Sept 25, 1983… I called Jon utilizing the teleconnect service and we had a nice 1/2 hour conversation. He once again urged me to come out before Christmas, saying he was unsure of his stay at his current apt. and the rainy season begins in Nov.-March. I seem to grapple with the idea of flying there; I somehow hate to retain a relationship which seemingly has no future. I couldn't see myself living in Ca. with my current situation. It's always been difficult for me to visit Jon when I haven't seen him in awhile. Something always holds me back.
Sept 26, 1983… Dad called the Metabolic Treatment Cntr. in Chicago. A foreign accented woman referred Dad to an affiliated cntr in Cicero, II. From there he called the Cancer Society in Davenport only to be referred to an 800 number in New York. He dialed this number explaining the situation at Johns Hopkins. (They called Fri. A.M. I have the wrong type of cancer for their treatment). The Metabolic people are not doctors and their claims cannot be substantiated. She combined Alivizatos in the same category. Mayo was right in their answers. Chemo… a treatment… not a cure. Dad called the Clinic in Cicero. They had moved! The main office didn't know that! What a fake! They use a tape with a man's soothing voice to sell an empty cure. A discussion broke out between the 3 of us at home. It endured for the better part of 2 hours. What scared me was the fact that Norm was pushing the chemo option. I guess my desire to live or to just grasp each day isn't that desperate.
The Dark Pool
I am
That stagnant pool
Of life
Around which
A vibrant world
Revolves.
I watch
As friends
Are initiated
Into the expanse
Of change
Termed reality.
I stay
Imprisoned by webs
That do not break
Shaded by leaves
That never fall.
I wait
Aware of the options;
To grasp madly
A tattered shred
Of existence,
Or preserve all dignity for
The final breath.
Lauren Isaacson
September of 1983
Sept 28, 1983… Made reservations to go and see Jon. . . rates are unbeatable at $329 round-trip fare from Moline to Frisco… regularly $600
Sept 29, 1983… Drove to Dubuque in my parent's Citation…got sick after lunch at the Ryan House. . . nausea endured a better part of the afternoon. Didn't go with Sharon and Galen to the church potluck. …ate an English muffin and 2 eggs… nausea again… normal around 9 P.M.
Oct. 2, 1983… Made waffles for Norm and me… did dishes… cancelled KFC plans as the day became too warm for me. Jon called; I was bummed out for some reason. I felt like crying. I was thinking about the years (a couple years ago) and how one takes feeling good for granted. Then when Jon called, I remembered how soon I would be going to Frisco. I wasn't emotionally prepared to go so soon. I was flooded by seemingly small fears, yet to me, the fears are so real they become monsters. I was scared about sweating for 3 hrs. on the plane, having to go to the bathroom, getting tired, sick, etc. I want to make my trip as easy as possible, so I'm not taking a suitcase… just a couple of flight bags. It bothers me that I'll be waiting a maximum of 7 hrs. for Jon in the Frisco airport. I don't particularly relish that idea. I'll probably be fine, however, I'm haunted by all of these fears beforehand.
Oct. 4, 1983… I've been nervous for about 3 days now. I keep thinking the plane's going to crash or something will happen so I'll never be home again. I guess that says where I'm most comfortable. Everything I eat sits in my stomach like so much lead.
I hemmed my black Lee jeans and my $15 Gitano jeans, packed one flight bag with clothes and one more with my camera, magazine, book and such… to take on board with me. Mom and Dad took me to Bishops for dinner… a so-long affair… washed my hair. I wish I felt better about going. Les sent me a card. I thought it was a so-long and have a good trip one, but it was a regular card with $50. I was shocked! I called him and thanked him. Well, it's goodnite for now. I hope my bad feelings are unfounded! I don't exactly want to die in a plane crash. What a long way down. (ugh)