CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Journey To Greece
The day of our departure arrived amid a tidal wave of apprehension. My excitement was not of the healthy, gleeful breed, but rather the stomach-clenching variety that I would "wish away" if it was possible. It was, once again, fear of the unknown that assailed my thoughts when I should have been looking forward to new and interesting sights. Making the diagnosis was simple; believing in it enough to admit the silliness of my fear was not as easy. . . and nothing but confrontation would smother that fear.
I stood in the airport lobby wishing I had already gone and returned. As the gate opened, I decided to take one large jump and move through the metal detector and on to the official waiting room, where I proceeded to stare a hole through the floor. Shortly before the plane was to be boarded, a group of friends appeared to bid me farewell. We were separated by a railing, but their warmth passed over the barrier and embraced me. While the hugs and fair greetings did not dispell my fear, I realized the amount of love which would be packed in my suitcase for the month. Norm, my Uncle Les and a couple from our church had also seen us off; love would sustain and lend buoyancy during the hard times.
I felt my stomach surge as the plane taxied near the gate and people in the waiting room spilled out of their seats toward the doorway. It was time to go. Sharon was traveling with us to Greece, inspired to go through curiosity and concern about my health and the Greek doctor's proclaimed cure. She had always wanted to visit Greece, and when such an opportunity presented itself, it seemed ridiculous to simply let it pass.
I definitely was not traveling alone; the four of us formed our own support group en route, exchanging conversation and smiles through the dubious hours in which we flew over land and sea. Despite my family's presence, however, homesickness began to set in shortly after lift-off and graduated as we progressed. While the American top hits buzzed happily through the headphones oblivious to the foreign space below, I thought of home; when the snow capped Alps crossed our path, I thought of Norm. Home. . . Norm. . . I knew they would be missed. Frankly, they already were.
Diary:
Jan. 12 1983… Last night there was a party, as anticipated, for the Americans; it consisted of numerous Grecian delights, such as bhaklava, and various other pastries. . . many of which were laden with honey. There were also filberts and almonds, as well as beautiful steaks for those desiring to partake. As for myself, I committed the irretractable message that I was a "liver patient," and thereby was denied the joy of a potentially ambrosiac steak. Such is life, (no luck at all).
Today I woke up at 6:30, as well as every hour on the hour throughout the night! I went to the clinic… with Mom, this time… I received my shot. The moment he administered the shot, the reaction began. I felt as if my entire body had been assaulted by a blow torch! Several minutes later, my face turned a lovely shade of red. Also simultaneous with the shot was a distinct flavor of salt. I returned to the Akrion and rested 'til 11:30, at which time I ate a breakfast of oatmeal with honey and two pieces of toast (the latter of which I learned were forbidden until after the 19th treatment. Oh well, hopefully that will be the least of my follies). After drinking nearly an entire carafe of water, I returned to the room and slept until 6:00 p.m. Following my lengthy siesta, I ate a meager supper of greens, cucumbers and carrots (salad) and a baked apple with honey and walnuts.
A terrific addition… I got diarrhea… (pew). Must be because I'm screwed up (times, meals, etc.). Sorry to say, impinged on Sharon's right to fresh air while she was showering…
The people, both patients and families and Greeks… all nice.
Jan 13, 14, 15, 16… Never have I felt so utterly depressed in a place as I do here in Athens. Perhaps it is due to the fact that I am here for the purpose of cancer treatment, not merely diversion. I have not the energy nor the desire to do much sight-seeing. My meals are routine and boring, not to mention that they do not provide sufficient energy. Indeed, they are a hindrance to activity. Breakfast is oatmeal with honey and a baked apple. Lunch is a salad and baked apple, and dinner consists of a salad, apple and rice (if they have the latter). I was so worn down after the bus tour Saturday that I nearly cried when the waiter said there was no rice to be had. Nuts provide energy, but too many of those can be a sickening experience.
The first two nights I nearly went without sleep. Sharon snores excessively while I, on the other hand, am quite a light sleeper (hear all). In addition, a hi-way passes close to the hotel with motorists ravaging the noise level at all times of the day and night. I began to wonder if I'd sleep at all, so Mom and Sharon changed rooms. I guess I needed Mom's support much more than I knew. She is quite mellow. . . and I need all the relaxation I can possibly have. Somehow, I couldn't handle Sharon's intensity, and I became more and more on edge.
Yesterday I got too tired on the tour and broke down in the afternoon. Once again I was glad Mom shared the room with me. Never before have I been so easily shattered as here. I cannot seem to handle anything… usually I never cry or get too terribly upset. Traveling is usually a blast.
I slept well last night… I didn't have a nap because by the time I got hold of myself it was time for supper. I got down to the restaurant quite ready to eat, but when the food came I couldn't eat much and nearly lost control of myself again. We went back to the rooms and I had another attack (with several more to follow) of diarrhea. Glorious!
We tried calling Norm but the line was either busy or kept ringing. I called Jon but he wasn't there (at school) so I talked to both of his parents. Slept very well.
Jan. 18, 1983… Things are gradually becoming easier to handle, although my desire to return home as soon as possible is yet a prominent thought in my mind. Today I had my 5th treatment; I didn't seem as hot or as red as I had yesterday, although the taste of salt still remained as usual. My right arm is bruised due to some seepage during the injection; it is a small price to pay to allow my left arm free for both the 6th injection and blood test. I learned today that if the blood count failed to drop at least two points, the doctor dismissed you as a lost cause. Diarrhea has accompanied each bowel movement, which makes defecation less than a delight. However, this symptom often occurs among those being treated, so I settled into accepting that my upcoming weeks would prove likewise. I wonder if the injection is made up at least partially of Vitamin C; large dosages cause a red face and diarrhea… Time passes much more quickly than I anticipated it would. Hopefully the remaining weeks will be similar.
This afternoon I began to feel rather dizzy. The room would swim when my eyes were open, while I would be in a half-nightmare when my eyes were closed. I was tired, but didn't wish to sleep; closing my eyes brought on imagery too strange to describe… I merely saw the other hotel guests coming toward me, then falling away. Open or closed eyes, I remained rather dizzy. When I got ready to go to the Tuesday night party, my hands and forearms would get sporadic surges of numbness each time I would grasp a certain way. Scary. I went down for a short while but was soon escorted by Dad to my room due to dizziness… and I had begun to cry! Freaking out again. I guess the shots work on the nervous system. What a fiasco this is.
Dad brought a tray of food to me. Slept great… Mom had to turn off the bathroom light and cover me!
Jan. 21, 1983… I have never seen such a day as this wherein the wind whistled through the halls and rattled the windows yet ceased not once throughout the day. If storms be the wrath of God, winds surely must be a prominent accomplice in the tumultuous siege.
I had my 8th treatment today and the final one of the week. The doctor had to stick me with the needle 2 times before striking a rich stream of blood into which he could inject his serum. I thanked good fortune for the smaller needle as he delved into my wrist.
The afternoon brought on a dull ache in my I liver which gradually subsided and disappeared after numerous excursions to the bathroom. The diarrhea was still raging in full force.
Jan. 22, 1983… I spent most of the day employed in writing letters which will be taken to the states and mailed via "Sharon express." Norm called around 7:30. We were all still in the restaurant finishing our supper when Ullysses summoned me to the phone. I was so happy to hear from him… it was great that he called.
Jan. 23, 1983… Sharon left for home this morning around 7:30. I was unable to see her off due to a lack of cooperation from my bowels. After several attacks, I made my way down to meet civilization. Breakfast was the customary oatmeal with a side dish of peaches. Feeling rather peaked, I ascended once more to my hermitage on the 2nd floor.
More than slightly depressed, I had to escape to the bathroom for a silent cry when Dad persisted to rattle the change in his pockets. Somehow my nerves wouldn't take the incessant jingle, combined with the knowledge that he was doing same out of sheer boredom and nervousness. It would break his heart if he should know how nervous his action and loud speech make me. There is not one thing in this room to cushion noise. Dad would do anything for me if it would make my disease go away. Some things, as always, are better left unsaid.
Lunch brought a rather nice change and lifted my spirits considerably.
I was able to have fish, and although it is not customary for me,
I relished each morsel, along with a salad and peaches.
Weekends are more difficult to withstand than week days, often times. I seem to fall into a depression and am susceptible to numerous emotional tides. Homesickness is a heavy load when one doesn't feel well. I love to watch the clouds from my bed through the room window. One lazily floats along while another totally overtakes its careless rival. Perhaps the sky is the sole glimpse of home that I have here in Athens… the sky is always a constant factor.
Jan. 25, 1983… Monday and today found me in quite good health and happily high spirited as well. Sunday was a bleak day for me… it seems that homesickness hits the hardest on weekends. There is definitely a lot to be said for a routine, especially in a situation such as this.
Monday I spent much of the day in the lobby. My desire to be sociable and mingle with the others returns when I feel good. The morning dawned with rain, although the afternoon heat soon shooed the clouds away to other parts. I received the questions I had asked of Helen, fully answered.
Breakfast was transformed into a veritable form of euphoria for me, as I was able to add to my morning fare a delicious "bear claw" donut. After a brief rest I descended upon humanity in good health and spirits. Aiding my good mood was the fact that we were able to change our return flight date to the 9th of February and sign up for our seats.
Jan. 26, 1983… Hump day! After my shot I feasted on 4 left-over Greek donuts before ordering my regular breakfast. I again ordered oatmeal and a bear claw, but was forced to take half of the donut to my room to eat later. Lunch was much more than I was prepared for… had fish, green beans, and a cabbage/carrot salad. Needless to say, I found myself happily full (altho' I wasn't nearly as full as last nite at the party when I consumed salad, rice, nuts and 6 donuts)!
After lunch, I retired to my four walls to wash my hair. That in itself is an experience to behold. One has two options, the first being to utilize the sink, whose drain is in dire need of dran-o. In this case, one remains dry but runs the risk of accidentally flipping one's locks down into the stench of the drain and thereby defeating the initial purpose of washing the hair. The second option is to bend over the contraption which is in Greece, labeled "a shower." This consists of a porcelain base and a faucet with a hose and hand-held shower head. One selecting this means of shampooing the hair must lean over the base of the shower and manipulate the shower head in such a fashion that will allow the entire bathroom to remain as dry as possible. Leg cramps, of course, are an acute possibility in this prime position. Another hazard could be the wet floor, for it is always wet after having used the shower. To keep dry is a laughable impossibility with this device; any articles of clothing should be placed in another room. I proceeded with the latter method and became quite damp.
My next operation to perform was the washing and drying of my nuts. It may sound crazy, this nut-washing ritual of mine, but I look at it this way; the last thing I need during my stay is to get sick from eating filthy nuts! So, I wash them, because one never knows whose dirty hands may have processed these nuts!
Another report I must make.! I have had a firm bowel movement! Joy of joys! It is the first since my arrival and the beginning of my injections.
Mom suffered a hair-raising scare when she feared that her passport was lost. While madly searching through desk drawers and coat pockets, Dad calmly assured her that if she did not find it, she would simply spend the remainder of her days in Greece. It was found, incidentally, in a zippered compartment of her enormous purse from where, of course, it had never strayed.
On their daily excursion, Mom and Dad disposed of the 3 cans of green beans (purchased for my use) which were suspected to have an acute case of botulism; the top of the can was bowed. I took very kindly to their effort and was careful to stay on their good side until the beans were scattered on the hillside.
Jan. 28, 1983… Today wasn't as glorious as Friday's are built up to be. My blood test didn't drop into the 2's like I'd rather hoped it would. I was 3.I from 4.I, which was considered "good." One must realize, of course, that anything that happened around here is "good," whether it be a painful or uncomfortable reaction, a drastic blood count drop, or feeling terrific.
There has been a considerable amount of conversation on the subject of "how many shots" are enough. Some people would take as many as the doctor would willingly inject. I cannot live from one shot to the next. I feel that if this stupendous serum is doing the job, I'll know… the tumor will diminish in size. If after 3 months, there seems to be no "progress," why send blood. I don't take much stock in the blood tests anyway. Moreover, one cannot even conduct his life normally if he waits for test results. I have to be able to just say "enough" and live my life. I can't always be waiting… life is too uncertain to not give and take joy from each day. Simply "being" in existence is not, for me, what "living" is all about. I'll have been here a month when all is done and paid for, and 20 shots will have been administered. That's what I have figured upon, and what I am prepared to have, but it's all I'll have. You have to stop somewhere, and who's to say that will be it. One has to be able to let go… I let go a year ago, and I can't hang on to shreds of hope. That doesn't bring happiness.
Yesterday was a wonderful day aside from the shot. The doctor had a hard time finding my vein, and he doesn't seem to wait for it to surface anymore without first probing for it. After the shot, I couldn't sit because too many non-patients were there. Finally I dove for an empty seat, almost on the verge of crying.
After breakfast, Tasos took Mom and me to downtown Athens to shop for my fur coat. It was rather strange, because Christos also drove his rover with Donna and Margaret. We'd asked for 1 driver; we looked at 2 furriers, the first of which was owned by one of Chris' friends. He had a motley selection of furs which were over-priced but poorly constructed. I was distressed after that shop, but we continued on, stopping at a nice furrier who had well made coats but sold for more than we could afford. Our last stop was a furrier called Toronto Furs where Mom had wanted to go all along because she knew they had decent prices and furs. That's where I got my coat… a dark mink tail, finger-tip coat. It's very pretty and cost $337.00! I was pleased with it, and it's something I'll have for many years (bought with money I'd been given from friends).
We went to an oceanside restaurant (Donna, Tasos, Mom and me) afterwards. It was a beautiful day, and the food was good. It was the first day I could have bread, and their's was great. I felt as if it didn't happen, it was so nice. Mom offered to pay the bill, which was a lot more than we'd anticipated for the size of the meal… (around $26.00). Then Mom paid Tasos 1000 drachma for taking us. . . it ended up being a rather expensive day. We didn't say anything about paying Chris… why should we… we'd only asked for one driver.
I got a letter from Jon when I came back… it was really nice.
Jan. 29, 1983… We all got up early and went on the 1 day cruise on the Aegean Sea. I was tired, but I had a good time. We didn't have very long to look around each island, but it still was a good tour. On the Island Aegina, we took a bus tour on the winding roads and country-side to a site of ruins. I took many pictures, and it was quite a view from the top of the mountain. The next island, Poros, we had only a glimpse of because of the half hour time limit. The last island, Hydra, was nice and we were able to look at some shops. I bought earrings and Mom a crocheted dress. I finally got rid of a rather pesty Tunisian who was following me around. I'd met him on the boat. I wanted to look at the island, not him. Norm and Jon called.
Jan. 30, 1983 (Sunday)… I woke up sick and had a temp of 101… it's going around here, as everyone seems to be ailing. Even in Athens. Mom and Dad's church class called at 6:15 and a lot of them talked… were so surprised and pleased. It helped to have such support.
Feb. 3, 1983 (Thursday)… Dad was unfortunate enough to have caught the malady that has seemed to have stricken our hotel. Rumor has it the whole of Athens has had the germ. I also heard today that a new group of Americans are to arrive this coming Sun. but that they will be refused treatment. The Travel Agency supposedly sends people over to Greece despite warnings from Alivizatos to stop, because of the nice profit they reap from each booking. Alivizatos wants to work in his labs for a time and to do so, he needs to have a break from patients. He's now treating some 90 Americans, plus an unknown number of Greeks. (He should be quite well-off.)
One of the white patients was talking to a black man in our group and she remarked that it was in God's plan that white and black get along well together. Conversation then turned to the possibility of rejection of the new patients coming and she stated, "Well, we were just part of the plan and they're not part of God's plan." The reasoning, to me, was incredulous.
Many of the guests are leaving Friday. . . tomorrow. . . for the U. S.
I'll really miss Connie and Ron. At supper many pictures were taken.
Feb 4, 1983 (Friday)… It was a real zoo today. Those leaving had their shots first and then the remaining people were taxied rapidly to and from the doctors. At 9:00 they took the people to the airports, all nearly having hernias, because the plane departs at 10:00 and it takes 40 min. to get to the airport. I'm glad we'll be taking a taxi.
Blood test today. . . he barely coaxed enough out to use. It bubbled and spurted so slowly, I was wondering if I'd get another stick.
I thought it might be appropriate if, at this time, I attempt to describe our hotel room. That which one first encounters is, of course, the door. It is equipped with a skeleton key lock which usually tends to deny rapid entry or exits; if one persists, the door will eventually open. However, if one is besieged by a severe case of diarrhea, it is advisable to think twice about locking the door.
Once unlocked, the door opens with a loud squeak, followed by a short moan (a protest for having succeeded with the lock). Shutting the door quietly is a virtual impossibility, while a door left ajar is a prime target for a thundering slam.
Once inside room 20, and upon inspection of the floor, one immediately notices 2 very suspicious yellow splotches. Ignore them; they'll be there 20 years hence. To the right are 3 doors, 2 of which open into a closet housing a clothes rack and hanger. The other boasts 2 drawers and a shelf. The drawers are where one hides the dishes from the restaurant. They are used for mid-day snacks; any empty dishes in the room will promptly be swiped by the maid and returned to the kitchen.
To the right is the bathroom, having the obligatory sink and toilet, as well as a showerhead. There is no shower curtain. The sink has been on the verge of a clog for 2 weeks, while the toilet insists upon running until extra attention is given to it. The shower remains a true experience which no coward would dare to operate. Mom has used it only once in the entire time we've been here, preferring the tried and true sponge bath method. The floor, which is of green marble, is quite interesting, as one is able to imagine pictures in it's design while contemplating upon the plastic toilet seat.
The main room is comfortably small (Dad's is uncomfortably small) and contains 2 single beds complete with iron-hard pillows, sheets, 1 gray blanket, and 1 two-tone brown blanket that Jon would surely approve of. Bedside is a night stand supporting a dial-less telephone with a nerve-shattering ring. On the opposite wall stands a rickety desk, a luggage stand, and a chair. The third wall has 2 chairs and a set of double doors which open onto a small balcony. Outside shutters and faced drapes provide the necessary shelter and privacy.
The floors, tiled in green, have 2 rugs, 1 beside each bed. Both the former and the latter are typically dust ridden, despite the maid's honest attempt to maintain a degree of cleanliness; the hotel has no vacuum cleaner, and no plugs if it did.
The walls are a shiny mint green; upon one wall is a picture of a typical Greek village, and above the desk is a mirror and light. There are also lights over each bed and a swag dangles precariously over the foot of my bed.
The view of Athens is spectacular, especially at night when the smog is not evident. Licensed drivers may only drive on alternate days to help in the control of smog. The sunsets are marvelous. On a clear day one may catch a glimpse of the Aegean Sea sparkling in the distance below the many various mountain peaks.
Throughout the night one can hear the Greeks as they drive late (customarily), cars, trucks, and motorcycles, battling the mountain roads, and dogs barking….. between 12 - 3 A.M. The roosters begin to chime in early morning. Noisy? Yes, but one gets used to it, and if tired enough, sleep cannot be kept away.
Feb. 5, 1983 (Saturday)… The trip to the heart of the Flea Mkt. was cancelled unanimously by Mom and me. The weather, in the morning being lead gray skies shedding a sleet-like mist, became gradually more severe as the day progressed. By mid-morning, the sleet had transformed into jumbo snowflakes and rapidly proceeded to blanket the entire area in an unexpected cloud of white. The Grecians were quite delighted with the entire affair, as snow is rare in these parts; the last blizzardy condition was 15 years ago and caused Athens to close down. The people are ill prepared to drive in such conditions and find themselves at a loss in this type of weather; cars were strewn on all sides of the road.
As for myself, I was also happy with the snow; my only protest would be if it would hinder my departure on Wed. Otherwise I reveled in the beauty I was shown today. I was on the verge of sinking down into the bed to rest when Norm called… that was a nice addition to my day! I went down and ate a small portion of green beans, rice and bread.
We had a party in which Mom and I had a part… at 7:30. It consisted of our Artist Game, Becky Pate's rhythm game and Donna's auction, the proceeds of which went to the dishwasher at the hotel restaurant. Refreshments ended up the fiesta. . . it was a nice break for a Saturday nite.
Feb. 6, 1983 (Sunday)… I began my day by snapping several pictures from my balcony. Subject: snow-covered mtns. I figured that I had better record them on film before the sun's heat chased all of the snow away. I went to breakfast promptly at 9:00, ordering my usual morning fare, oatmeal, honey, 2 toasts, and "red" Nescafe (the decaffeinated kind). Following breakfast Max invited Mom and me to a game of Scrabble. I nearly won point-wise, but Max cleared his slate of letters first, thereby adding the total remaining letters from all of our slates to his score.
Lunch was very good today. . . my fish was cooked to crispness, the way I like it to be fixed. Following that meal, I hastily made my way to the Greek-English Dictionary to look up "crispy"; perhaps hereafter my fish dinner can always be crispy!
My blood test results were favorable, as far as it counts. I dropped to 2.5. The shot went well today, and I returned to have breakfast before venturing to the Flea Market in downtown Athens.
We caught a cab on the road above the hotel. It's a lot easier and less tiring for me than if I'd have to ride the bus all the way to Athens.
The Flea Mkt. can be described very simply as a low-brow, motley array of shops, most of which carried a wide selection of goods which repeated itself over and over through the area. It was actually a pitiable sight to see. Few of the people had heaters in their shops, and many appeared quite destitute.
The junk was over-priced; however, the merchants seemed unprepared for much bartering. I moseyed in and out of many shops without having been offered one price reduction. I ended up with 2 belts, one reduced from 120 drachmas to 110, and the other to 100.
After browsing awhile, Mom and I stopped and I got a pita bread to munch on for energy. Mom ate the sausage that came with it (38 drachma).
I found my way into a shoe store on the edge of the market and bought 2 prs. of boots. . . one is a smooth red leather short boot, and the other is a gold suede knee boot (1200 and 1800 dr.).
Lunch was at a corner restaurant. I had cabbage/cucumber salad, rice, and bread.
Cab… strange guy…
August, 1983… After last Diary Entry…
My last journal entry about Greece dwindled into nonexistence as home became part of the foreseeable future, with broken phrases and words serving as the one reminder of my excursion to the Flea Market and a strange encounter with a Greek who had repeatedly asked, "You American? You marry me?"
The following morning the three of us were packed on a jumbo jet amid a screaming mob destined for New York, and thoughts of Greece had made way for other, more prominent images. The red pointed shoes from Athens which were peaking out of my pant legs, the in-flight snacks, the certainty that our plane would crash on the way home. . . I desired to be home to such a great degree that paranoia became a plague, and I fancied my emotions were similar to those who are threatened in a war zone; in effect, if I was not killed in Greece, I would die on the way home. It was as if Fate was not an idea; it had taken shape and lived, exuding a force that controlled relentlessly and completely.
Upon reaching New York, and transferring to a different and considerably less crowded plane, my fear dissolved. We had traveled all day with the sun, and now it had overtaken us. The lights of New York twinkled like a brilliant network of gold on black velvet, covering the city's filth with delicate grace. I watched the points of light stretching endlessly into the darkness, and knew I was home; no foreign words rolled off the tongues surrounding me, yet a balanced variety of creeds and colorings spread about the plane.
Chicago possessed the essence of the midwest; when we reached the city, I was overcome with happiness and bought a bold red tee-shirt that read "Chicago." Mom noticed my purchase and questioned me; after all, I was probably the only patient of the Greek doctor who had not acquired a GREECE tee-shirt. The way I saw it, tee-shirts made statements. Some people wanted to express how they felt, others wanted everyone to know where they had been. I merely wanted to emphasize my gratitude for being home, and red carried the message with adequate force.
One flight later, the three of us stumbled wearily off of the small plane that had delivered us to Moline. I had not slept in over 24 hours, but I still recognized familiar faces, and many greeted us as we walked into the terminal. Besides my aunt and uncle, a group from the Circle C Class (Circle in Christ from our church) milled about, holding a "WELCOME" poster and wearing great smiles. It was a royal welcome to be received by one such as I, and it assured Mom and Dad of the support which rallied in their time of need.