This is a story I wrote in college. I think the assignment was to write from the point of view of the opposite gender. I’ve clearly used it to process some life experiences as well. It’s sad but I wanted a record of it anyway.
Dear Diary,
The Doctor says he doesn’t know how long I have. He says that I found the lump in my breast about two weeks too late… just two damned weeks! He says he doesn’t know if the therapy will help. It’s supposed to be painful; I’ve heard those stories. God I need a cigarette! Harry took it pretty good when he heard the news about the tumor being malignant and spreading and all. Spreading… oh my God, did I really write that? I say good because he didn’t break down or anything the way Mama did on the phone. That’s been one of the worst parts of this so far; seeing everybody around me fall to pieces except for Harry. I guess that’s what husbands are for. Jesus, you would think that they were all going to … I mean you would think that they were all sick and not me. Well Diary, I’m very tired and I need rest for the chemotherapy so goodnight.
Dear Diary,
I never new life could be so painful. I went to Johnson’s Hospital for my third chemotherapy session. The stuff they use on me is called cist platined salt or something. I can’t tell whether it is helpin’ me or making me sicker than the cancer. I felt horrible the first time they gave it to me and apparently it gets worse each time. I know it was the second. First the nurse sticks that I.V. needle into my arm then that fluid starts runnin’ down into my arm from that little bag. Then drops of sweat start to break out all over my forehead then my whole chest HURTS. It hurts like somebody just hit my breast real hard. Then my stomach feels this horrible cramping pain worse than any pain from the flu and I start to vomit all over the place. It’s like my stomach wants to fold up and leave my body through my throat. Got it’s terrible. It takes me three days to recover from the stuff and as far as I know it’s much more tiring than the cancer. I know it’s silly to say but at least my hair hasn’t fallen out or anything . My face is real pale but with a little makeup I can still look pretty nice. Whenever I look in the mirror and look good it gives me courage to think that everything might come out all right. Well that’s all for tonight Diary, goodnight.
Dear Diary,
I’ve been out of the hospital for a week now. Today I had enough energy to go down to M.C. Jenny’s and buy some nightgowns. You see lately I’ve been sweatin’ a lot at night, so much that one night I thought I’d wet the bed. So I decided to get some more nightgowns so that I would always have a fresh one. I got my neighbor Janet to drive me to the store and help me pick out the gowns. After picking out the robes I waited in line for a long and tiring time. Finally I got to the stupid checkout lady and gave her my credit card. After ringing everything up she goes away for a minute and comes back and says loudly so that the whole line can here “I’m sorry but you have no credit rating” shocked and embarrassed I tried to convince her that it was a big mistake. She was in a real bitchy mood and disagreed. Well we got into a big argument and finally I shouted out “for Christ sake give me a break I have cancer!” and started sobbing and sank to the floor from the physical and emotional exhaustion. Well, Janet paid and somehow got me out of that stupid store with the bitchy clerk. Later I mentioned this story to my doctor. He told me that sometimes computers talk to one another. Apparently a medical computer told a credit computer that I was terminally ill and slashed my credit rating so I wouldn’t go on a mad shopping spree. Terminally ill? Is that really happening? God I don’t want to die. Well that’s all for tonight. Good night.
PS. Oh Vera that stupid maid quite yesterday. She called up and made some excuse but she really is afraid of catching my illness. Now I need to find someone else to clean the house while I’m in the hospital.
Dear Diary,
Well I’m in the hospital now. I heard the doctor talking with Harry yesterday. he told hjim to get use to the idea that I might not come home again. You guessed it the drugs aren’t working as well as they should. So much for the wonders of modern science. God I hurt. I hurt all over like my body is on fire. Every time I breath it is painful. Even the large amounts of painkiller I’m on don’t stop it. It does make me sleep alot thought and that is good. When I sleep I forget about how much it hurst, about how my chest is all swollen, my body riddled with tumors. Instead I dream of pleasant things: of my early days with Harry, of college, even of being a cheerleader in junior hiugh. Well I’m feeling very tired so I guess that’s all. Goodnight.
