Oh How Wrong We Were to Think That Immortality Meant Never Dying

January 12, 1997

Dear Diary/ Journal Thingy,

My mom's making me write in this diary thing. She said it might help me, emotionally that is, so I figure, what's the harm. Here goes:

I'm Frank Iero, I'm 17, and my life is a living hell. It started when I was five and I was diagnosed with Wilm’s tumor, which is a type of kidney cancer found in young children. I most likely acquired this when I was very young, possibly still in the womb. (I know a shit ton about the cancer, because unlike most patients, I am attentive to the doctors words, and actually care about what’s happening to me.) The doctors had caught it in time, so that they could remove it surgically. I was then cancer free for nearly five years before they informed me that it had come back, but instead of Wilm’s tumor, I had something called Urothelial Cell Carcinoma, but it hadn't spread yet luckily. They said that, though surgery could cure it, it wouldn't be very effective. Instead they decided to give me a MVAC chemotherapy regimen for a year. (I truthfully have no idea what that means, it’s a mix of some drugs, the doctor didn't describe it much.) A year came and went, and they eventually gave up on the regimen. I spent two years in and out of the hospital, and I was still attending school regularly. When I was fifteen the cancer had spread to my lungs through metastasis, so I was placed in the hospital permanently, and I only get to go home every few months. They then decided to start me on radiation therapy with chemo on the side, with hopes that it would help, so far it hasn't as far as I know.

I know all of the doctors by name and a few of the patients, since I am constantly wondering around the hospital out of boredom. My doctor was reluctant at first, but now he doesn't care. There’s only been one instance when something bad happened to me whilst I was roaming around; my stomach had cramped up and I had been short on breath, so I had to sit in the hallway until one of the nurses noticed me and helped me back to my room.

I've gotten myself on a schedule in the past few months; I wake up at nine, when the nurses bring me food and my pills and then the doctor comes in shortly after I finish eating to check up on me. When he gives me the okay, I drag the thing that holds my IV and some beepy thing around behind me. I wander around for three hours, occasionally stopping to sit or chat with the nurses that have been there since the previous evening; I also chat with some of the older patients. My favorite being Sam; he has cancer and a failing heart; he's not going to last much longer, but he jokes with me all of the time as if nothing is wrong.

Around 12 I head back to my room for lunch, more pills and a visit from my mother. She visits as much as she can, but she still has a job to uphold. After I eat, I make my way back out of the room; I gossip with the more talkative nurses that aren't tired from a hard day’s work. I go back to my room after making my rounds and read whatever book my mom brought, or watch a movie. She always brings something for me to do, she even bought me a puzzle once, but no matter what, it is always something new to me. I've never had to do the same exact thing twice. I'll read any book from romance, to sci-fi, and I've watched a few romance TV shows. And at six the nurses arrive with more food and shortly after the doctor comes back in. I usually go to bed around 7:30, or 8, if I still have enough energy. I get so exhausted, between my meds and the occasional chemo, and radiation, I never have much energy left towards the end of the day.

Well, I guess that's enough for one day.

Bye Diary/ Journal Thingy

P.S. Are you even supposed to say by to a journal thingy?

P.P.S. I guess I can add writing to my list of daily events.

P.P.P.S. Does P.S. even count in a journal?

P.P.P.P.S. I think I'm going to call you a journal from now on.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Ta ta for now (maybe I over did the P.S.'s a bit...)

***
​
Frank sat in his room as he watched the hours tick away. It was one of those days that he wouldn't dare move, in fear that pain would follow. His dosage of radiation therapy had been increased, and he wasn't quite used to the new amount of pain and weariness. His throat itched for water; which had also become sore from the radiation. He was taking medication for the pain, but it didn't see to subside. He kept his shades drawn and the lights off while he stared at nothing in particular. The nurses and doctors always got worried when he was like that, but during their conversations over the subject, they always came back to the fact of the whole situation that was thrust upon him at such a young age, was stressful for the boy. Everyone in the hospital had grown accustomed to Frank, and some might even say they liked him, but they were also sympathetic towards him; though he never seemed to notice, or he at least pretended not to. He constantly listened intently to what the others had to say, never seeming to mind them going on and on about their dreadful day. Apparently spending most of your life in a hospital teaches you manners, or maybe that was just how Frank was.

He never spilled to the nurses what his problems were, he didn't like bombarding them with his personal issues when they already had to deal with his health, and not to mention, their own problems. Instead he kept to his room, not allowing anyone to know that his only friend, Ray, was supposed to visit him, but bailed because of a date. He had known Ray since they were little, and he was always there for his sick friend. But when Frank was placed in the hospital for good, he didn't visit as much, and, made new friends, he even found himself a girlfriend. Frank absolutely hated being holed up in the hospital; he'd much rather be out in the world, getting wasted like a normal teenager.

During the occasional period that he did get to visit his home, he’d taken to drinking with Ray and his buddies. But he knew that that could never happen now, and mourning over it would only make matters worse. Although, he continued to dream about hanging out with his friends and possibly having a girlfriend, but most of all, having the opportunity to live.