dear diary,
my new doctor doesn't have coffee breath!
I drum my fingers on my knee, balancing my laptop on my stomach. my mom had brought me my favorite movie so that I wouldn't be so bored all the time, at least that's what she said. I know she feels guilty that she can't stay with me all day, but she's working 2 jobs just to pay for my treatment. I tell her not to work herself so hard, I'm not going to get better, but she just shakes her head and pats my knee.
"You gotta be more optimistic honey."
One small problem, I'm the most pessimistic person you'll ever meet.
Letting out a tired sigh, I recite my favorite line from the movie. "Stay gold Ponyboy. Stay gold."
A small tear trickles down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it as the door creaks open.
A tall, lean, dirty blonde haired boy walks in. Carrying a clipboard and a pen.
"Hayden Bradshaw, correct?"
I nod my head, still focused on the movie.
He clears his throat, "We're going to start you off with a different treatment. This one is a bit more painful. You'll be more nauseated, you may loose apatite for a couple days, your stomachs going to hurt quite a bit-"
"Yeah yeah, just get it over with."
I can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye. "Okay.."
"You're going to be starting off with a new prescription."
He grabs my hand and places two minion yellow pills on my palm, he then hands me a glass of water. "Drink up."
"Aren't you a little young to be working here?" I ask, popping the pills into my mouth, and playing around with them until they're under my tongue. I grab the glass of water and chug it down.
He looks at me with that same serious expression, grabbing the empty cup before heading out the door.
Well he's fun.
Just as I reach under my tongue and take out the slimy yellow substance, someone walks in.
"Hey I-"
My new doctor watches me as I slowly wrap my fingers around the medicine, offering him a nervous laugh.
He approaches me quickly, "You have to take those if you want to get better!"
I lunge the pills at his chest, "There is no getting better for me! I'm fucked! And I've accepted that so please, just stop giving me false hope."
He stares at me pitifully.
"Don't feel sorry for me, you don't deserve to feel sorry for me," I search his chest for his name tag, "Peter Cade."
Cade, like Johnny Cade..
Taking his hands off my bed, he approaches the door and leaves.
He didn't make me take the pills.
October 4, 1994
