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).