over and grab the handle, the door slammed shut, and before she knew it, her feet began to move again. She was unsure of the path she had to follow this time, unaware of where it would lead her, or better yet, what door it would lead her to. Before she knew it, the door plated in gold stood straight ahead of her, showing the number ‘288’ and an infinity sign. It was warm, it was safe, it was her door.
 

Her name was Stella, and she entered the last room - the Phoenix room.​​