Prologue

Have you ever wished for another life? A second chance? Or just a glimpse into the future? I have. Often. If only I had paid attention to the signs that were right in front of me. If only…

I don’t believe in holding onto regrets or taking things for granted. What is handed to me is not always welcome, but I’ve learned to deal with it one day at a time. I’ve learned that in order to build strength, there has to be a struggle. Living is my struggle. It may seem so simple, but for me it’s far from easy.

“Aundrea … are you listening to me?”

My fingers stop spinning the thumb ring that sits perfectly on my left hand. Blinking, I meet Dr. Olson’s golden eyes.

She lets out a small sigh.

“Aundrea, I think it’s time we look into other options. There hasn’t been a significant enough change in your lab results with these drugs for me to say we should continue with this plan. I’m sorry.”

Other options. It’s been the same two words since my Hodgkin’s came back two years ago.

“What other options are left?” my dad asks, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“I want to get Aundrea in a trial study at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. With these two high doses of chemo drugs followed by an autologous bone marrow transplant we’ve seen patients have a higher than average success rate. I know the oncologist in charge of the study.”

She pauses, focusing her attention back on me. “I think you are the ideal candidate. The drugs are intense, but I believe it’s worth looking into, and we can use your own cells for the transplant.”

My mom clears her throat. “When are you thinking of doing all this?”

“The end of the summer. Aundrea’s white counts need to be a little higher to get the best results for the stem cells that are needed. The cells will be frozen and stored until they’re needed for the transplant.”

“We’ll do it,” my parents say simultaneously.

They always seem to do this. Make decisions about my treatment without consulting me first.

“How long?” I ask.

“Four rounds. You’ll go in every two weeks; then, about four weeks after your last treatment, if your blood counts are high enough, the transplant can be done. There is a facility called Hope Lodge that provides patients and family members with accommodations while going through treatment. I can get the contact information for you if you’d like.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Our other daughter lives in Rochester,” my dad says, looking over at my mom who is nodding her head.

Dr. Olson looks between my parents, then back at me. “Aundrea, what do you think of all this?”

What do I think?

“There’s no way to do this here? I mean … I have friends here. My life is here.”

“Aundrea, honey,” my mom says softly, taking my hand in hers. “This won’t be permanent. Just a few months. Your friends will be here when you get back. Besides, you’ll get to be with Genna and Jason, and we’ll come visit on the weekends.”

“I’d rather not go to Rochester.” Pulling my hand away, I look back at Dr. Olson who is sitting behind her big black desk. “Isn’t there any way I can do the bone marrow transplant here?” I plead.

“Unfortunately, this study, with these drugs, is only being done in Rochester. If you choose not to do the trial, we can look into other options, such as different chemo options, while we put your name on a bone marrow transplant list. However, that can take many months. I honestly believe this is the best option for you—especially after everything you’ve already been through.”

There are times I already feel trapped in this life I live by not being able to do the things I want, and now I’m being forced to pick up my life and move to a brand new city, locked away from society and my friends. I want what’s best for my health, but it feels as if no one seems to care about the things that matter the most to me, despite how many times I try to tell them.

Cancer.

It can break you. Or it can make you stronger. I choose stronger.

I choose survival.

Chapter One

Three months later.

“Are you done?” I murmur through clenched teeth as Jean, my best friend, continues to line my lips in an attempt to make my thin mouth look fuller, yet natural. Unfortunately, I wasn’t blessed with voluptuous lips like Angelina Jolie.

“Hold still. I will be if you stop fidgeting and trying to peek.” She takes the handheld mirror away from me. She brushes my lips one more time with blood red lipstick, and finishes the look off by applying my favorite twenty-four hour lip gloss.

“Okay, done!” she exclaims almost too loudly.

I look up through the fake eyelashes that she applied earlier as she backs away, smiling. Finally, she allows me to look. I notice my eyes first. I’ve always been told I have sweet, angelic eyes. Tonight they’re outlined in dark black liquid liner with smoky eye shadow that has just the slightest hint of purple. Surprisingly, the dark eyes don’t clash with the red lips. She brushed on a few shades of golden bronzer to accent my high cheekbones and add color to my pale complexion. It makes my skin looks smooth, hiding any blemish that may have been present. As I glance over the top of the mirror, I’m not sure if I should smile or freak out. This look says one thing only: Come f**k me.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

You have no idea. “Yeah?”