Experiments

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It's just not working.

I know it isn't.

Everyone smiles and tells me that I'm doing great and that I'm brave but they're both lies.

I'm not doing great. I'm sick and scared and tired of this and I wish…

And I'm not brave.

It may look like I am, but I'm not. I can put on a good show, I guess. I can do that. In fact I've gotten pretty good at it, but I'm not brave.

Every week, every couple of days I can't help it. I start thinking about everything that's happened, everything that I'm missing and am going to miss and-it hurts so damn much. I'm scared and I'm nineteen years old and my hair has all fallen out again and I sit there and I cry. Sometimes Brian is there and he holds me until I get it out this time and sometimes he's not home and I hold onto a pillow but it keeps happening every couple of days.

Then I get up and wash my face or fall asleep and it starts all over again.

The treatments aren't working.

You want to know how I'm going to spend my summer vacation? I'll tell you.

I was accepted into a program in Baltimore that does some hot shit experimental cancer treatments. They seem to think I'm a good candidate.

They're going to try a bone marrow transplant. They're hoping that it will help my immune system because it's pretty much crapped out after all the shit that's been happening the last couple of years, all the chemo and the radiation and the drugs.

Molly was tested and she's a good enough match. She's the donor and I felt really bad about that. I mean she's a kid, right? She should be going to summer camp for a couple of weeks, not going to some fucking hospital so they can stick needles in her. At least there's some new way to get the marrow that's easier on her. Somehow -don't ask me how it works cause God knows-they can extract the marrow cells from her blood so it's not an invasive procedure for her. That's good. It really is. I'm glad that it's going to be easy on her.

Oh, they want to help my T-cells-they have something to do with the immune system. I get transfusions of whole blood and platelets, but I guess I need to make more T-cells. That's what they're hoping this will do.

I doubt it, though.

This hasn't worked for anyone yet so I guess that's why they call it experimental.

The good thing is that once you're accepted into the program it's free, so that's good. I guess that's good.

The lead up to the whole procedure is pretty bad, though.

You see what they have to do is use chemo and radiation to kill off whatever is left of my immune system-and I don't think there's much left at this point-so that when they get to the bone marrow transplant it will be less likely my body will reject it. So I'm back on the treadmill of chemo five days a week for two weeks, then a week or ten days off to recover then they start all over. I get the platelet donations and the whole blood and all of that shit.

Yes, sure, the friends are still hauling to the local blood banks to donate and it's great of them to do it and all, but shit-I hate being the charity they all feel obligated to give to.

I guess it's worth doing.

I guess.

My mother is always so fucking optimistic it pisses me off, though. She's always saying crap like "When you have your own kids…." Or "Soon you'll be able to get your old job back if you want." Or, my favorite. "You and Brian should think about getting married."

Like Brian would ever marry anyone.

Like he'd ever marry me.

Like I'm going to see my twenty-first birthday.

My father can't deal with it. He mostly just talks to Molly because my mother always gives him updates on how I'm doing and I gather he doesn't take it all that well. He tends to do stuff like get on the phone with Molly for like a half hour and at the end throw out a 'Say hi to your brother for me'.

That's OK.

No. It really is.

I guess it must really suck to know your kid is probably going to die pretty soon. I mean, even if I wasn't gay that would be hard. I know he hates that Brian has been there for me instead of him, but that's the breaks, I guess.

I mean, I really can't picture Craig holding me while I'm barfing or crying or whatever. It's not really him.

So I've been going to a couple of classes at Pitt. Did you know that cancer is covered under the Federal Disabilities Act and they have to make allowances for me? Neither did I but they're actually pretty nice about it.

It turned out that the man who's the Dean of Students used to work on that end of things-I guess he used to be in the Admission Department and so he knows all about the laws about this. Anyway, he took a look at my transcripts and my SAT's and I was in, just that easy. He even found a professor who would be sympathetic if I had to miss a class or two-not that I want to trade on the pity vote, but shit.

You know something? The classes are the only place where I'm just another student. Most of the others don't even know I'm sick and they treat me like I'm normal. They're English classes, composition and lit class and I really like them. The prof is pretty good and I like that I'm just the guy in the fourth seat of the third row. I'm not the kid with cancer, I'm not 'poor Sunshine', I'm just me again.

I love that.

I wish it could stay like that, at least in class.

So this summer they start the experimental stuff.

I know what that means. It means that they don't know what else to do because the shit they've been trying hasn't done what they hoped it would.

They-my Mom, mostly-won't stop fighting for me and I know it's because she loves me but sometimes I wish hat she'd just let it go.

I don't want to die-Christ no. I don't.

I want to get though this and finish school and maybe even marry Brian and be with him and watch Molly get married and maybe see my Mom married again. I really want that. I want to be at Gus' graduation. I want to sell some paintings. I want to not be sick and for my hair to grow back.

I want-so much.

I want …it all.

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