Through these Eyes Part 54

Marriage? Who and how? At times I can barely take care of myself.

Kids would be unthinkable, for reasons of conception as well as taking good care of them. What would you do while you were afflicted by runny bowels? And as far as a husband goes, he wouldn't exactly be getting "prime stuff." I'm a sight to look at... the type of body that deserves a full wardrobe at all times.

I don't understand why my cancer has to grow so slowly. Life can be such a burden. Some days I feel as if I've done nothing except eat, sleep and feel sick. And yet I feel guilty for not "pulling my weight."

I don't want to be a chronic complainer and ailing 'til death bids me depart. I feel like a p.u.s.s.yfoot. . . I need ice or I'll overheat or sweat; I have my personal air-conditioner so I can survive the summer headache free. Sometimes I can't do much in the physical sense, and I feel as if my body is going to the dump. I have a whole sack or two in the cubbyhole filled with slacks and jeans that my ego will not allow me to throw away. False hopes still contemplate "recovery" in a bland sort of way. I suppose with all sincerity, however, that such luck is not to be mine. In all likelihood, I'll live to a ripe old age carrying an overgrown watermelon in my stomach, only to die by some freak car accident. Dream on, Laurie, for dreams carry no malignancy; dreams can be kept alive or brought to nonexistence as the individual mind sees fit. They can nurture or destroy the dreamer simply by his own desires.

Wisdom comes to an abrupt halt when one's ego considers himself to be entirely wise. The casual admittance of one's own ignorance, however, carries the implications of true wisdom and intelligence.

Nor do the wise mock the ignorant, for wisdom is a learned state, forever questioning and forever growing. The wisest of all human beings initially possessed a child's mind.

How happy I am that I do not feel compelled to uphold an image of a person I desire to be. Life, already appreciably complicated, need not also pressure one to act out the role of a personage whose standards are determined by a certain group in society. I find utter humor in watching the "necessary" actions of certain people, such as businessmen in suited attire and professors with their obligatory beards and pipes.

I sometimes wonder if they would continue their hopeless charade if they knew how comical they appeared to an impartial onlooker.

Even as a child I found it horribly ridiculous to do things solely to please others. The "others," as it is, could care less for you as an individual anyway. I felt as if I was not only cheating myself, but my true friends also, if I was any less than my true self. I remember observing in agitated silence as fellow students would deliberately trod on the less popular children to somehow augment their low sense of esteem. Though I was seldom bothered by their childish mockery, I pitied the hapless recipients of their relentless derision and marveled at the insensitive cruelty of their incessant gestures and remarks.

This, I suppose, led me to believe that man is not intrinsically good, and that goodness is learned only as the result of the societal necessity to survive. If not for this stark realization, I truly wonder what would become of man as a whole. Would he be reduced to canine barbarism or would there still be certain bands of people who would break from this sheerly animalistic behavior to nurture a livable form of existence, complete with an intricate set of moral ethics?

As seen in my entries following the Grecian trip, I became depressed and frustrated as a rejoinder to the special diet. I felt constrained by hope, not freed by it, and was deeply relieved when six months had pa.s.sed, for then I was able to return to what I had come to know as "normal." It was obvious that the Greek doctor had done nothing to cure my ailment, for the cancer continued its growth, manifested in my shrinking wardrobe vs. an increasing waistline. Because the waiting was over, there was no need to spend more of my precious time engaged in obligatory hope. I would forge onward. . . and forget the cures.

If nothing else, the Greek diet developed an interest in food and its preparation. Indeed, I was so obsessed with food that I was plagued by it; if a diet is so rigorous that it demands constant awareness to succeed, I believe that success is far more difficult to attain.

Throughout the weeks of the diet, I baked with incomparable zest and learned a wealth of information about cooking. Bread baking was edible chemistry; it became easy to respect chefs and their tempting creations as I paged through cookbooks. In no time at all, I had a hobby which extended beyond the need to make natural food as specified by the doctor.

One slightly irregular recipe came to me through a book by Euell Gibbons; Violet Jelly. Yes, flower preserves. I'll never forget the day Norm and I went to the park and I picked a quart of violet blossoms. To be honest, I tried it to see for myself whether the jelly was as exquisite as he claimed. It was a lovely lavender flavored ever so delicately. . . and not objectionable to the palate.

Baking was not my sole enjoyment, of course. I loved to photograph wildlife and create still-life compositions. . . I enjoyed dining out and traveling to places both foreign and familiar. . . shopping was always a pleasure, with or without money... and the library, with its hint of musty volumes and quiet dignity, was also a favorite haunt.

It was easy to be interested in many things, despite the fact that my plans often failed to cooperate with my bodily functions.

August 29, 1983... I have spent a good deal of time tonight feeling sick. For a while there I was really beginning to wonder if my Nutregrain would make a debut appearance in my clean toilet bowl (it didn't) so I will leave further writing for tomorrow.

It is now 1:00 A.M.

I was used to feeling sick. Actually, I had forgotten what it was like to experience true health; stomach and intestinal difficulties had become a way of life. As time pa.s.sed, however, I could not deny the damage that cancer progressively wrought upon my strength and general capabilities. Daily walks ceased after bowel complications (i.e., the immediate need for a bathroom) over-shadowed the enjoyment of the walk itself. Stress due to heat was also a great enemy that followed and preceded every outing or event, and between the two impairments, I grew increasingly more reluctant to pursue activities; I had to weigh the importance of the activity against the possible complications that might arise and thus spoil the engagement altogether. No longer could I say "yes" without mental hesitation; simple activities were not simple any more.

The summer of 1983 was hot beyond belief; with record high temperatures throughout, it was determined that life would be much more livable if I could have an air conditioner in my room. Shortly thereafter, another was procured for use in the bas.e.m.e.nt's T.V. room, which afforded me a higher level of mobility. My family enjoyed the cool air so much that a third air conditioner was installed. Even my dad found a place in his heart for the electrical marvels and, I believe, appreciated them more than he would have cared to admit. A diary entry read:

August 29, 1983... I think Dad held out on buying A/C so long because he liked the idea he could take it.

Under the same principle, perhaps, was his derision toward mosquito repellant. Dad withstood bugs with an air of stoicism that bordered hard core.

Despite the heat, I managed to take several excursions through the summer. The first and longest was to California, where I helped a friend settle into an apartment before embarking upon a career. Many friends were beginning their exodus to distant places and it was fun to see where they would be located. . . even when it meant appraising my own life and facing, time after time, the stagnation which it represented.

Norm and I took our fourth annual trip to the Rockies during the tourist season's heaviest crowds, yet we were lucky enough to stumble upon and catch a cabin that had been dumped by previous patrons. We determined that Marion's establishment had certain irregularities which, despite its underlying personality, we desired to forego; after all, a bas.e.m.e.nt unit with no scenic views or T.V. reception was rather dreary on a rainy day.

As my health had begun to fail, I was obliged to remain near the more populous areas of the park while Norm hiked to his satisfaction. It was not the same as the former trips for that reason, but I loved the mountains, nevertheless, and loved the fact that I still had the ability to see beauty in life when my own was not ideal. I focused myself on thought and photography, instead of those aspects of living which no longer remained within my physical grasp.

For years we had spoken of renting mopeds to scour an area of the mountains; so it was that we decided to break down and seek out the adventure. What fun it was! At a maximum speed of 45 mph I felt as if I was traveling at a tremendous pace. More humorous than thrilling, however, was the way I pa.s.sed Norm on the hills; he appeared to be standing still, his bulky coat billowing in the brisk morning air. The trek had been a product of procrastination for three years; when we removed ourselves from the seats and turned in the mopeds, we were glad that we had finally put forth the effort and money to try something new.

It was an indelible memory; it was also a memory that would never repeat itself except in dreams. Later I realized how fortunate I had been to capture the moment and make the memory; certain experiences are given only one chance.

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Chapter 36 Reflections

"I don't care for rainbow chasing. . . it's a long drive down the alley of blind hope. I prefer not living in the shadows."

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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstance. 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!