I opened my eyes, the residual warmth of the light blue sheets underneath me anchoring my mind back to the present. The transition from the dream to reality was like breaching the surface of cold water.
For a few fleeting moments, I had been Roxanne Albatross again. I had been trapped inside the sterile white walls of the University of Santo Tomas Hospital in Manila, feeling the phantom burn of chemotherapy fluids being injected into my veins through an IV drip. I could still vividly remember the crushing weight of that diagnosis, the pale look on my mother Celine's face, and the desperate resolve in my father Albert's voice as they tried to shield me from a terminal sickness that was actively eating away at my bone marrow. On Earth, my own blood had been a malfunctioning, cancerous enemy.
But as I took a deep, steady breath, the clinical scent of antiseptic dissolved entirely, replaced by the grounding, familiar smells of my current surroundings.
I looked down at my hands. There were no IV lines taped to my skin. There were no ugly, purplish-yellow bruises mapping across my forearms, and the weak, failing pulse of a sick high school student was gone. In its place was the dense, vital, and terrifyingly powerful core of my current flesh.
I was safe from the leukemia now. In this world, the blood running through my veins was no longer an invisible monster destroying me from the inside out; it was a lethal, cursed weapon… the very source of the S-rank magic that kept me alive, even if it came with the heavy price of being feared as a demon.
I sat up slowly on the edge of the light blue bed, rubbing my face to wash away the last lingering shadows of Manila. It was a bizarre, bittersweet irony. The very thing that had doomed me in my past life was the exact force that granted me terrifying strength in this one. Running a hand through my hair, I forced the bittersweet memories of my past family back into the deep corners of my mind, letting out a long breath as I braced myself for the realities of the day ahead.
I lay back down on the crisp hospital bed, the faint squeak of the plastic mattress beneath the sheets bringing me entirely back into the memory.
My mother, Celine, immediately leaned forward from her chair, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a sudden, overwhelming relief the moment she saw my eyelids flutter open.
"Roxanne, thank God you're awake," she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out to gently squeeze my hand.
My father, Albert, stepped up beside her, the rigid tension that had held his shoulders square for days finally melting away. A rare, genuine smile broke through his stoic expression.
"The doctor said we can leave now," he said, his voice thick with emotion. He held up a small paper pharmacy bag, tapping it gently. "If you're feeling nauseous on the ride home, don't worry… we bought the anti-nausea medicine. The chemotherapy was a success."
Hearing those words, a profound sense of warmth washed over me. The invisible monster in my blood had been fought back, and for the first time in months, the air in the sterile room didn't feel heavy with a death sentence. I looked at my parents, my heart swelling with gratitude for the family that had stood by me, ready to wage war against the sickness in my veins.
I offered them a faint, weary smile, the heavy fog of the clinical exhaustion finally beginning to lift.
"Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad," I murmured, my voice a bit raspy, but carrying a genuine sense of relief that I hadn't felt in months.
I carefully sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the examination bed. My forearms were still dotted with the fading remnants of those ugly, purplish bruises, and my body felt incredibly light, almost fragile, from the grueling rounds of treatment. Yet, looking at the fierce devotion in my parents' eyes, the lingering dread of the acute leukemia seemed to shrink. We had fought the invisible enemy inside my bone marrow, and against all odds, we had won this round.
My father held out his arm, giving me a sturdy anchor to lean on as I stood up on my own two feet. The floor felt solid beneath my sneakers. The sterile, fluorescent-lit walls of the University of Santo Tomas Hospital room suddenly didn't feel like a prison anymore; they were just the backdrop of a battle we had survived.
As we gathered our things and walked out into the bustling, sunlit corridors of the clinic, I felt a deep, quiet resolve settle into my chest. I was Roxanne Albatross. I was a kendo practitioner, an altar server, a daughter, and a survivor. No matter what hurdles or shadows lay ahead of me on the long road to full recovery, I knew I had the strength to face them… because I wasn't walking that path alone.
We left the hospital lobby and stepped into the warm Manila afternoon, the city air hitting my face as we walked toward our parked family car. After days of being cooped up in a sterile room, even the smell of exhaust and asphalt felt like a breath of fresh air.
As soon as Dad unlocked the doors, I saw a familiar, energetic little face peering over the backseat. It was Rayne, my six-year-old younger sister. Her bright eyes lit up the moment she saw me, her resemblance to a miniature version of me and Dad completely unmistakable.
"Roxy! You're back!" she cheered, her tiny voice echoing happily inside the car.
I couldn't help but smile, a wave of protective affection washing over me.
"Rayne, come here," I said, climbing into the back row as Dad started the ignition.
Rayne immediately scrambled over the seats to get closer to me. As the car pulled out of the hospital driveway and began navigating the busy streets, I leaned over and began playfully tickling her sides. Rayne burst into a fit of breathless, innocent giggles, wriggling around the leather seat to escape my hands.
"Girls, quiet down back there,"
Mom shushed us gently from the front passenger seat, turning around with a look of lingering caution. Dad glanced at us through the rearview mirror, his hands steady on the steering wheel.
"Easy, Rayne. Your sister just finished a major chemotherapy session. She needs to rest."
"Oh," Rayne murmured, immediately putting a finger to her lips and softening her cheerful demeanor, though her eyes were still wide and glued to me.
I stopped tickling her and pulled her close, letting her lean against my side. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone. My mind was still reeling from everything the doctor had explained, and a persistent, anxious curiosity forced my fingers to move. I opened Google and typed into the search bar:
side effects of chemotherapy for acute leukemia.
I scrolled through the medical articles, my eyes scanning past words like fatigue, nausea, and immune suppression until a specific line caught my attention. It stated that within two to three weeks of starting treatment, significant hair loss was to be expected as the medication targeted rapidly dividing cells.
I stared at the screen for a moment, the reality of it sinking in. I was a high school student, a kendo practitioner… the thought of losing all my hair made a cold knot form in my stomach. I locked my phone, took a deep breath, and looked up at the front seat.
"Mama… Can you buy me a wig?" I called out softly, my voice drawing her attention.
Mom's shoulders tensed slightly, and I saw her look at Dad for a split second before she turned back to face me. The worry in her eyes softened into pure, unwavering support. She reached back, gently squeezing my knee.
"Sure, sweetheart, We'll get you the prettiest one you want." she said, her voice completely steady and reassuring.
The traffic along España Boulevard crawled at its usual agonizingly slow pace, the hum of the Manila streets filtering through the car windows as Dad carefully navigated the afternoon rush. Rayne had fallen quiet against my side, her small fingers idly tracing the fabric of my school jacket, completely oblivious to the silent storm passing through my head.
I looked back down at my phone screen, clicking it open one more time. The glowing display showed the medical forum I had been reading.
Two to three weeks.
It felt like a ticking clock. I tried to imagine myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, watching my dark hair fall out in handfuls, leaving nothing but a smooth, pale scalp. I wondered what my friends at school would say, or how I would look wearing a kendo headguard without a single strand of hair keeping it in place.
"Don't overthink it, Roxy, We're going to handle this one step at a time. If you need a wig, we'll buy the best one in the city. If you feel tired, you rest. We are a team." Dad's calm, grounding voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, giving me a reassuring nod.
"Your dad is right, Next weekend, we'll go to the mall. We can look at different styles, maybe even something a little different from your usual look. We'll make a day out of it."
Hearing them talk like it was just another casual family project… like picking out a dress for a school dance rather than preparing for the devastating toll of cancer treatment… made the heavy knot in my chest loosen just a fraction. They were trying so hard to be strong for me. They were acting as my shield against the terrifying, invisible monsters hiding inside my own veins.
"Okay," I whispered, sliding my phone back into my pocket and wrapping my arm a little tighter around Rayne.
As the car finally broke free of the traffic jam, accelerating toward the familiar streets of our neighborhood, I leaned my head back against the headrest. The memory of the sterile hospital room began to drift away, replaced by the profound, simple warmth of my family. I didn't know what the next few weeks would bring, or how hard the chemotherapy would hit my body, but watching the sunlight flicker through the trees outside the window, I knew I was ready to fight.
The car finally pulled into the familiar driveway, and a collective sigh of relief echoed through the cabin as the engine died. We had arrived back at the Albatross household. Stepping across the threshold, the comforting, lived-in scent of our home immediately washed over me, completely erasing the last lingering traces of the hospital's clinical atmosphere.
"Roxy, go wash up. I prepared some dinner," Mom said, immediately heading toward the kitchen to set everything up.
A few minutes later, all of us gathered around the dining table. Looking down at the spread, I noticed a mountain of perfectly cooked eggs. Mom had specifically prepared them because the doctor emphasized that I needed high-protein foods to help my body recover and rebuild muscle tissue during the grueling chemotherapy cycles.
As we began to eat, my comfort Filipino genes completely took over. Seeking that familiar taste of home, I poured a generous splash of warm, sweet coffee directly over my steaming white rice. Combining the coffee-soaked rice with the savory, rich eggs created that classic sweet and savory combo that always hit the spot.
"Ate Roxy, why is your rice wet?" Rayne asked, tilting her head in pure, childlike confusion as she chewed on her food.
Dad chuckled, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Leave your sister be, Rayne. That's a classic combination right there."
With every bite, the warmth of the food and the quiet chatter of my family seemed to heal a tiny piece of the anxiety weighing down on my chest. Sitting here with Mom, Dad, and my little sister, the terrifying reality of the cancer cells in my blood faded into the background. For tonight, I wasn't a medical patient facing a daunting battle… I was just Roxanne, safely surrounded by the people who loved me most.