Lauren Isaacson April 11, 1985

April 21, 1985... I've been reading Sherry's old letters when I tire of writing. It's difficult to write about my first cancer experience; reliving it is not easy.

April 22, 1985... I reminisced high school days; I remember a period when I went through a swearing stage. Crazy. It doesn't exactly build one's character, but for the time, it got one's point across. This was only between close friends, of course. I never cared for public vulgarity in any fashion. It's crazy, too, how one word is considered "vulgar" and another, meaning the same thing, is not. Who decides these things, I wonder? The one that really cracked me up was that the proper British had to come up with a past tense of the word "s.h.i.t."...

in their speech, it is "shat."

May 6, 1985... I tried to write outside, but it was impossible. Gnats kept insisting on flying into my eyes. Mosquitoes were buzzing around my legs, although none seemed inclined to feast; perhaps they were still too young to know what to do with a human. When I used to be able to do things outside, it was no problem; indoors bugs don't bite, nothing seems an annoyance. Once inside and in the comfort of air-conditioning, I wrote a poem.

Seasons Of Life

One mirrors many seasons within his very life; The lush bouquet of springtime, h.o.a.rding life, vitality.

From the verdant, yielding mind sparks, like tree sap, Bubble through one's firm, yet supple limbs.

Unleashing youthful hopes and dreams for growth unhindered, Unrestrained by roiling clouds and murky skies.

As the spring to summer fades, so also, does the life mature, Observing as the inky clouds derived of haughty restlessness Recede into one's memory, to live subdued and quiet lives 'Til time denies their former flame.

The waxing moon of summer skies illuminates high-flying clouds; The vessels of one's dreams attained, and hopes of liquid silver.

As summer dies, glamour wanes, and silver dreams to gold transform; Shade not the sun from aging hearts, but bask therein and mark the glow Which glimmers deep on ancient joys and even where dark shadows fall.

Despair not in autumnal gold!

In holding fast to summer's hue, beauty pa.s.ses by, unseen, And spoils itself 'fore winter's grasp.

Crushing life with frigid hands, winter heeds no stricken gaze Which kindles in the youthful eye whose untouched life is yet benign Unto the last, eternal chill; yet fear, alone, cannot impair The misty sight of spring's new hope; And though one life the snow enshrouds, in other lives, Breath rallies still depicting seasons, fair and strong, And promising life shall go on.

Lauren Isaacson May 6, 1985

May 9, 1985... Mom asked if I'd like to give Sharon my bike because hers is so difficult to pedal.. I don't know...I hate to let go of it just yet. Some days I feel normal. Stupid, I know; guess it's part of my way of maintaining hope. Another idiotic drama! Yesterday I asked Mom to get some angel donuts. They were tarring the road, so she brought two twists from Jewel. I nearly began to cry. I felt like such a jerk; I have so few pleasures in food to look forward to; it just hit me!

May 10, 1985... I calligraphed a Mother's Day card, put a $20 bill in it along with a box of pretty soap for the big day.

May 11, 1985... I've read Jane Eyre, The Crucible, the four of Tolkien's, Catch 22, The Stand, All Quiet on the Western Front; most of them show human emotions in the raw.

May 12, 1985... We had a picnic; it was a beautiful today. Les brought me a dozen roses; they're beautiful, too! Jon called, but I couldn't talk long... problems, again.

May 16 1985... I wonder how much time, if any, I gained by having Chemo the first time around. I had no other choice, especially since it was thought to be a cure. I never would have it again. . . even if it did slow the growth. Living without sickness, caused by the treatment, is best.

May 17 1985... I get "down" in the mornings; physically, I'm at my lowest ebb; it affects my emotional stability, too.

It's strange, but nice weather almost always makes me mad because I feel obligated to get out in it. But, I can't write on my book if I'm outside; there are too many distractions, mostly in the form of bugs in my eyes. If I'm inside, I'm letting life pa.s.s me by, and yet, I'm not neglecting my writing. It gets to me that I can't actually do much anymore except sit around outside. No walks, bike rides, or walking down in the woods. Oh, well.

I decided to get my camera and did get some shots of a great yellow b.u.t.terfly in the Beauty bush. Hope it turns out well.

UPS delivered another of my Lillian Vernon orders. I'll have a choice as I give gifts. I calligraphed a poem inside of a blank card for Steve's graduation. Then I took it and the Indian rug I bought him over to Moore's. We had a nice visit.

My legs are like lead stumps. I've tried to cut out salt; why I'm so plump way up to my knees, I don't know.

May 27, 1985... I just noticed the whistle hanging from my towel rack.

I put it there a few months ago in case I needed help. I was having diarrhea so badly. I wondered how long I'd last. It's weird, but having my death forecast is strangely comforting. So many things I won't and don't need to worry about. I know and accept I'm going to die. What is hard is that I still enjoy certain things; I don't really want to die.

Everyone is frightened of dependence. Loneliness is not a fear...

helplessness is another matter.

June 16, 1985... My legs look like Lincoln Logs. Oh well, I'll create a Father's Day card.

Black? ... White.

Wrong? ... Right.

Up? ... Down.

Smile? ... Frown.

In? ... Out.

Whisper? ... Shout.

Good? ... Bad.

IRREPLACEABLE? . . . DAD.

June 22, 1985... Mom has been bringing up my meals. It's so warm for me to come downstairs. The folks bought an insulated drapery to close off my living room. The bathroom and my room will remain cool. Mom also brought me three maternity tops. She told me it was very difficult for her to buy them. I don't know whether I'll keep them or not. Vanity is a funny thing. I keep hoping I can look good in something, but it never ends up that way. My clothes are dwindling in number, and some are not too hot. Mom also got me a purple nightie; it's really pretty.

June 25, 1985... I'm glad I didn't have to go out and try on clothes.

I'll keep the things Mom brought me. It would be hard to shop...

physically and emotionally.

July 9 thru 13... another bout with the "runs." I was so down for a time. I get depressed from reliving the past. Some things are difficult to recall in such detail as I ill.u.s.trate a part of my life with the feelings I experienced at the time. It's draining; topping it all off is the fact that I don't have much I can do to alter my life now. I get sick of feeling sick, nausea, diarrhea, and weakness; the daily scheme of events some days. I get weak; I cry. Well, I hope its over for a time. At least I'm not down for this entire day!

July 22, 1985... the day started out great. . . good mood. . . even sat outside for a time. After supper my heart started racing, palpitating like a tick. My normal beat is 110-120 which is rather high. We tried the breathing in a sack, holding the breath. Nothing helped. Mom called the doctor and he prescribed valium. The druggist said they would call when it was ready. They never did. Finally Dad just went over; there it was, just sitting on the shelf.

Man, my chest hurt so, I thought I was having a heart attack. The valium didn't help much. That was 3 hours after the episode had begun.

Mom slept upstairs on the couch; it was a bad night. . . sweating, aching, and of course, that rapid heart beat! By 9:00 the next morning it finally slowed to my normal fast rate. What relief. That was a 15 hour trauma! I don't see how my heart can withstand it!

July 24, 1985... There isn't much that can be done for me, but it is nice to be so relaxed. I'll take the valium for awhile, especially while I'm so weak. Mom and Dad are a genuine G.o.dsend to me. I don't know what I'd do without them in times like this. I look bad; white face, dark eyes, I had best avoid mirrors! I got a catalog of basket kits. I might send for some things. Mom talked with the doctor about the heart episode. He said I should take the valium as soon as an attack begins; if it persists after a 45 minute period I should go to the hospital and be put on a heart monitor to see what is wrong. I hate not being able to take the valium. I liked being "zoned out" for awhile and so completely relaxed. I can understand why people allow themselves to get hooked on a tranquilizer; they afford a great deal of peace and mental relaxation.

Another thing that spurred my agitation was the fact that I enjoyed being pampered by Mom. She'd wake me up, help me get cleaned up for bed, and bring me trays for each meal. It was so comforting, like the feeling of well-being which is so prominent in one's youth, when parents are the primary source of protection and the sustaining power of life.