The high-pitched sound of a horn beeping in the driveway caught my attention. I looked up and sprinted to the window. Peering through the window, I heard Michaela's mother shout from downstairs, "Jeana! Your mother's here!  Quickly, I gathered my scattered belongings, shoved them into my bag, said my goodbyes, and slammed the door behind me. I scampered down the stairs rapidly, knowing my mother was in a hurry. When I finally reached the car, I was struggling to catch my breath. I opened the door and plopped down on the seat, tossing my bag in the back seat. Immediately, the car began moving backward. I buckled my seatbelt and tried to get comfortable. After a few moments passed, my mother spoke up and asked, "What did you do today?  "OH!  I replied in excitement, "We went swimming, and played a couple of games. It was a lot of fun. How was your day?  "Well,  my mother responded with a pause, "Do you remember when your cousin Jenny went through chemotherapy for her Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma seven years ago?  I sat there with no answer, and suddenly began to recall way back when I was seven years old. Memories came racing back into my mind. I remember going to the hospital to visit her, and my parents telling me she was very, very sick. They told me we had to be extremely careful not to bring germs into her room. Her once luscious, long, dark brown hair was gone. She looked exhausted, like she could give up at any moment, but she didn't. Cords were hooked all over her body supplying medicine to make her better. She was dressed in a hospital gown, which was not the most flattering thing in the world, but somehow she still looked beautiful. She was smiling through it all, showing everyone around her that she was strong enough to beat cancer. Although, we all knew deep, down inside, that this was the hardest experience she has ever gone through. It was not just going to go away over night like th