"My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations."
Diagnosed with Stage IV thyroid cancer at 13, Hazel was prepared to die until, at 14, a medical miracle shrunk the tumours in her lungs... for now.
Two years post-miracle, sixteen-year-old Hazel is post-everything else, too; post-high school, post-friends and post-normalcy. And even though she could live for a long time (whatever that means), Hazel lives tethered to an oxygen tank, the tumours tenuously kept at bay with a constant chemical assault.
Enter Augustus Waters. A match made at cancer kid support group, Augustus is gorgeous, in remission, and shockingly to her, interested in Hazel. Being with Augustus is both an unexpected destination and a long-needed journey, pushing Hazel to re-examine how sickness and health, life and death, will define her and the legacy that everyone leaves behind. - Goodreads
If you had walked into my room Thursday night as I sat propped up in bed you may have thought my cat died or I had just heard awful news or that my heart had been broken into a million pieces.
I was just finishing this book.
Rewind a little bit. On Wednesday my thoughtful friend Claire let me borrow this book, "A Fault in Our Stars" I was extremely excited. Yet, the look of fondness mixed with sadness that she gave me reassured me that this book was going to be an emotional ride. I didn't mind though. I prefer books that make me feel intense emotions.
It was an easy read, so it didn't take long to finish. But long time or short time, it will always stay with me. I fell in love with Hazel and Augustus. They were both so quirky and real. Something about the trials they go through as cancer patients give them beautiful and dark insight into the world we live in, and the decisions they make in the world they know they will someday leave behind. I didn't agree with all their beliefs and choices but it served as a brilliant insight into the depth of the human mind. Obviously, judging by my Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close review, I can't get enough about the human mind. What can I say?
As the story progressed I didn't want it to end, but I didn't want it to keep going either. There was this bittersweet knowing throughout the entire book that I will not allow myself to write due to spoilers. That's the trouble with writing about this book, there's so many dangers of slipping out a spoiler. I have to say this though. Augustus and Hazel were in love. In real love. Hazel, 16 and Augustus, 17. Augustus tells Hazel that he's not in the business of denying himself pleasures in life. Not after everything he's gone through. (Don't quote me on that I'm just laying out the principle). So soon they are on adventures together filled with stunningly beautiful moments. Part of what makes the love so honest is that they know what the other is dealing with. Death could be moments away, weeks away, or years away. And maybe, just maybe, they'd get lucky and be able to live out a long life. They both live in a fear of loving the other and having to leave them behind as they make their way out of this earth, but only so much of that can be stopped. Together they learn, recite poetry and become closely knit in a bond that they've needed for many years. A bond that nothing could ever wreck or destroy, something that lies internally within their beings for forever.
So thus I finished. In tears. In complete shock, in complete awe. I wanted to shout at someone that I hate cancer. I wanted to express something more eloquent then that. This post was awful to write, because everything I wanted to say could hardly be expressed, but here it is.
xoxo,
madeline
"Much of my life had been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me, so I knew what Augustus was doing. You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a Sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile."
"When you go into the ER, one of the first things they ask you to do is rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, and from there they decide which drugs to use and how quickly to use them. I'd been asked this question hundreds of times over the years, and I remember once early on when I couldn't get my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, flames licking the inside of my ribs fighting for a way to burn out of my body, my parents took me to the ER. nurse asked me about the pain, and I couldn't even speak, so I held up nine fingers.
Later, after they'd given me something, the nurse came in and she was kind of stroking my head while she took my blood pressure and said, "You know how I know you're a fighter? You called a ten a nine."
But that wasn't quite right. I called it a nine because I was saving my ten. And here it was, the great and terrible ten, slamming me again and again as I lay still and alone in my bed staring at the ceiling, the waves tossing me against the rocks then pulling me back out to sea so they could launch me again into the jagged face of the cliff, leaving me floating faceup on the water, undrowned."
