My eating habits and general health depended on the schedule of chemotherapy. Directly following my last treatment in the five day series, I could eat voraciously, (or so I thought in comparison to my usual appetite). Then, after three or four days, I would again return to "normal," fostering nausea after each morsel of food. Needless to say, my lust for food disintegrated upon the arrival of nausea and I had to force myself to eat, which quickly became tiresome, for I realized that only sheer luck would save me from sickness. Furthermore, I actually became weary after a meal accompanied by stomach complaints; my body, I rationalized, was trying to relax itself to dispose of nausea, or the nausea caused such inner chaos that my body wore itself out during the conflict.
Soon after the chemotherapy treatments had commenced, my sister offered her assistance with the latest family concern and expressed interest in monitoring my progress and general state of health. Through mutual agreement, a plan materialized in which, on our way home from Rochester, Mom and I should stop at Sharon's house after about five and a half hours of driving, where I would then remain for three or four days while my parents were at work. In this way, I was not alone when I felt the weakest, and could easily obtain help if I needed it. Saturday morning my parents would bring me home.
I enjoyed the post-treatment arrangement, for I had always liked spending time with my sister and, at a distance of 80 miles, few were the occasions in which this was possible, especially since she had two young children and a home of her own to maintain. Although the circumstances under which I stayed with her were not the most appealing, we still found time to shop on good days or amuse each other through the situations that life itself readily provided. Several most unforgettable hours were spent laughing hysterically in front of the bathroom mirror. Since I had lost my hair, Sharon sewed two bonnets from scratch, cutting circles of material and fitting elastic within the perimeter, to warm my head when I slept or simply did not care to wear my wig. Having no pattern from which to judge an appropriate size, however, the bonnet was large enough to conceal my entire head; trying it on evoked immediate wails of laughter from us both. Of course, I could not let the matter rest and continued with further antics, shoving it over my ears and acting like an old woman who couldn't hear for the voluminosity of the hat, and then pulling it over my entire head with the elastic about my neck and pronouncing that I was a lollipop. Amid our slap-happy howls (for the hour was late), her husband must have wondered if we had lost our minds; moreover, we were trying our best to stifle our laughter so as not to disturb her sleeping boys, which, in such a hopeless situation, only served to escalate the humor reflected in the mirror. I was able to eat ravenously for three to four days following my treatment; this meant, of course, that I ate well until I had to return home, by which time my body had restored itself to a reasonable degree and no longer tolerated food to the extent it had initially. Mom soon developed a complex about her cooking, which persisted until summer when I went directly home after receiving treatments, instead of sojourning at Sharon's, and ate my Mom's culinary offering passionately.
Upon my return to Moline I had to appear at the hospital for weekly blood tests to assure that my white count was not "low." If the test results were unfavorable, however, I had to have daily blood tests until my count was determined as normal again. A low white cell count paralleled a higher susceptibility to germs, as the immune system did not possess its usual fortitude; although, physically, I never felt any different when I had a low white count, emotionally it paralleled a fleeting cantankerousness on my part since I was not overly thrilled at the prospect of enduring more needles. I was fortunate that I never contracted any serious maladies; perhaps if I had been plagued by viruses I would not have viewed the routine blood tests with such disdainful inappreciation. As it was, my only health problem was cancer; all or nothing must have been my system's motto.
One week before the next series of injections, I would begin to feel better. My appetite improved despite the lingering after-affects, and energy was on the rise. This period of time would have been thoroughly enjoyed had it not been for the upcoming event, after which my improvements would again run foul. The pretreatment week was also the time at which I felt most able to venture out of the house, and would accompany my aunt or my sister-in-law on small shopping sprees during the day. I began to feel human and part of society, yet as I licked my wounds, I could envision the battlements to which I would willingly march to surrender my waxing health.
Despite frequent bouts of nausea and marked fatigue, the foremost reason for my absence from school was my body's severely depleted immune system. It was deemed more sensible to remain apart from the various germs circulated by the students than to place myself in possible jeopardy by direct contact. Should I have sustained a severe infection, the results could have proven fatal. The chemotherapy killed healthy cells as well as cancerous cells; it is a grave wonder that one can withstand such violent treatment.
After several series of chemotherapy, I recalled my thought which viewed cancer as the enemy against which many wars were waged, and discovered that my analogy was not complete. Chemotherapy ravaged the body and tainted the mind just as the cancer against which its debilitating powers were supposedly aimed. I felt that the war did not exist only between cancer and the body, for there was also a constant struggle between the drugs and the body. As the body fought for life, cancer fought for death…. of this, there was little doubt. Yet as for the drugs, I became uncertain as to the side on which they actually adhered, and the voice murmuring "It's for your own good" became an indifferent noise at the base of my consciousness.
Although I was unable to return to Jr. High throughout 8th grade, I soon acquired permission to study at home under the instruction of a tutor, and in this way, maintained my level of educational curriculum as well as my status as a "student." Receiving instruction on a one-to-one basis was definitely one of the more favorable aspects of my new life-style. I fully realized the impermanence of this enjoyment; upon my recovery, I would once again be hurled amid the mob and mainstream of society.
My tutor, Mrs. Kruse, was assigned to me for the entire year. Together we covered the realms of English, math, social studies and science with the help of a collection of text books which she obtained from my "would-have-been-teachers." Several times each week she would stop to teach and collect previous lessons. Since she was amiable, highly intelligent and challenging in nature, I looked forward to her visits; the time always passed quite rapidly. In addition to prescribed lessons, Mrs. Kruse suggested reading material which she deemed of interest to me, and as a highlight to one of the social studies chapters, drove me to a local museum. The trip was a memorable occasion, if simply due to the fact that I spent the majority of the days alone and at home. She also demonstrated interest in my extra-curricular activities as well as the regular academic subjects; I would sometimes show her my various crafts and "works of art" with which I involved myself to abort any loneliness or dejection I might have otherwise encountered had I not kept occupied.
My projects included anything which was not overly monotonous, and time thus spent would often encompass more than one casual employment to assure that my interest would not shrivel up and die before an object's completion. Occasionally one of the lovely ladies from church would include me in crafts, and consequently, I turned out decoupaged eggs and quilted pillows by the number. I attempted a painting of a rural scene, and on other days I would draw, sew, or macrame; at times I would pinpoint my interest in the creation of gifts and culinary delights.