Proclamation of I Will Anonymous

When my mother was going into labor, she felt inclined to call my grandmother, who was long awaiting my birth. Frantic with excitement, my mother rapidly spoke into the phone, informing my grandmother of the news. My grandmother's shaky voice was drowned out by various medical machines sighing with exhaustion—each beep an indicator of the last shred of hope. I wasn't the only one with a long overnight stay at the hospital ahead of me.

Within hours, I was born. Within hours, my grandmother's stage three cancer progressed. As I started my life, my grandmother was significantly closer to the end of hers.

Until I was nine, I was ignorant to the fact that my grandma was lacking a breast, though she had a silicone implant in its place. After catching a glimpse of the inconspicuous scar that hid behind the silicone pad, I asked intricate questions. Her eyelids fell heavily, her chest heaved out more than usual, and continuously she repeated "another time" until she finally agreed. I sat at the edge of the chair; my tiny hands tightly gripping the corners, my legs swaying back and forth, I eagerly awaited to hear her story. Hundreds of scenarios played through my mind. "She definitely did something cool," I thought to myself. "She...