lobsterchick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"And You... I Love You Most of All\" I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm tired. I know, DS is dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's dying. He's not going to get any better. Until either he does get better, or dies (God forbid), I'm not going to get any sleep or any time to myself. If he has to die for it, then I don't want it. So I think he should get better, mkay? Last night his head nurse let us in to see him at 11 p.m., which made me nervous. I mean, if you're okay, they don't let people in at all hours. But anyway, we got off the elevator at the 8th floor and I FREAKED OUT. Big sign on the wall, "Oncology patient rooms, 8701-8732, this way." "ONCOLOGY?" I yelled. Because, from my experience, cancer means death. Unless you're my grandma, then it means another long fifty years of making everyone around you miserable. But mostly, death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. All I could think was, "This is cancer. No one told me it was cancer because they knew I would lose my shit and then they'd have to deal with me." And BT said, "Remember I told you, they put him in oncology so he could get better care?" "NO. You didn't tell me that." "I think I did..." Not that I was unreasonable or anything. And we went and saw him and it allayed my fear that he would die last night, alone, without having seen us again. I was so terrified of that. I guess the nights are the worst. I don't worry about him dying during the day, but around 10 I start getting ants-in-the-pants and it's so goddamn depressing. I can't wait to go to D.C. And yes, I'm going. I fully realize it makes me a bad friend, but at this point, I don't care. If I'm not gonna jump off the deep end, then I need this trip very badly. I need to see Danielle and drink some and sing some karaoke and be goofy and have fun and just get away from this poisoned city for a couple of days. So. 11:09 PM - 16 August 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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