To party. To drink. To get lost in music. To get rid of Dr. Rothe. To get out of this house. To get Ma off my back. To get Dad to talk to me again. To get cured.
I’m tired of this shit.
That past couple days’ve been shit. Nothing but Ma yelling. Then Dad giving me the silent treatment. Me barely making it through school cause I fee like crap. Treatment was hell again yesterday. I once again wanted to strangle DR. Rothe with my IV tubing. But that would mean I’d go to jail. And I don’t want to do that. On the bright side I’m making friends at least. (It’s the same crew that helped me up after I fell.) They haven’t asked why I’ve looked so crappy or why i suddenly go missing. All they do is chill, watch vintage horror movies on their laptops, and play poker with candy. Hanging with them is a pretty sweet break from reality. It’s like they don’t pay attention to the main stream. They don’t talking about clubbing or frat parties or getting wasted. It’s more of a side thing to them. An inevitable part of life and their daily routines. Like brushing your teeth. You always do it, so why bother bragging about it. (I kinda like that.)
Saturday night/sunday morning was not kind to me. At like 2 am I was doing shots and having fun then I started feeling really, really sick. Everything was spinning. I felt totally dried out. (Like someone had poured salt down my throat.) Nina was off making out with someone. So the twins took me outside for some air. I was so woozy they pretty much had to carry me out. After that everything sorta went black. Apparently I started barfing like no other. Then I passed out. Nearly cracked my head open on the sidewalk. Stopped breathing. Someone called an ambulance. They took me to a hospital. Took a BAC blood test. (Apparently I only had the equivalent of 2 drinks in my system.) By the time I came around it was Sunday afternoon. They kept me at the hospital til this morning to make sure everything was okay. (Some of my counts were wacky.) Ma and Dad have mixed reactions about this. Dad’s pissed I could be so dumb. Ma’s blocked Nina’s number from my phone. It’s hard to tell whether they’re happier that I’m ok or more mad that I put myself in the hospital.
I didn’t go home last night. (Spent it and most of today with Nina at some sexy twins’ apartment.) I have five missed calls from Ma. Six from Dad. But I don’t give a fuck. The four of us are in between clubs. (I didn’t drink at the last one.) We’ve picked up 2 hotties, so the crew’s up to eight. Time to get drunk again. (Bitches.)
Nina’s decided to follow up on her promise last week in a pretty epic way. She managed to dig up an obscure club that features guy and girl strippers. And they don’t card. We’ll be pre-gaming at the first frat we see. Then we’ll be heading over to the club at like 1. (When the cops normally start shutting down those parties.) I’m not 100% into going out like this again. (At least me body’s not.) I was in pain again today and majorly wiped out. But I’m not about to miss this for a sprained ankle. Or achy bones. Fuck that shit. I’m gonna live.
The pain’s bad again today. I ended up falling down the stairs. (It was a small flight.) The five people in the cafeteria heard me. Came running. Got me up. Picked up my books. Helped me to a chair. (My ankle hurt like a bitch.) One of them’s a nurse’s aide. He checked out my ankle. Said it was sprained. Then got some ice. No one asked much else. They just started joking around. Told me their names. (Ruddy. Robby. Jay. Dryer. Camilla.) I told ‘em mine. We got knowing each other til I had to get to French. Turns out Ruddy’s in that class, too. (He helped me get there. Then he drove me home after.) I have orders to stop by again tomorrow to chill in the cafeteria with them. I probably will. (They all seem like cool people.)
Delayed opening. So. Much. Snow. Today wasn’t such a good day. Not in classes. Or people. Or anything normal. My bones hurt a lot. That deep pain. (The kind that got me into the hospital in the first place.) I had some trouble with stairs. No one saw me, luckily. I’m having enough trouble talking to people now. I don’t need them asking questions.
I ran into Mr. E on the way to lunch. It was really awkward. (For me at least.) He seemed to ignore what happened in his office the other day. After the required hellos and ho-are-yous he told me that all my transcripts were in. All he had to do was look them over. Then I’ll officially be in. (Not sure whether to be happy about that or not.)
I just got home from treatment. Im all benadryled up still, so bear wit me. Fuckign Dr. Shaw is a
botch. Bitch. Fcuk. I mean bitch. She decides to drop in and “visit” me in the middle of treatment. She spends the whole time goiong on to Ma how there’s no rush to find a donor. Thaat I’’l be fine. The chemo’s doing great. I’m doing great. But there I was half fucking conscience feeling like I’m gonna die. But the bitch thinks I’m fine just cause I stil have my hair. I know my numbers are bad. I know I’m not getting better. I can feel it. I told that to Ma in the car on the way back home. She got mad. Said I’m not a doctor. That things have to get worse bfore they get better. Fuck this shit. Tomorrow I’m looking for a new doctor. (Hopefully I’ll find a new mother too. Wanted: Someone who gives a damn about what I say.)