Disclaimer: I don't own total drama, or the song Cancer by My Chemical Romance which is where I got the title from.

So, after several months, I have FINALLY updated something...

I would like to apologise if anything I mention in his fic is inaccurate, I have spent a while researching the types of cancer and the treatment procedures but if anything is really inaccurate then please let me know. I am also sorry to anyone who reads this who has been through cancer themselves or cancer of a loved one, I am sorry if this is offensive in any way and I sincerely hope that one day a cure will be found.

Also, I'd like to apologise for how much Heather's mother was featured in this chapter. I know that even though she made a few minor appearances on the show she isn't really a proper character, and I don't like that a couple of chunks in this focus on her. That will only be in this chapter because it was kind of neccessary, I don't want her to be a major OC in this or anything.

Heather stared into the mirror, eyes raking over her body in disgust. The doctor had estimated that it had been a few months since her tumour developed, and since then her body had already grown ravaged and begun to dwindle. No matter how hard she tried she could not keep food down; it found its way out of her system one way or another, leaving her weak and ill nourished. Her skin was ashen, and her ribcage jutted out sharply and her stomach was in near permanent pain. It felt as though her body was eating itself from the inside out- something she realised, with a frown, was nearly true. The cancer was consuming her.

Her only hope of scraping through this without having to be admitted as an inpatient for radio and chemotherapy was the drastic surgery approaching, something she was extremely uneasy about. They would have to remove a section of her stomach lining- it was something that, even if it was successful, would leave her marked forever. The doctors had warned her that after the surgery her stomach would be significantly weaker than before; even when it had healed, losing a part of its lining would make digesting food and moving her abdominal muscles more painful and challenging when she was healthy. Heather was scared senseless by the idea of this, but she was more scared of what would happen if the cancer had already spread to her lymph nodes; not only would her stomach be permanently changed, but she would be forced to endure the hellish life of a cancer patient. How many times, she realised sombrely, had she seen cancer patients walking around and not given them a second glance? Heather was not one to give much thought to anyone other than herself, and though she may have occasionally passed a woman or man wearing a scarf around their head, missing their eyebrows and bearing an ashy pallor, Heather had never pitied them before. It was only now, now that she was suffering the same thing they were, that she pitied them. The life of a cancer patient was usually focused so much on their disease that people often did not think about the fact that they were once just ordinary people, living and thriving until they were diagnosed with the disease.

When the day of Heather's admission into the hospital for surgery came along, she was hit with a wave of emotions, unsure of how she should feel. Anger- at herself, for having too much pride to tell a doctor about her symptoms when they were not as concerning- was prominent, as was fear, for inevitable reasons. However, the most notable feeling was vulnerability. This was not something that Heather could stomp through confidently with a few callous remarks and a toss of her head, unlike most of the other challenges she had faced in her life. This was a whole new level of terror, and not something that she herself could fix.

Her mother drove her to the hospital in solemn silence. Her father, as usual, seemed not to care. He had obviously been all but indifferent at the news that his daughter had an aggressive tumour, and his clearly transparent pity made Heather feel even sicker than she already was. She was being admitted to a different hospital than she had stayed in for her endoscopic ultrasound, and this one was even more daunting than the one she had briefly stayed in before; it was far larger, equipped to hold more patients and facilities. Heather felt the childish urge to hide under the car seat; she would rather have made a fool of herself than walked into the hospital, and yet she silently stepped out of the car, stomach churning with both nerves and the nausea that was almost constant now. Still, gathering up every ounce of strength she had, Heather walked shakily beside her mother.

The sterile environment of the hospital was unnerving; the smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, and the knowledge that a bed was waiting for her made Heather's knees buckle slightly, though she told herself not to be so pathetic. Her balance swayed as she made her way up to the reception desk, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself that it was just the polish on the floor or her high heels making her legs give way, she knew that it was her nerves.

"Just try and stay calm," her mother attempted to console her, catching her hand for a moment. Heather didn't speak for a moment, just stared at her mother with a sour expression on her face. Finally, she snatched her hand away, giving it a melodramatic wipe on her clothing as though she was disgusted to even touch her mother.

"Excuse me?" she snapped, voice sharp and unemotional. " I am calm! Besides, you can't tell me what to do!"

She knew it wasn't her mother's fault, and a tiny part of her mind felt a pang of remorse. But since she had no one to blame, she was lashing out at everyone- her emotions were out of control right now.

The receptionist, a hard faced woman with excessive lipstick, barely looked up as they approached the desk.

"Department of surgery," she directed them bluntly, once Mrs Wilson had . "Follow the signs."

They followed the metallic lettering that directed them along the halls into a different wing of the hospital. Heather's mother shot her a few questioning glances, but Heather brushed her off. She may have secretly wanted comfort, but she was not going to give into it, even if her mother was the only one who cared about her, and the only person Heather really cared about.

Well. There was one other person she may have cared about at one time, but that seemed a world away, before Heather had started to develop cancer. The memory of the one man that she had actually cared about, maybe even loved, hit her with an unpleasant sting, but she brought herself back to the present- she would have rather focused on the hell of surgery than thought about total drama...

"Heather Wilson," her mother informed the young nurse at the admissions desk once they reached the surgical wing, and Heather scowled at both of them.

"Uh, I can speak for myself!" she snapped, and the nurse gave her a gentle smile.

"Of course," she said, clearly undetrerred by Heather's harshness, her eyes travelling down to a neatly organised array of paperwork on the desk before her and plucking a form up. "You were referred here by an oncologist..."

Yeah, doctor creepy ass who didn't give a cr*p that I had cancer... Heather thought, attempting to recall the name of the man who had told her that her life was over. "Doctor... Uh... Forest..."

"Doctor Lawrence?" Her mother rectified, and the nurse nodded, holding out a sheet of paper to Heather.

"You've been scheduled for surgical treatment, which will take place tomorrow afternoon. Until then, you will be staying in the surgical preparation ward, and after you will be in the recovery ward until-"

"Blah, blah," Heather interjected, snatching the papers from her. "I know what's happening."

She scanned the paper, which was an admission form into the hospital. Heather blanched slightly at the clause absolving the hospital of responsibility "should the unlikely event of a mishap occurr", but she steeled herself, scratching her signature onto the paper with an overdramatic flourish. The moment after, she felt a surge of shock at the inevitability of the moment- this meant that she was in now, and she was officially a cancer patient.

"I am not wearing that,"

Heather's lip curled at the thin, translucent gown a rather unamused, matronly looking nurse was holding out for her. It was the standard hospital gown, and she could see that it merely laced up at the back, leaving her rather revealed. It was bad enough that- despite her insurance paying for a private room- she had to share a sickening-smelling room with three other people the night before her surgery, but sharing with other people whilst wearing only a thin tent of cotton was not something Heather would do without putting up a fight.

"I brought pajamas, I'm wearing those."

The nurse simply shook her head; Heather suspected sourly that she was trained to deal with objections, and would be unyielding.

"Tomorrow you will need to undergo surgery preparations, and tonight we will need to conduct more tests. During those, it is neccessary to wear this." she shook the gown slightly. "Once the doctor is sure that it will not interfere with your sugery wound, then you can change into your own clothes."

"Wait a minute..." Heather frowned at the word wound, before narrowing her eyes. "I'm going to have a scar, aren't I?"

She knew that a scar was a small price to pay if the surgery potentially removed her cancer, but at the same time the idea of being permanently marked on her stomach was mortifying. She loved to wear halter tops and bikinis to show off her formerly toned abdominal muscles, and the sudden realisation that the skin there would be marred by a scar was unbearable.

"Most likely, yes," the nurse said simply, before glancing down at her clipboard, leaving Heather still horror struck at the prospect. "Since your surgery is late in the day, you will be provided with dinner tonight, but you can't eat after 6 pm."

She dropped something on the pathetic excuse for a table beside Heather's bed, which after inspecting gingerly the teenager realised was supposed to be some sort of menu. The mere thought of food made her feel sick regardless of what it was, and she was not exactly enthusiatic about hospital food, remembering with a shudder the poor excuse for a meal they'd served her after her ultrasound.

"And I'm supposed to eat this garbage?" she snorted, after barely even glancing at the options. "Pfft- forget that."

She was almost hoping to shock the nurse, but to her disappointment the woman didn't bat an eyelid.

"You have to try and stomach something." she instructed her, with a clear finality in her words. Scowling as though she was being forced to do something despicable, Heather circled a few options from the columns on the menu, barely looking at what she chose, though she opted to avoid fish- the strong odour and flavour of seafood was not going to please her stomach right now.

Once the nurse had finally gone, Heather violently yanked the plastic curtain around her bed to provide her with some semblance of privacy. Her mother had gone to get herself dinner, promising Heather she would be back, though Heather had waved her away callously. She needed to be alone, for the most pathetic reason; if she was alone, then no one would see her break down. Her emotions were overwhelming her right now; she had never pictured herself in such a nightmare, and though she had overcome so much in her life, Heather was terrified out of her wits because she had no clue what she was going to do.

Patience, humility and benevolence had never been any of Chris Mclean's highest traits. Even as a child, he had thrown a tantrum if his parents paid more attention to anything- even their job or their own health- than him, or if he thought anyone was being treated better than he was. So hosting total drama was a dream come true for him; not only was he in the spotlight, but he was able to degrade others while relaxing himself.

Secretly, he loathed the idea of calling the veteran cast back for a reunion. The new cast he had brought back for the fourth season were annoying enough to deal with, but he hated the idiots he had been forced to tolerate for three seasons even more. And yet, for some reason he couldn't grasp (why, after all, would the audience even pay attention to losers like that when there was the Chris McLean to think about?) their viewers had loved the old cast, and the network insisted Chris gather them all together for a reunion- it was guaranteed to be a ratings boost. Chris, being the reasonable and mature host he was, had sulked for over three days before finally being coaxed into agreeing with the promise of a new hot tub installed in his mansion. Monetary gain was top of Chris's priorities, and so he had slapped on a grin and announced the upcoming reunion with enough pride and conviction to make the fans think it was his idea.

The former cast mates would have been hard to track down, had it not been for a reliable source of information; one of Sierra's many fan blogs, that was still faithfully running after all that time. Chris had simply scoured her unnervingly stalker-esque pages until he found ways to contact the competitors. Most of them reluctantly agreed after a little discussion and Chris's smug reminder that they were bound to attend due to their contract, though some (the less intelligent or less Sane ones such as Izzy, Sierra, Owen, Tyler and Lindsay) had been all too easy to convince to turn up. Chris wore his trademark grin as he "welcomed" the teenagers back to the total drama studio on the day of the reunion, though his grin lapsed into a pout when he realised that it was five minutes until air time, and one competitor hadn't turned up.

Heather. Typical. Chris let out an angry huff, double checking the peanut gallery once again. While he would have relished a chance to sue her, the strangely large and completely undeserved fan base she had would have been highly disappointed and the show could have lost ratings. Muttering half-formed sentences about selfish girls and inconsiderate idiots, he flipped open his phone and dialed her number.

Heather hadn't spoken all day, and it was concerning her mother. She tried to worm any speech- a sarcastic remark or insult would have even been sufficient- from the girl, but failed. Heather simply stared ahead, her face unreadable. Inside, despite her eerily calm demeanour, Heather was screaming. The time of her surgery drew nearer; it was eight AM, then noon, then two in the afternoon... Every hour seemed to speed by, until 6pm- the dreaded hour in which she would be prepared for surgery and go under the knife- finally came, smacking her in the face.

And still, she said nothing. Heather was terrified that if she opened her mouth, then all her insecurities and fears would come tumbling out like a fountain, making her seem weak and pathetic. She was determined to keep her dignity, even in these tough times...

Still, her resolve wavered when the nurse told her that in a few minutes, she would be taken down to the operating theatre.

As the doctors approached, Heather's phone began to ring on the table, breaking the funerial silence. Heather grabbed it quickly, and an irritated growl built up in the back of her throat when Chris's caller ID appeared on the screen. The last thing she wanted to be reminded of before she went under the knife was the stupid reality show that had partially destroyed her life. A vague part of her remembered that there had been some kind of cast reunion coming up, though obviously her mind had been on other things at the time and she had forgotten about it. It certainly didn't matter NOW, whatever the case; she was in hospital, and her Heath was far more important than a cast reunion for a pathetic TV show she would have rather forgotten any way. Angrily, Heather hit ignore and all but threw her phone down on the the bedside table. Everything was completely ruined by her disease; she didn't need the egotistic host bothering her about some stupid reunion.

"Let's get this over with," she barked out her first words of the day at the nurses who, after exchanging a disapproving look with each other at the brusque way Heather was speaking to them, began to wheel her out the room and into surgery.

The total drama aftermath studio was just as disgusting as Alejandro had remembered it, possibly even more. He loathed anything to do with the show that had cost him so much, and seeing the faces of the contestants who had laughed and cheered as he was shoved off a volcano made his stomach clench bitterly. He resented all of this, especially resenting Chris for forcing him to turn up to this god forsakened reunion. The other contestants seemed almost exactly as he remembered them, and he shuddered in disgust; they hadn't matured in the two years since he last saw them, and their jeering faces transported him back to that hideous moment in the volcano, making him remember- in far too much detail- the feeling of lava tearing at his skin, smelling his own flesh and hair burning...

He shook his head, pushing the memories to the back of his mind and straightening up. He may have been in the last place he wanted to be, but he still had his dignity; it was a comfort- though a small one at that- to know that he was still far more intelligent, mature and attractive than all of the idiots who had competed on total drama. There was only one possible exception, but he was both relieved and disappointed, despite himself, to see that Heather was absent from this reunion. He figured bitterly that she must have thought a reunion was 'beneath' her, or just been too busy preening herself to bother turning up. She may even have been busy with a new boyfriend... For some reason, that image distressed Alejandro, though he wanted to kick himself. He was spending far too much time thinking about Heather.

Contrary to the overdramatised stereotype Heather had expected, the operating theatre did not look like a large, sterile theatre with people watching her operation. It was just a simple room, filled with equipment and a cold slab in the centre, and yet it was still too intimidating for her to handle. She felt the urge to roll off the gurney and dart past the doctors, out of the hospital forever; in her frenzied state of mind, Heather considered living as a homeless personn- surely that would be preferable to living as a cancer patient, wouldn't it?

Don't be an idiot, She admonished firmly, choking back any childish sobs that threatened to escape. You're not a child. You can handle this.

"Can I just get you to shift onto this, Heather?" A surgeon asked her calmly, gesturing to the operating table. Heather considered refusing insolently; she was feeling even more prickly and panicked now. The reality of it seemed to be even worse than her mind had conjured up; her eyes were darting around the room so quickly that all she could see was a blur of metal, bright lights and the too-ripe blue of the scrubs the surgeons were wearing. Very reluctantly, she shifted her body onto the operating "table".

"It's too hard," she complained for the sake of it, though a weak undertone broke through her voice. The surgeon gave a wry chuckle, voice muffled by the mask he wore.

"You won't feel that for very long. Now, this procedure is a subtotal gastrectomy, and we will be removing some of your stomach muscle, as well as some of the surrounding lymph nodes and omentum, which is..."

His words, which she figured were supposedly to put her mind at ease, began to blur together in her mind, making her skin prickle nervously even more.

"I don't care," she finally managed. "The guy already told me what happens. Can we just..."

However, she couldn't bring herself to tell him to get it over with. Heather still found it painful to accept the harsh reality of what was happening; once she had undergone the surgery, she would be forever altered, and there was still the chance that she would have cancerous cells in her body, which would lead to more surgery and the dreaded courses or chemotherapy and radiotherapy, not to mention a life in hospital Constantly worrying about tumours, or the very high chance of death...

The anaesthesiologist appeared beside her, and Heather felt her heart pounding against her frail chest. This was it now; she was about to be put under a general anaesthesia, and when she woke up from her drug induced sleep, her life could be drastically different. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing laboured and her muscles tense as she waited for the drugs to take over her system.

There had been many occasions when Chris Mclean had been certain that he hated Heather. Yes, she caused drama- the sole purpose of the show. Yes, her devious actions had to be admired sometimes and yes, she boosted the show's ratings. However, none of those took away the fact that she was an unpredictable, high maintenance brat. While she had gained him money due to ratings, some of her spiteful actions had severely cost him. He had almost lost his job due to Heather provoking a severe volcanic eruption by throwing a pineapple into the lava- the fact that Chris had told her to was completely irrelevant in his eyes. His egotistical nature blinded him to any of his own flaws; he pinned the blame solely on Heather. There were many times he regretted letting the devious Asian onto his show, and yet he felt that he had never been so angry with her as he was now.

The reunion- one he had very clearly told her was compulsory to attend- was half an hour in, and he was running out of people to interview. He needed Heather there, stirring up some on set drama; his network had given him an hour slot to fill, and he had expected Heather to cause some form of argument or fight if she was there, prolonging the reunion and boosting ratings. His network had called him during a commercial and warned him that the audience were growing tired of seeing old total drama clips being replayed. He was supposed to "interact" with the others, but he had already asked them about their lives after total drama, and after hearing some less-than-satisfactory answers the arrogant host was stumped. As much as he despised her, he needed Heather there and was absolutely furious that she had bailed on him, even after she had unhappily assured him over the phone that she would be attending.

The producers were breathing down his neck, and after a third commercial break Chris couldn't take it any more; he was going to phone her, and demand that she turned up to the studio for the reunion. If not, then she could expect a serious lawsuit. Nothing was going to get in the way of Chris McLean and the audience ratings he deserved.

"Would you like something to drink, dear?"

Mrs Wilson shook her head blandly at the nurse, eyes still fixed on the corridor. She couldn't drink anything; her throat was contracted, hands tensely clamped together. Heather was still in surgery, and she could not remember how long it had been since her daughter was wheeled down into the operating theatre- the time had been unnaturally slow, and she was sure there were a few more hours to kill. Still, she promised herself that she would not leave the hospital; she had to be there, by Heather's side, when the sedatives wore off. There were too many times that she had failed to be there for her daughter, but now it was crucial that she make up for that.

She had never seen Heather more vulnerable than right now. Her daughter had been less callous and more open as a child, but as the years went by she saw Heather withdraw and distance herself more and more from others. She knew it was partially her fault; though she had been close to Heather in her youth, too many other things had come between her and her middle daughter as she reached adolescence. Work, her ever-changing relationship with her husband and Heather's siblings; the youngest child Damien always received attention for his sporting achievements, while their oldest daughter Anna was praised for graduating college. Between lavishing attention on them and their egotistic father, Mrs Wilson had failed to be there for Heather as she grew up, resulting in her becoming cold and shut off from almost anyone. Now, she was determined to look after Heather; she couldn't stand there and look the other way as her daughter was consumed by a fatal disease. Despite what her husband said.

Don't worry about Heather Feather, he'd told her, and the memory still made her blood surge angrily. She can handle herself. She's nineteen, she can drive herself to the hospital.

Mrs Wilson was not entirely sure what made her husband dislike their middle offspring so much, but she suspected it was because Heather, unlike her siblings, had not done anything to boost his reputation. He could always brag about his son and eldest daughter to all his rich, champagne-socialist friends. But what had Heather done? Humiliating herself on national television in the pursuit of money, and losing three times, was not something he was proud of. And yet, she still could not understand why he would be so heartless as to ignore her- even when Heather was suffering from cancer. He may not have cared, but Heather was her daughter, someone she had grown in her stomach and raised, and it was basic instinct to worry about her.

Heather's phone began to ring, obnoxiously loud in the echoing hospital corridor. Her mother jumped, deliberating for a moment whether or not to answer the call. A quick check of the caller ID made her wince; it was the infamous Chris McLean, someone she did not want pestering her daughter any more. If the stupid reality show had humiliated Heather after just one season, it had all but destroyed her after three, and though Heather rarely confided in her any more she could see in her daughter's eyes the regret and defeat every time the show was mentioned. She considered ignoring th call, but she recalled that Chris was persistent and would be likely to call back later, and she would rather Heather did not have to deal with him while she was in recovery.

"Hello?" she sighed into the phone.

"Heather? You sound old." Chris commented bluntly, and Mrs Wilson tutted slightly.

"This is not Heather, this is her mother," she informed him with a sigh. "Heather can't come to the-"

"Why the hell not?" Chris cut her off rudely. "In case she's conveniently 'forgotten', there was a reunion planned for today! She should be at the studio right now! Please remind your dear little daughter that if she doesn't get her butt down here in ten minutes, then she's breaching her contract and we have the right to sue her!" he sounded far too gleeful at the prospect. Mrs Wilson's temper, something that Heather had inherited tenfold from her, flared.

"Excuse me?" she snapped, sounding more like her daughter as she did. "How dare you! For your information, Heather has a very good reason for not being at your stupid reunion!"

"Sure she does," Chris said obnoxiously, clearly not convinced. "What's her excuse, then? Is she getting a pedicure?"

She was torn- she didn't want to tell Chris about what Heather was going through and run the risk of the paparazzi constantly following her around during her treatment, but at the same time she didn't want Heather being accused publicly of simply not turning up to the stupid reunion. However, her mind was clouded by the stress of the situation she was in, and her mouth betrayed her.

"She's in surgery."

There was a pause, and when Chris returned she was disgusted to hear just how eager he was at the prospect.

"Really?" he gloated. "She finally getting plastic surgery to fix that face?"

Not for the first time, Mrs Wilson wished that someone would "fix" Chris's face with their fist; though she had only met him in the flesh on a few scattered occasions, she despised him for the way he had treated her daughter. She knew she should 't have told him, knew that Heather would be furious. And yet, she couldn't have some idiotic celebrity being so rude about her daughter, especially not when Heather was so severely ill.

"For your information, Heather has cancer," she spat down the phone. Chris was silent for a few beats, though Mrs Wilson was positive it was not out of remorse.

"Interesting." he sounded far too amused, and furiously Heather's mother ended the call, already regretting what she had just done; if Heather was cold now, she was going to be completely hostile towards her once she found out that Chris knew.

The host's trademark grin never even faltered as Chris tossed his ridiculously extravagant phone aside, clearing his throat and turning to the contestants.

"Now, as you- and all of my audience- may have noticed, we're one contestant short!" he bugled loudly, and Alejandro scowled, not caring if the cameras caught his reaction. He did not want to hear about Heather, and he tried his hardest to tune out what Chris was going to say; he didn't care about whatever petty excuse Heather had used to get out of attending the reunion.

"And I'm sure you're all wondering, where's Heather?" he was deliberately drawing out the message he was about to deliver to play on the viewers' curiosity. Alejandro rolled his eyes.

I do not care about Heather. I do not want to hear about Heather.

"Now, that was just Heather's mom on the phone!" Chris gestured dramatically in the direction of his cell phone. "And, I'm afraid that she has some bad news! Well," he paused to chuckle. "Bad for her, but interesting for us! It seems that little Heather is in the hospital-"

At the word hospital, Alejandro forced himself to negate any feelings of concern or pity. She was probably just in the hospital for something petty like a split end or broken nail, he told himself sourly.

I do not care about Heather. I do not want to hear about Heather.

"-Getting surgery for cancer! Our Tv crew will be on their way immediately to get footage of Heather as she wakes up and interview her, so stay tuned!" Chris, who seemed almost overjoyed by this instead of concerned, rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Just imagine how many ratings we're gonna get once all the stupid Heather fans find out about this and tune in-" he paused, realising that the camera was still on. "Uh... I Mean, ALL of the total drama cast and crew wish Heather the best even though she deserves it, blah blah blah..." he dismissed.

I do not care about Heather. I do not want to hear about Heather. I do not ca-

However, as the reality of what Chris had said sunk in, Alejandro stopped chanting to himself in his head, and a strange numbness began to seep over his body, which he realised was shock.

Cancer.

Heather had cancer.

Heather could die.

But... This had to be a joke, right? A stupid publicity stunt of Chris's, or a mistake. Maybe his phone connection was wrong, or maybe Heather was overreacting; she might just have a single freckle on her nose and overreacted, thinking it was skin cancer.

A shocked gasp had rippled over the studio audience at Chris's announcement, and Alejandro dimly heard someone cry out in distress. Heather may have been voted the viewers' least favourite contestant, but the audience all looked shell shocked, mouths agape, eyes wide with shock. Alejandro looked to see the reactions of his fellow veteran cast mates, and saw their eyes all staring at him, expectantly.

It took him a moment to realise that he had unthinkingly risen to his feet, and another two beats before he realised with a muted pang of shame that he was the one who had cried out in distress earlier.

But he didn't care about Heather... She was a bruja who had cost him so much... She had lied, humiliated and betrayed him, put him in the hospital... Didn't she deserve this? Why did he even care?

The answer was all too clear, and he cursed himself for thinking it.

He cared because she was Heather.

So now Alejandro knows there will be some more Aleheather coming up in later chapters. I apologise for both the hiatus and if this chapter was terrible or really rushed. What did you think?