I was able to come to school for a little while last week! A day and a half I believe it was. We read Oedipus out loud, together. Mr. Schoenborn explained to us things that might be misunderstood as the text is not written in the most modern fashion. It was enjoyable and engaging. I was displeased when I couldn't return to school and continue participating in that. Tragedy is an interesting topic to be discussing. I was able to look at it in different forms by being in class and learning about it. I learned about the idea that it only appears to happen to famous figures of a certain stature. That their tragedy sets the bar for our tragedies, and we compare what we go through to what someone who is more well known does. I learned that tragedy started off as a theme of a play, it was an act put on to entertain crowds of people. Isn't it strange that we started out having to watch someone suffer to gain the understanding of our own suffering? I wish I could have attended further. Aside from distraction learning, I learned about my transplant. 12 days of chemo, four of which will involve a treatment called ATG where rabbit cells will be injected into my body to help kill my immune system. One of the 12 days will involve total body radiation. Not psyched about that one, not psyched about any of it. I learned that the first week I will feel fine and as time progresses after that I will probably have to be fed via IV nutrition until I feel well enough. Not being able to eat may be the thing that keeps me in the hospital the longest. At first I was scared of potentially coming back to school if I feel well enough and am healthy enough once this is all said and done. I won't have hair, how would anyone accept me, I just moved here, they barely know me, I disappear for months and return bald. What a freak. Then I learned from someone else who had gone through Hell and hating herself because of her appearance that I am not about to go through this and feel bad about myself. I will not literally become anorexic, lose my hair, fight for my life, survive, and then be ashamed of what I look like. Screw anyone who cares what I look like afterwards. I'm going to look like death but I with be filled with new life from my Donor. That is what matters.
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I have managed to attend this class twice this week, a record as of late. I went in for an appointment on Tuesday and was admitted because my medication was damaging my kidneys and liver. A mess that I have to keep watering down because I am swamped with biology and physics. Although, I won't be in school for much longer, I've decided to get a bone marrow transplant. This is the only cure for my illness. There is a 70% chance it will work, and a 30% chance I will die. I suppose there is a percentage of how likely a person is to die any given day so I'm not bothered by it. Death is not the scary part. The worst part would be holding my mother's hand as she watched me slip into nothingness. Or seeing my baby brothers for the last time. Though I can't let my fear intervene with the reality of this situation. I am a frail being, and chemotherapy in itself might kill me. I've accepted this. So when I look back on this week I see exponential decay. I see the gleam of my jaundiced skin, horrifying, but excited to be back to school. I see devastation as I found out I was going to be back in the hospital, missing more school. Then I see nothingness as I realized that I won't be able to continue taking this class for much longer, I won't walk at my graduation, may not see my brothers grow old. I reflect, and it's painful. Soon I will look like the child in the picture and life just won't seem worth it. |
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April 2017
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