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10:21 pm - April 15, 2004

It's a tough thing to come to terms with when you realize that no amount of hugs, no amount of "I love you", can change the uncertainty and the fear and the sadness that will come tomorrow. Tomorrow, my mom starts chemotherapy. It's a scary reality to be faced with.

I used to read those books by Lurlene McDaniel about the teenage girls who had cancer and went to a summer camp for teens who have cancer. They talked about all these things-- surgery, chemo, radiation, etc. It was all a part of living a different reality, imagining and placing yourself in these different scenarios. I would give anything to not be in this scenario right now, to not have to see books about cancer splayed around the living room, to not answer calls from my mom's doctor where she asks how I'm doing, to not have to hear words like "lymph nodes", "infiltration of blood stream", "needle injections" tossed around in casual conversation.

I flinched yesterday when I heard somebody down the hall at school yesterday yell to someone else, "Yeah well, I hope you get cancer, man." I can't believe someone would say that. I wouldn't wish cancer on anyone. Ever. It's as simple as that.

I feel very lonely and isolated. In a very cruel and egotistical way, I feel scornful sometimes when other people talk about their problems-- trouble with a boyfriend, a bad grade, etc. And it's not that I don't care. I guess it's hard to imagine something larger though. When you have a problem it seems to become your whole world-- everything you do is shaped by your feelings toward it.

We'll see what tomorrow brings, I guess. I wish I could just fast forward to the end of July, when chemo will be over. But then there's radiation. It seems like there's no end in sight.