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…