Wow, what a Christmas! Not only did my family surround me at every turn, but I also received a substantial amount of presents. My Dad even bought me my very own Gamecube!
Now, all of the games that have kept me sane over the past few months could be at my fingertips at a moment’s notice. No longer would I have to share my distraction from thoughts of boredom or death; I would have my very own game console to do that for me!
The next few deliveries of Amphoterrible weren’t that bad really. They properly bombed me beyond the point of the shakes, and I mostly slept through the courses. I had been discharged and again stayed at Chet Ronald and only had to visit the outpatient clinic every few days in the mornings to get the treatments; it wasn’t necessary to waste my Dad’s Insurance on expensive hospital stays.
This morning (Sunday, Dec. 11), I awoke naturally; at 6 AM (PST) and decided to use this extra time to get a jumpstart on some writing. As I am also trying a new fasting technique that delays my first meal of the day by a few hours, I decided to also abstain from my usual immediate coffee consumption. So I sat there in a half-awake daze trying to focus on my thoughts.
But as the words stalled within my mind, I realized that I may not be able to write until I ate or showered (my usual methods to become alert, otherwise I’m notorious for falling back asleep), so I finished a movie that I had started the night before for my #52Pick-Up series, and at that precise moment, a wave of nostalgia crashed over me. I had a fond memory of me doing exactly this before, getting up early to watch a movie when I couldn’t sleep thirteen years ago in the hospital.Read More »
I sat in my hospital bed in Room 864 (the new gold standard), watching the IV drip poison into my chest. The machine gears sounded off with grunts and cracks. Unfortunately, that meant it was working as designed.
Sunday rolled around, and the “tag teams” made hand contact: my Dad and Brother left to go back home to Fort Kent, and my Mom and Gary returned. It was nearing the end of October, and I was set to go home– home home. God, it felt good to get out of the hospital these days. The cold autumn air hit my delicate skin as I anticipated snowfall once more.
Wow, who would have thought I’d want to see the snow?
The days were getting shorter, and my chemo was halfway done– HALFWAY! Three down, three to go. I couldn’t believe it was already nearing November. In these times of reflection, I’m reminded of how lucky I am that (so far) I haven’t seen many complications during chemotherapy.
Most kids who roll onto the eighth floor of Eastern Maine Medical Center experience serious side effects. Again… everybody reacts differently, aside from the few constants: nausea, shedding of hair and skin, and lethargy akin to that of a sloth.
I was always a chubby kid, right up until the chemo attacked my body, and even then, I still retained my “curves.” Well, I should refrain slightly, as it wasn’t always like that.
As I had mentioned in Chapter 16, my parents had divorced when I was in third grade, and it was at that moment that my weight began to spiral out of control. But by no means was I blaming my parents. Sure, the stress of a split household and foster care would make anyone eat Ring Dings, but in my particular case, it meant one thing in terms of eating: Freedom.
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t terribly religious. Now please, don’t get me wrong: I had nothing against faith, (the faith of my loved ones and of my own was keeping me sane during my chemotherapy), but I did notice a disturbing element to religion. I found that lots of religions were obsessed with trying to get people to accept their respective interpretation of the Bible.
And while I appreciated all of the prayers and thoughts (and could feel the collective energy helping), I knew that I wasn’t long for my Catholic ways. Instead, I would use this newfound focus on positivity and compassion to be a better person overall- free from sect and sacrilege.
It’s amazing the patterns that the universe can provide if someone’s looking. Some call it Apophenia, others call it synchronicity, but nonetheless if you’re in tune to the branches of the world around you then one can often find similarities.
Especially when you’re stuck in a hospital room every day.
My “insight” into the connective tissue of the universe came in two-fold. First, I was more aware of people who had fought cancer locally and in the public eye.
My legs were getting worse. I couldn’t stand up without that same unbearable pain shooting up and down my legs. I had to get into just the right position to be somewhat comfortable, even while hopped up on morphine.
I needed something to do; I was getting stir crazy and normal television wasn’t cutting it– hell even the PS2 wasn’t cutting it anymore. As much as I loved this new room, 864, there wasn’t anything to do.