CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Reflections
AUGUST 25, 1983… I have decided to, once again, embark upon the habit of keeping a diary. Just having finished reading the entries in my previously written diaries, I rediscovered many memories and consequently, remembered how important it can be to retain a shred of ones self… no matter how brief… for the sake of future reference. Words tend to bridge gaps of time, and help to bring to rest troubled minds. I hope my words herein shall prove worthwhile. . . both to myself, and to whosoever may one day be the keeper of these journals.
Today I began, also, to write the story of my life… in it I hope to touch on experiences, trials, thoughts, both from past years and present. I wrote three pages concerning my earliest years thus far.
Nearly three years have passed since I wrote that diary entry, and much in my life has changed. Indeed, life is waning rapidly and there shall be no clever cure or miracle. For this reason, I shall simply use journal entries to describe my life in many instances; writing, in itself taxes my stamina.
What became of my relationship with my former boy friend? Time changes relationships as it does all things; so does circumstance. My recurrence of cancer exhumed a need for closeness, and what should have been better than dating to answer such a need? Because I knew I would not establish a relationship given the constraints of my irreversible disease, dating was not the threat it had been, and I was able to maintain a relationship without becoming terrified of romance. Romance would never be part of my life.
Sept. 8, 1983… I really had a hard night. I was in the john for 3 hrs. with the feeling my intestines were infested with worms. It is almost worse than throwing up. By ll:00 I could finally go to bed. Mom undid my covers for me. . . she's such a good mom.
Sept. 16, 1983… Dad got the reply letter about a new experimental treatment for "Big C." It was on 20/20… they only give it to a select group at Johns Hopkins in Maryland. It's funny. I'm scared to get better. . . I might let everyone down if I'm not the superperson (achiever). That's stupid… I could always take the civil service exam to try to be a postman… I would've liked doing that…
Knowing I had a bit of a melancholic streak in my blood, Norm used to wonder if I simply did not wish to live. "You take all of this so well… I don't know if I could handle it like that." "You just live with it," I told him. (I had often been depressed in high school and at Sears). After having cancer for three years, I woke up one sunny morning and glanced about the upstairs. "I don't want to die" crossed my mind like a flashing neon sign. I was slightly stunned. Though I was prepared for death, that in itself will not stifle one's zest for life as long as there is something to live for… one day at a time. Perhaps in my battle for a normal life, bereft of hair-raising treatments, I had merely thought, "I don't want to live if I can't do so with quality." Because life on any terms was not palatable did not mean that I desired to die. Never before had I truly contemplated that idea!
Sept 21, 1983… I talked with Alene (Greece patient). She is doing well. Max is going back for more treatments. Jenny is taking chemo in New York and Connie died. Mom and Dad didn't tell me. It doesn't make me depressed… it is just the truth… death happens to people… even patients of the revered Dr. Alivizatos. It didn't help me… my waist measures 31 1/2.