“I could sure use a drink right about now” is something I should have told myself during all of 2007. The year was not kind to me in the slightest. It all began in the first desolate few months of the year as the winter winds howled on well into April. I had purchased a Little Caesar’s pizza kit from one of my managers at work and as we cooked it while watching The Prestige, I realized that my memory isn’t what it used to be. As a matter of fact, my memory in regards to numbers, names, faces, and more was exponentially stronger the year before I was diagnosed with Leukemia. It’s ironic that I would remember the moment I realized my memory was faulty but worry about remembering specific things properly. Wait; was it The Prestige or The Illusionist?Great.
I wondered how much of this memory loss was my own undoing? Were my several attempts at making peace with weed my mental downfall or was it the chemotherapy? And by the same token, was I really to blame for my hair loss by pulling out clump after clump while under the initial effects of the same chemo or was it merely my family’s genetics?
“This summer couldn’t have been more fun!” I thought the weekend that I was almost arrested for I was about to experience the most stressful NON-cancer related moment in my young life…
…All two days before my first days at UMaine Orono.
Aside from my orientation at the college, (which we’ll get to later) we spent the summer like it was cocaine-covered hundred dollar bills. We threw that shit everywhere and didn’t even think to balance a single checkbook.
It all began with my birthday. I made it another year. This time, I was twenty-one, the hallowed age for myriad wannabe drunk teens. Normally, those freshly minted “adults” go overboard at the bars and wind up hugging the Porcelain Gods but as a non-drinker, I just wanted to hang out with friends at my apartment. Naturally, my friends drank all the alcohol in sight on my behalf.
By the end of February, Mary Jane and I were in a committed relationship. I would smoke a few times a week at minimum, even though I never expected Tony to offer, but when he would offer, you best believe I accepted. I was, however, one of those guys who would tend to hover around to prompt such an invitation.
As it turns out, the plates did indeed still belong to the Cadillac. For whatever reason, Dad hadn’t changed them over. He did have the insurance though, so I knew I could at least contest that. But what about that stupid “transportation?” Ugh, this sucked more than anything has ever sucked before.
Instead of worrying about the impending court hearing, I tried to focus my attention on more pressing matters– My first classes of college, my camerawork, staying warm, and our upcoming Halloween Party.
Saturday approached faster than I had expected. The future always seems so far away until it sticks you right in your android chest receptacle, er– Port-a-cath.
They had to hydrate my blood first, so I had been on a steady drip of saline for the past few days. It is true what they say: when they first push the saline through it goes right to your taste buds. It’s disgusting, like gargling seawater laced with a medical “after smell.” At least it was for me.
At that moment I was reminded that I had never been hospitalized before; no pneumonia, bad fever, or any broken legs for that matter–
Well, I did break my wrist once in third grade, but I wasn’t hospitalized. It was a stupid mistake…