6Chapter Three
June 19, 2008
Dear Leigh,
Well, today is my darling oldest sister's birthday. Ellie will turn twenty two sometime late tonight. She doesn't know it yet, but she's getting a party. Erin, Emily and I organized it (to the extent that I can actually function as a regular human being right now). It's at Ellie's friend Jasmine's grandmother's house on the beach. The plan is that Jasmine invites Ellie over for some relatively boring, nerdy reason, but we'll have the party all set up, so when she gets there, boom. Party. Erin had a genius way of inviting everyone. She went through Ellie's Facebook friends and invited literally every single one of them. (All seventy-five! To contrast, I have two hundred and four Facebook friends and Erin is closing in on four hundred. What can I say? Ellie's a shy person. She has a few close friends and that's pretty much it.) Since Erin knows that Ellie doesn't accept friend invitations from anyone but her closest friends, she figured this would be a good way to brainstorm a guest list. Not all of them can make it, obviously, because not all of them live in the Boston area, but hey. It kind of worked, I guess. Erin got one of her "artsier than thou" friends from the Conservatory to DJ. It's going to be quite the party.
Seeing as it's Ellie's last birthday that I will be alive for, I made a big fat scrapbook, filled with photos of us (the two of us, and some of all four sisters, and even a few with the parents), comments I like to think are witty, brochures from places we've been, you know. Stuff.
Speaking of stuff, it's time to leave, so until tomorrow…
Erika
June 20, 2008
Dear Leigh,
Freaking radiation. I have serious side effects already, and I am not happy. It's been two days since my first treatment, I have another one this afternoon, and I feel like complete and total crap. At this point, it is probably mostly psychological. But the skin on my left boob where they aim the radiation is darker and itchy. This is not my idea of fun.
Ellie's party was kind of awesome. She was so surprised! I was kind of zapped for energy, so I spent most of the party sitting on the porch looking out at the sand and the bay, singing along to the music, talking to whoever wandered by and not much else. A while into the party, Ellie came out to where I was, and we talked for a long time. It was like some cheesy closure scene from a tear jerker movie, but this isn't a tear jerker chick flick. This is my life.
Erika
June 21, 2008
Dear Leigh,
It's the two year anniversary of my lumpectomy. The tumor was taken out two years ago today. I still remember it like it was yesterday. Mom and Dad and I went in to Dr. Morris's office in the hospital early in the morning. Jenny was there, and she gave me a big hug. Mom and Dad signed a bunch of paper work, mostly about anesthesia, and that they knew what was going on and stuff. And then Jenny took me into the prep room. They gave me a gown to wear, and because the air conditioning was on full blast, they let me keep my capris on. I remember I was wearing gray capri sweatpants. Jenny told me to put the gown on backwards so the opening was in front, and the doc would have easier access to the area that was being operated on. I lay down on the table, and she and another nurse started getting me ready. They put sensors on my forearms. Two on my left, one on my right. They put a sensor over the tip of my left pointer finger. A heart monitor went in the middle of my collarbone, and I played around a little, trying to make my heart beat faster or slower. I couldn't actually see the machine, I just heard the beepings coming from behind me. They put a blood pressure cuff on my right arm that automatically took my pressure every few minutes. I also got tubes in my nostrils, to monitor my oxygen intake, and in an emergency, provide me with air. It wasn't really uncomfortable, it just itched for a while, until I got used to it. Those tubes don't go as far up your nostrils as the movies make it look like. After a while, Dr Morris came in, and the real prep for the honest-to-goodness surgery began. He and Jenny pulled out the markers to draw exactly where they would cut me open. It kind of tickled.
It may seem weird that my male doctor is the only person who touches my boobs on a regular basis. But believe me, Doc Morris and I have had this talk. It happened the first time I visited him, two years ago. He said (and I agree) that it is his job to keep the girls as healthy as he can, and that requires a certain amount of hands-on activity. I've never felt uncomfortable around him. He's completely professional about it, and most of the stuff he does is through mammograms and blood tests anyway. During a standard visit, I keep all my clothes on.
Anyway, about the surgery. Once he had all the markings in place, we talked through it one more time. He talked about how he would put the IV in my arm somewhere, either in my hand or my elbow, depending on where the veins were better. He was putting me under general rather than local anesthesia for several reasons, mostly because of my age. Once I was sufficiently zonked out, he would take the tumor out. I told him that that was all I needed to know. I didn't feel the need to know exactly how they would cut me open and exactly how they would extract the tumor. I didn't want to be feeling squeamish right before I went under the knife. He chuckled and said okay. Then he told me that when I woke up, I would be in the recovery room and I shouldn't move, I should lie still, and if there wasn't anyone right next to me, I should say something so they would know I had woken up. He said the surgery should take about an hour, but I would be in the recovery room for a while, and in the hospital overnight as a precaution. I said okay, and that I was ready to roll. We gave each other a good luck high five, and Jenny squeezed my hand. Doc Morris got the IV with the sedation ready. He tied a tourniquet just above my elbow, and did this little finger motion he called the butterfly on the inside of my elbow and the back of my left hand, trying to bring out a vein to put the needle into. This took a while. Apparently, I didn't get Dad's amazing sticky outy veins. Eventually, he found a vein he liked, cleaned off the back of my left hand, and stuck the IV needle in. It stung a little, not too much. It had little green plastic wings that were almost see through. He taped it down to my hand, and told me that I would start feeling drowsy in about two minutes. I could feel something cold and heavy moving up my left arm, which started to feel numb. That's the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes in the recovery room. It was dark and cool, and there was a brownish tan blanket over me. I was really sleepy, and I kind of grunted to let Jenny and my parents, who were out taking in the hallway, know that I was awake. All three of them came rushing in and carefully hugged me or squeezed my hand. Mom put her hand on my cheek and kissed my forehead. Daddy gave me a fist bump. Jenny adjusted my blanket and told me that I held up like a champ in there. I weakly responded that, duh, I was a champ. The trophy was sitting on my dresser to prove it.
Emily, who was eleven at the time, was strangely really nice to me during my recovery (which included injections of chemo starting the day after surgery…). We watched the Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth 1995 A&E version of Pride and Prejudice the night I got home, as I iced my boob. Emily curled up on my right side, leaning against the part of me that hadn't been operated on, and just hugged me for those five hours straight. She was really sweet. Ellie and Erin both called, and talked for a while.
All of that was two years ago. Ben invited himself over today, and told me that we were going to go see "You Don't Mess With the Zohan" whether I wanted to or not. So we did. He even bought me watermelon flavored Sour Patch Kids and Reece's Pieces while my back was turned, and slipped both of them into my hand as the movie started.
And again, he wouldn't let me pay for anything. He said that today was a big day, and I shouldn't have to pay for a ridiculously over priced ticket to what would probably be a fairly lame Adam Sandler movie. He was right. It was total Adam Sandler. Funny to a select few. Thankfully (or maybe not) Ben and I are both some of those select few.
Am I dating Ben without knowing it? Help!
Erika
June 22, 2008
Dear Leigh,
I love my little sister to death (really! Death! Sometime this fall! Great!), but sometimes she's as annoying as all get out. Case in point: this morning at breakfast. I was sitting at the kitchen table, taking all my pills with my orange juice and talking myself up to my chemo injections, when the girl bounces in and asks in a ridiculously peppy fashion, "Hey Erika, who's Leigh?"
Um, Leigh was the name of our beloved grandmother, sweetie. Nobody called her that, they called her Mabel, which was her first name, but still.
Actually, now that I think about it, Emily never really knew Gamma (that's what we called her.) She died when I was five. Emily would have been two.
Not only did she not recognize the name, but the fact that she even mentioned it is testament to the fact that she has read this diary.
CRAP. Note to self: find new hiding spot. Pronto.
Note to Emily, if you're reading this: GO AWAY.
Erika
June 23, 2008
Dear Leigh,
Emily, go away. I mean it. You can read this next fall. When I die.
Okay, writing that was a bad idea. Now I'm kind of crying just a little bit. And by a little, I mean a lot. Like, serious waterworks going on over here. It's only beginning to sink in that this is real, that I am watching my life end before my eyes. Being reminded yesterday of Gamma's death was kind of a reality check. Everything so far has been numbers and medical terms. This is the first time I've really slowed down to think about it.
And I'm instantly regretting I thought about it at all. I was living in this happy little bubble, aware of the risks, but with this vague awareness of what could happen. It was like getting the weather forecast for Hurricane Katrina. You hear it, and you get some warning, but not nearly enough, and you don't really take it seriously. It's this abstract idea you can't really apply to your life. You know what it is and that it could hurt you, but you're still in your little bubble, until it bursts. And mine is in the process of bursting. This is absolutely lovely. Feel the sarcasm positively oozing from my words.
I got my final grades and exam results today. I got an 89 on the Algebra exam, and I beat Ben by three points. Take that, sucker.
Next year in school, Ben won't have anyone but Devin to compare scores with, and truth be told, she's usually pretty whiny about these things. Why will he be stuck with her? Simple. I won't be there. I'll be buried in Rocky Point Cemetery. Emily will be in eighth grade next year. The year I was in when I was diagnosed. She'll realize I'm not nearly as much older than her as she thinks I am. And I won't be here for her to talk to. Mom will have one less e-mail address for her mass mailings full of cute pictures of animals and ridiculous news stories. It sounds stupid, but it's not. Really. One thing that makes my mom my mom. Dad won't have someone to kick a ball around with in the backyard.
Okay, I've just re-read what I've written, and I'm trying as hard as I can to get this point across to no one in particular, and it's just not coming out right. I am absolutely terrified. I am so, so scared. I can't imagine not living, you know what I mean? Of course you don't. This sounds really, ridiculously arrogant, but I can't imagine a world in which I don't exist. I can only imagine the world from my point of view. I can't just look at it for what it is.
I'm afraid they'll forget me. That's a major root of this whole freaking out about my impending death thing, and so you blame me? I'm supposed to be frolicking in my golden years of adolescence here, and instead I'm thinking about a funeral. MY funeral. Things like this aren't supposed to happen to people like me. I have lived less than half of what my life should be. I am sixteen years old. Sixteen. You can almost count that on one hand.
Okay, that was exaggerated, I'll admit, but my point still stands.
This is ridiculous. I need some Ben & Jerry's. If I'm dying, I might as well get fat. It's eighty seven degrees outside anyway.
Erika
June 25, 2008
Dear Leigh,
The freaking insomnia is back. I'm blaming it on my recent coenyzme Q10 habit. (No, I'm not abusing my meds. I'm taking the recommended doses. Doc Morris gave it to me to reduce my chemo side effects. To me, it's only one more pill I have to take with each meal.) I was up until three in the morning, doing virtually nothing. This cannot be good for me. I can imagine that when I tell Mom, I'll be hauled back to Dr Morris' office, and probably from there to a psychiatrist or someone who can legally prescribe sleep aids to me. Or I can just tell Mom that the over the counter Sominex works just fine. The last thing I want to do only months before my death is wrack up tons of medical bills for additional pills I don't desperately need.
While we're talking about substances I'm pumping into my body, we may as well go over the whole list. Get comfortable. This could take a while.
I have radiation three times a week. That's not exactly fun.
I have to give myself small injection doses of chemo everyday as a booster.
I have been instructed to consume at least three glasses of orange juice per day. Recently, though, I've been getting that in Popsicle form. It's late June in Massachusetts. Come on.
I have recently formed a serious green tea habit. The stuff is incredibly delicious and has some serious antioxidants going on.
Then there's the coenzyme Q10. It's slightly experimental in terms of use with chemotherapy, but at this point, it can't hurt. I take it at Doc Morris' recommendation to ease up the chemo side effects and boost the immune system.
Multivitamin. Self-explanatory.
In addition to things I swallow or inject, I put aloe on the sick boob after I take anything or have radiation. The skin gets really dry and flaky and turns a weird shade of purple and gets really itchy. Aloe soothes out the whole mess.
My treatment is far from pretty and glamorous. But for a while, it worked. I look at these little pills every morning, and I look at my chemo injections and the radiation machine, and I think, "This is what has kept me alive for the past two years." Overall, my life kind of sucks right now, but at least I get to play with needles and shiny machines.
Erika
June 26, 2008
Dear Leigh,
Twilight, Twilight, everyone's talking about flipping Twilight. This is ridiculous. I felt like crap from radiation, so I stayed in bed all day, with Rover, my spaniel, curled up next to me and a fan aimed at my face. Devin came over, toting her copy of Twilight, saying she was rereading the series before the new book comes out in August and the movie in December. She insisted on making me watch the first trailer for the movie. The tagline they're using is "When you can live forever, what do you live for?"
Well, bloody hell, how about asking someone who is looking mortality in the face? When you have only a few miserable months left in your life, what do you live for? I personally think that immortality is just as miserable as my life could be. With immortality, you know that nothing you do can change the fact that you will never die, and you have to live forever in a changing world where no one understands what it's like to live forever. It could get pretty lonely. Everyone says they want to live forever, but they never really think about the ramifications of that. They just think that it will be all sunshine and butterflies. But if you live forever, you can see people make the same mistakes over and over again, and you wonder what the hell the point is. With my imminent demise, I'm wondering what the hell the point is, too. I can't change the fact that my life is what it is. Immortality is pretty lonely, and so is my situation. I have plenty of people around me, but none of them quite get what I'm going through. I never thought I would find myself identifying with a stalking, sparkly vampire with a tofu complex.
At the end of Twilight, when Bella says that she wants to become a vampire, Edward asks her if having a long and happy life with him isn't enough. Well, it is for now.
What the hell? If I didn't think Bella was a fairly mindless Mary Sue created completely one-dimensionally for tween and teen girls to project their personalities onto before Devin serenaded me with those oh-so-lovely lines, I certainly do now. I don't want to live forever. I just want a life longer and happier than the one I'm going to live. It is our mortality and our vulnerability that makes us human. If there wasn't the constant threat of death to scare us into being decent people and running around trying to live good lives and leave something constructive for posterity, we wouldn't be human.
It's hard to put a finger on it, but Twilight bothers me. I guess part of it is that Edward tries to tell Bella how frustrating and lonely immortality is, and she totally doesn't get it. Instead of being supportive and trying to listen to what he has to say, she just whines about the fact that she is already dying and asks him to turn her into a vampire too. And we all know he does eventually. Yes, Bella knows she will die eventually if she stays human, and Edward will outlive her for as long as forever is. Bella should know a good thing when she sees one, and choosing to end your life by prolonging it forever is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard of.
If she bit him, would he turn human again?
Erika