Traudl Junge and Sophie Scholl: Two Young Women in Nazi Germany, Part 3 - Trials

Traudl Junge (tumblr.com)

L to R: Hans Scholl, Sophie Scholl, Christoph Probst (jewishvirtuallibrary.com)

Continued from Part 2

Four days later, on February 22nd, the three White Rose defendants, Sophie Scholl, Hans Scholl, and Christoph Probst, appeared before the so-called people’s court, presided over by Roland Freisler. This was a show trial, as were all trials that came before Freisler. The outcome could never really be in doubt. Freisler was infamous for verbal abuse screaming among other things, personal insults, and other means of showmanship. Although we have no footage of Sophie’s trial, we do have an example of Freisler’s courtroom demeanor. Here he is shown berating one of the conspirators involved in the botched July 20, 1944 attempt on Hitler’s life. Like all defendants was dressed plainly because showing up dressed magnificently in a business suit or a uniform doesn’t help the propaganda value.

It must have been as intimidating for Sophie and her co-defendants but Hans held his own and Sophie was able to say this:

Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don't dare express themselves as we did.

At another point in her trial, she made this bold statement:

You know the war is lost. Why don't you have the courage to face it?

When asked for closing statement she said “Where we stand today, you will stand soon.” She might have been right, had Freisler not been killed in an Allied air raid in February, 1945 while the “People’s Court” was in session.

“Justice” was brutally swift.  The Scholls and Probst were sentenced to death and later that same day, they went to the guillotine. Several more of their associates would be tried and some like them would be executed.

Traudl Junge at this time went to the Berghof, Hitler’s retreat in the Bavarian Alps.  She was at the Wolf’s Lair when the attempt on Hitler’s life took place, and thought it horrible that they might not have a leader. And she spent the last days of the Third Reich in the bunker with Hitler. Her last duties: to take his last will and political testament. She thought that finally she could learn the real reason that Germany had lost the war.  Hitler characteristically avoided blame.  Before, he said that National Socialism was dead, yet he was making plans for a successor government. She heard the shot with which he ended his life. She was with the Goebbels children.

Traul was angry with Hitler. As much as it is difficult for most of us to believe, Hitler was gentle to Traudl, almost the kind father figure she had always been lacking. This is how in her words he “cast his spell” over her. She had faith in him that we would lead them to final victory, but he had given up while others were still fighting. She felt betrayed.

Traudl Junge made it out of the bunker, eventually being captured by the Russians. She was in prison for several months. Eventually, with the help of a benefactor to keep her out of prison and by not being caught crossing the border between the Russian zone and the British zone, she eventually made it to Bavaria in the American zone. During the so-called denazification, she would be classified as a fellow traveller, meaning she was innocent of any wrongdoings because of her age. She would live a long life as a secretary and science journalist. She often kept quiet about her war experiences. But she would occasionally appear in films, and she can be seen in an English-speaking interview for the 1970’s British documentary miniseries, The World at War.

We know fully well where Sophie Scholl stood, but Traudl Junge seems more enigmatic, more like an apathetic rather than innocent bystander. Was it the tough family life, the aspirations, the immaturity to not see beyond one’s one immediate world? There is also a message from the Second Leaflet of the White Rose that seems be what the White Rose would say to and about Traudl Junge:

...only by way of example do we want to cite the fact that since the conquest of
Poland three hundred thousand Jews have been murdered in this country in the most bestial way. Here we see the most frightful crime against human dignity, a crime that is unparalleled in the whole of history. For Jews, too, are human beings - no matter what position we take with respect to the Jewish question - and a crime of this dimension has been perpetrated against human beings.   Someone may say that the Jews deserved their fate. This assertion would be a monstrous impertinence...

...Why tell you these things, since you are fully aware of them - or if not of these, then of other equally grave crimes committed by this frightful sub-humanity? Because here we touch on a problem which involves us deeply and forces us all to take thought. Why do the German people behave so apathetically in the face of all these abominable crimes, crimes so unworthy of the human race? Hardly anyone thinks about that. It is accepted as fact and put out of mind. The German people slumber on in their dull, stupid sleep and encourage these fascist criminals; they give them the opportunity to carry on their depredations; and of course they do so. Is this a sign that the Germans are brutalized in their simplest human feelings, that no chord within them cried out at the sight of such deeds, that they have sunk into a fatal consciencelessness from which they will never, never awake?

 It seems to be so, and will certainly be so, if the German does not at least start up out of his stupor, if he does not protest wherever and whenever he can against this clique of criminals, if he shows no sympathy for these hundreds of thousands of victims....For through his apathetic behavior he gives these evil men the opportunity to act as they do; he tolerates this "government" which has taken upon itself such an infinitely great burden of guilt;indeed, he himself is to blame for the fact that it came about at all! Each man wants to be exonerated of a guilt of this kind, each one continues on his way with the most placid, the calmest conscience. But he cannot be exonerated; he is guilty, guilty, guilty!

Sophie Scholl demonstrates an example of resistance - non-violent and symbolic, being that her movement did not really affect change in her time. But it must have certainly alamrmed the authorities, as The White Rose was physically broken up and their actions were never really supported by the University of Munich students.  Nevertheless, she has become a German national hero. She is immortalized in memorials, sculpture, photographs, and even postage stamps. Traudl Junge comes to us as really someone without whom we might not know the full details of the bunker as soon as we did. But there’s that disturbing element that she really had the opportunity to know more than she claimed to. She was very critical of herself for this, almost to her dying day. Perhaps it is safe to say that it is the fervent wish of every decent human being that no circumstances would exist that would set the stage set for either path either young woman took.

Older Traudl Junge (imdb.com)

The Scholl gravesite outside Stadelheim Prison (findagrave.com)

Non-Internet Sources:

1. Traudl Junge and Melissa Müller. Until the Final Hour: Hitler's Last Secretary pp. 42, 115, 128-130, 183-184, 187, 218, 222-226
2. Atwood, Katherine J. Women Heroes of World Wat II, (Chicago,Chicago Review Press, Inc. 2011, pp. 21-22

Traudl Junge and Sophie Scholl: Two Young Women in Nazi Germany, Part 2 - Starting Their Paths

Traudl Junge (lewisheatonbooks.com)

Sophie Scholl (livesofthedissidents.com)

Continued from Part 1

Once at university, Sophie would eventually join the White Rose movement. The White Rose movement did not start out as an anti-Nazi movement. In fact, it was a group of students - mostly medical students, and mostly male -who had several things in common. They started getting together in about 1939. Sophie’s brother Hans read a sermon given by Nazi critic Bishop August von Galen in 1941. Eventually, the subject among the group came to politics, and by the summer 1942, they determined they were all against the Nazis That was the formation of the White Rose movement. Sophie begged to join, but her brother tried in vain to protect her by keeping her out. Finally, Hans brought Sophie into the group.

The group expressed their dissent by sending out leaflets or the leaflets of the White Rose,. They had a typewriter, acquired a hand-cranked duplicating machine, and managed to get paper. Possession of all these things was dangerous, and the group knew full well what the consequences could be.. Sophie would go to various post offices to buy stamps. If someone bought too many stamps all at one time, that would arouse suspicion. The first leaflet was Bishop Galen’s sermon.

In 1942, the Nazi’s were trying to keep the med students from being idle, so they implemented a program: service on the Russian front for three months. The idea was that they would have experience under fire and serve in field hospitals. But these young men who were already opposed to the Nazis saw the various atrocities committed in the East. They also saw very worn-down German soldiers. What they saw no doubt also fortified their confidence in the rightness of their cause.

By December, 1942, Traudl Junge was ready to embark on a dance career. She had been a secretary, which she had seen as means to an end. It would be a way of making a living until she could live her dream. But Germany at that time had a law that allowed a worker to change employers only if her employers approved. But Traudl was apparently too valued an employee, and her employer would not let her go. Traudl was angry, thinking that her employer stood in the way between her and the life of a dancer.

While she saw her life as stagnant, her sister Inge knew Albert Bormann (brother of Martin Bormann) and that there was an opportunity for her in the Reich Chancellery. This would trump her employer and Traudl could hope for some revenge. It wasn’t at this point she met Hitler, for he was conducting military operations in the Wolfschanze, or “Wolf’s Lair” in East Prussia. She describes herself as looking to keep herself busy.

Then the opportunity of a lifetime (at least for a German at that time) came: Hitler needed a personal secretary. She and nine of her co-workers were selected to to be tested - mainly on dictation - for Hitler. Out of the ten, Traudl was chosen, although she had a little probationary period to go through.

Traudl Junge was officially made Hitler’s secretary on January 30. Her first job was dictating a speech celebrating Hitler’s coming into power - 10 years prior in 1933, when then-President Hindenburg appointed Hitler as chancellor. A major event she doesn’t record until weeks afterward occurred the very next day: the defeat at Stalingrad. This could not be kept from the German people, and it was thus announced on February 3, 1943. Thus began the downward spiral for Nazi Germany, even though it would not be apparent to the average German.

Where Traudl Junge was cautioned not to bring up Stalingrad in front of Hitler, Stalingrad encouraged the White Rose movement. Although they already thought that Germany would lose the war from what they saw, the defeat was another confirmation of Germany’s defeat. That was the second event that encouraged them.

The first happened on January 13 when the Gauleiter (a Nazi party-appointed governor-like position) for Bavaria spoke and said essentially that young women should be home producing sons than attending university. That caused a lot of women to start for the door and the Gauleiter called for the Gestapo to arrest them. The students, many of them in uniform, then took the student leader hostage until the Gauleiter had his men let the women go..

So, fully fired up, Hans Scholl and some others decided to go painting slogans aand crossed-out swastikas on buildings on Ludwigstrasse and the University. On the 3rd, 8th, and the 15th, they did just that., using tar and black paint.

On February 18, Hans and Sophie Scholl enter the atrium at the University of Munich with a suitcase to distribute the sixth leaflet, many copies of which they had already mailed.. Classes are in session, so the halls are empty.  They plant piles outside each of the classroom doors. After doing this, Sophie realizes they still have more, so they both head upstairs to distribute more leaflets. At this point, Sophie throws some leaflets out over the balcony onto the atrium. This would seal their fate and the fate of the White Rose. A janitor spots them, and they are taken in by the Gestapo. They are interrogated intensely. Finally, Hans confesses. Sophie, upon learning this, took full responsibility. Later the Scholl siblings are joined by Christoph Probst, who was only apprehended because his handwriting for what might have been the seventh leaflet was found on Hans. Hans was trying to destroy it while he and Sophie were in Gestapo custody.


Next: Trials

Non-Internet Sources:

1. Traudl Junge and Melissa Müller. Until the Final Hour: Hitler's Last Secretary pp. 28-29, 
2. Franz Muller, Interview, Sophie Scholl: DIe Letzen Tage (The Last Days) - Special Features 

Traudl Junge and Sophie Scholl: Two Young Women in Nazi Germany, Part 1: Growing Up

Traudl Junge (guardian.co.uk)

 Sophie Scholl (nibis.ni.shule.de)

    

At the end of the German movie Downfall and the German documentary Blind Spot, an elderly Traudl Junge is being interviewed. The same footage is in both films. If the name sounds familiar, it is because she is known as a secretary to Adolf Hitler. So naturally, the question often becomes what did she know and when did she know it? She states she knew nothing and didn’t really care to know anything at the time. But she also states she realizes that was wrong. Reflecting on her experience, she says:

Of course the horrors, of which I heard in connection of the Nuremberg trials, the fate of the 6 million Jews, their killing and those of many others who represented different races and creeds, shocked me greatly, but at that time I could not see any connection between these things and my own past. I was only happy that I had not personally been guilty of these things and that I had not been aware of the scale of these things. However, one day I walked past a plaque that on the Franz-Joseph Straße (in Munich), on the wall in memory of Sophie Scholl. I could see that she had been born the same year as I, and that she had been executed the same year when I entered into Hitler’s service. And at that moment I really realised, that it was no excuse that I had been so young. I could perhaps have tried to find out about things.

There’s almost a challenge being thrown out to compare Traudl Junge with Sophie Scholl.. This is not the first time such a comparison is done, but I’m hoping to get into a little more depth in such a way that we can compare the backgrounds and see what set them on their separate paths. Such a comparison would be of the apples vs. oranges type, but there might be some patterns. What made Sophie Scholl a dissenter and Traudl Junge anywhere from a bystander to a willing accomplice?

Traudl Junge was born Gertraud “Traudl” Humps on March 16, 1920 . She would be the older of two sisters. Her father, Max Humps, was a master brewer. This meant that he did not own a brewery but rather simply worked in one. In 1922, Humps lost his job. He would eventually find activity with a group known as the Freikorps Oberland that collaborated with the NSDAP, or..yes...Nazi for short. He actually participated in Hitler’s failed Beer Hall Putsch in 1923, but he was so low on the totem pole that he didn’t face trial. In 1925, he found brewing work in Istanbul and left his family behind. Without any income, Traud’s mother moves in with her parents.

It bears emphasizing that although Max Junge was a member of the Nazi party, he was very much an absentee father as to not have a great influence on Traudl. The closest Traudl Junge got to a father figure was her maternal grandfather: an autocrat, very stern, cold, and abusive. As far as his worldview, he was apolitical and recognized the authority of whoever was in power..

Sophia Magdalena Scholl was born on May 9, 1921 in Forchtenberg where her father was mayor. They lived in a nice apartment in the town hall. Her father was a conscientious objector in the First World War. So here we have her father political and idealistic form the outstart. Her childhood can be described as happy. After her father lost his bid for reelection, the family eventually settled in Ulm in 1933. Ulm was not enthusiastic about Hitler, and when Hitler came to power in 1933, there were no celebrations, unlike other places in Germany.

Both girls joined the the League of German Girls BDM (Bund Deutscher Mädel), and would eventually become leaders within the BDM. Sophie became disillusioned. She was aware that many people around her, teachers, other girls, and especially her father, were not too keen on the Nazis. Traudl, who was uninterested in the political part of National Socialism, saw it as a vehicle for her to express her love of dancing. She got to do this at the a festival called “The NIght of the Amazon’s.” This was a festival with pageantry that would be unusual to us. It, among other things, featured equestrians, dancers, and nude women, to show off the pure Aryan female form, of course.

Sophie Scholl’s father was put into prison for denouncing Hitler. It was said to one of his employees: "this Hitler is God's scourge on mankind, and if this war doesn't end soon the Russians will be sitting in Berlin." The employee denounced him to the Gestapo. This had an impact on Sophie.

In order for Sophie Scholl to fulfill the prerequisite for admittance into university, she needed to put in six months of national service. Eventually, she became a nursery school teacher. Finally, she was admitted to the University of Munich.

Next: The young women choose their paths

Non-Internet Sources:

1. Traudl Jung, interview by Andre Heller, “Blind Spot (Im toten Winkel),” 2001.
2. Junge, Traudl and Melissa Müller. Until the Final Hour: Hitler's Last Secretary. (Munich: Ullstein Heyn List, GmbH & Co. KG, 2002.), pp.8-11, 14, 16,

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part IX: Epilogue

From Part VIII

To start from the beginning, click here for Part I

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

So here's life since 2000, plus a spillage of thoughts.

Remember that one of the things that my oncologist at my hospital bedside that there was a 50-50 chance of sterility? This was a concern for my wife and me. So I got tested. When I called the doctor’s office, the tech there said that it was normal, and seemed annoyed that I bothered to call or that somehow I should have known the answer already. And I am happy to report that I have two beautiful, healthy children.

I've had trouble getting life insurance beyond the bare bones minimum under a group insurance policy.  Even though the health issues are behind me, I'm still not a good risk in the eyes of the insurance companies.  I get rejected for supplemental insurance offered by my employer. When I've gone outside my employer's life insurance plans, premiums go through the roof.  Health insurance is not a big deal when part of a group with the safety in numbers.

I did a little trauma work with the Hodgkin's.  The start of this series is something I started on my own accord back then, but I haven't finished until now.  What I started writing also contains a little more insights since then.    I went and joined a Hodgkin's survivor's online forum.  I had told them of my experience and then I was a 17 year survivor.  I was called an inspiration (I never think of myself as inspiring) but because I included the late effect of the fibrosarcoma, one member was a little concerned.  As I stayed on, there was a lot of issues that I had dealt with, but I haven't dealt with them for so long.  And some of the treatments were beyond my scope of familiarity.  And there were people that were dealing with problems that I never dealt with, like real sterility.  There was also someone who was told that Hodgkin's isn't a "real" cancer.  And of course, outrage rippled through the group.  I have my two cents:  You have cells that don't belong there, that multiply wantonly.  You have to treat them with chemo therapy or radiation (surgery, incidentally, is not used to treat Hodgkin's in the United States) or you will eventually die.  That sounds like cancer to me.  Hodgkin's is a lymphoma, a blood cancer.  It generally just has a better prognosis.

It was a very informed group.  I didn't for know example that a possible late effect of the bleomycin was Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome.  So if you get pure oxygen or anesthesia, there's a chance your lungs could get inflamed to the point of it being fatal.  The group members were even discussing medical alert bracelets or necklaces.  But I have found out from my own research this risk to be very low. I've had three surgeries since chemotherapy, and I survived every one.  I will eventually have surgery on my right eye, so I might want to give that a mention.  There's no need to take chances.  And scuba diving may not be an option for me.  As for the group, the sword was very much over their heads.  It was kind of hard to relate to a lot of it.  But I suppose I might get back to that group again and see if I can contribute.

My most recent visit with an oncologist was in 2008, if I remember correctly. My primary care physician had just finished treatment for male breast cancer and I think was projecting his issues onto me. So he referred me to his oncologist. I stepped into that office, checked in, and sat down, thinking it’s really weird being in a place like this again. It was almost like some creepy homecoming.

I see him and he does the physical and checks my body parts out. Everything was clear. He said of both the Hodgkin’s and fibrosarcoma, “if they haven’t come back now they’re probably never going to come back.” His whole attitude was, “Why did you come in here?”

There also seems to be a problem whenever a chest x-ray is taken. There’s always this gas bubble that sets off alarm bells with anyone who views it. One time, I went into urgent care because I had a bad cold. They took a chest x-ray and the PA really erred, and I mean really erred, on the side of caution. Of course, I knew it was because of liability. They sent me to the emergency room. There, I was about to have my first chest CT scan in years.  I was dreading it on one hand but then some weird part of me said "let's rock 'n' roll."   Maybe that was because I'd get to prove what kind of CT pro I am or something.  But before that, the ER doctor talked to me about what they were seeing on the x-ray. The shape of my diaphragm was odd and the doctor said it was like a reverse hernia. I told her that when I was younger I had a huge mediastinal mass (that’s the medical terminology for that mambo tumor), and that it had displaced the diaphragm. That made sense to her. So I didn’t get the CT scan, but I did get antibiotics for my cold. Which was what I was after in the first place. It only took me 5 hours to get it.

I've also had skin cancers removed, and I blame the radiation for it because my cells are a little more sensitive now.  Once again: thank you, radiation.  Or I could use a less sarcastic, but more direct approach in the form of an expletive.  I think I'll be having radiation-caused problems for the rest of my life.  I watch that area.  So I guess there's where the sword hangs above my head.  But I don't live in dread over it.  I figure like the fibrosarcoma, I'll find whatever comes up.

I also may never be able to donate blood. Just about every time there was a blood drive at work, I tried to participate. I worked for a company what was a supplier for Red Cross Blood Services, and we’d host an annual blood drive. So there was peer pressure in giving blood.  But I got really used to needles, so opening a vein didn't bother me.  When I got screened, I was told I was on “indefinite deferral.” The woman who was screening me had lost her husband from non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (what separates the two is that Hodgkin’s contains Reed-Sternberg cells, and the presence of those cells always clinches the diagnosis of Hodgkin's). I felt bad, like a survivor’s guilt and all I could say, like anybody else, was “I’m sorry.” But she said in the warmest, most sincere manner possible, “I’m so glad you’re here.” Wow.

I do think about many people who have died. First of all, my oncologist, Dr. John Bruner and his partner, Dr. David King, that I mentioned both died in 2005. Remember the gal that was an inspiration to me? She had died some time ago. She’s been gone for about fifteen years.  She had a lot more trouble with frequent recurrences, and I think she died from complications rather than the disease itself.

I think about well-known people, like Howard Carter. He discovered King Tutankhamen's tomb and died from Hodgkin’s in 1939. His death furthered the legend of the "curse of King Tut’s tomb." The one picture I can’t get out of my head is this:

commons.wikimedia.org

It’s from a medical textbook published in 1936. I think he’s just got his eyes shut. There are pictures out there of worse swelling. But it’s sad to see the little guy and know that he’s not ever going to grow into adulthood.  Even twenty years before I had Hodgkin's, the survival time with treatment was 10 years.

I can’t accept the view that some cell just decided to mutate and multiply. Although it's the scientifically accurate way of looking at it, I feel like I have to find meaning. Otherwise it’s just some crap that happened to me. My “freedom” from it has been described to me as a second chance. I do think that it is some sort of gift has been given. A way to see things. A way to live life.  This doesn’t make me special. It doesn’t make me necessarily enlightened. It’s just that I can see life in a different way. The problem is, I often choose not to. And you know what? Many times, I have thought of throwing this gift away. What a grateful recipient I am, huh? And that’s partly because the experience is so far behind me.  I also say that the people in your life are important, but as of now I'm choosing to isolate.  But I try to recapture the renewed perspective every day of my life, as hard as it might be for me to do.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that fitting this into this path that has been my life is a struggle in itself.

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part VIII: A Sequel?

From Part VII

To start from the beginning, click here for Part I

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

It was about September in 1997. For a few weeks my right armpit area would get sore after I’d work out with military presses or something like that which had me using my shoulders. One night after working out I was trying to massage my muscles on my right side to try and help the hurt a little. And then I felt it. This little raisin-sized lump right in my right armpit where a lymph node might be. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy one bit.

I played the denial game here, too. But that only lasted about three weeks. I was dreading going through treatment again, and the notion that Hodgkin’s would show itself again might mean that my long-term prognosis wouldn't be so great. Nevertheless, I knew this thing wasn’t going to go away until I saw someone. I made an appointment with my oncologist so he could check it out. I visited with him, he examined it, and wanted a biopsy to be done. So I’d have to arrange for a surgeon.

Now the previous benefit year, I had signed up under HMO because it was cheaper. I'd have to get the blessing on everything from a primary care physician.  That shouldn't be a problem.  I mean, what could happen, right?  But this would create a problem. First, we’d have to go to my primary care physician, who wasn’t there anymore. So they had to find another doctor to get me a referral to a chest surgeon. The HMO was going really slow and I had to do something that I hadn’t done before: hounding the oncologist’s office because they were the ones working on it. I didn’t like doing it, because I had a good relationship with them and was very grateful for all they had done. The whole process took A MONTH before I saw the surgeon. Needless to say, I didn't ever want to tie my doctor's hands again and forked over the extra money for the PPO during the next open enrollment period..

But that was a way off.  I went for consult and examination with the surgeon, and I think we scheduled the surgery.

So I report for surgery, and once again we’re having trouble with that heart rate thing. The anesthesiologist decided to go a little old school and knock me out with gas. So I’m wheeled into the operating room, perfectly alert. I then get this oxygen mask over me and I am told to breathe in and out. Then this numbness starts to take over my body and I hear one of the nurses say, “that was fast.” I wanted to say that it hadn’t fully kicked in, but I was out about a second later before I could panic.

One of the nurses woke me up as I was being wheeled into the recovery room. The doctor was with this entourage. He said that what they removed wasn’t a lymph node. This thing was blue and I don’t remember if he gave me the size. Great (facetiously), it was a tumor but not Hodgkin’s. Now the mystery again: What is it?

Several days later, I got a call from the doctor. He had received the pathologists’ report. I had a fibrosarcoma, which I had certainly recognized as cancer. Well, that sucked. We were going to make an appointment, go over the results, and determine what our next move is. I was at work. My boss called and I told her what happened. She asked if I wanted to go home for the rest of the day. As kind as that gesture was, I thought for that time it was best that I was at work.. My concern was not so much that I had cancer again, although that wasn't pleasing news.. My question was: What kind of treatment can I look forward to? I didn’t have those answers yet, and I wasn’t going to get those answers right now. I guess what I’m trying to say is that the information was incomplete, so "I have cancer" was just not enough for me to dwell on. But it was still a bummer.

My parents went with me to see the doctor. The doctor explained that the pathologists took a long time with this because they were trying to find cells that were dividing. This was a slow-growing tumor. I got a copy of the pathologists’ report. It had mentioned things like muscle atrophy (great, so working out wasn't all that productive) and the zinger: If this was in the radiation mantle field, it was "almost certainly" caused by the radiation. I often thought the radiation wasn’t necessary, but who am I? And as I said in the last post, it's now used less due to improved chemotherapy.  And I went under ABVD, which as I said is now "the gold standard," at least in the United States.  Curse you, radiation. So now we're going to get me back into surgery to remove the surrounding tissue to see if it had spread.

So now, it’s surgery day. I don’t get gassed but get conked out like everybody else usually does. The tissue sample would go back to the pathologists. My parents took me back to their house and just crashed, because that's what you do after general anesthesia - crash.

Some days later, I get a call from the surgeon. The surrounding tissue was free and clear. Whew! And he conferred with my oncologist who said that he didn’t see the need for any chemotherapy or radiation. My oncologist got me this far, so he must know what he was talking about. Again I was at work, so I decided to give my family the good news, My mom answered the phone, and at this time our benefits manager comes into my office. I announce to my mom that it was free and clear, and the benefits manager, overhearing this, had this cheery look on her face. Now, I never told the benefits manager anything about what was going on, so she must have heard it through some kind of grapevine. I really didn’t mind that she knew. The more people that know, the greater your support can be. And like I’ve kept saying, the people in your life are important.

But as for the big “C”, we can pack this one away.  But I would still some lingering effects from it all.

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part VII: The Disappearing Shoreline.

From Part VI

To start from the beginning, click here for Part I

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

So now the experience seems to be getting behind me. It’s like ship passengers who see the land slowly disappearing behind them.

My checkups went first from six weeks to three months to six months and to a year. At first there’d be CT scans, then just chest x-rays. I can remember being nervous during those more frequent office visits. I remember that in other parts of my life there was the thought, “this is not as bad as it gets.” When I went into the doctor’s office, I was confronted with the idea of how bad things can get. It’s a humbling experience, actually.

I'd have a lot of false alarms.  For some reason, many of these would occur right after the checkup.  Regardless of the timing, they included a few things. The main one was weight.  If I'd lose just a few pounds I'd start panicking.  Today I accept such a weight loss gracefully like so many others.  But at this period weight loss was still a cause of concern.  There was one time where I thought my lymph nodes were acting up again.  The doctor examines me and said that was "lumpy fat."  He also informed me that I "flunked lymph nodes 101."  So much for my intuition, at least for now.

On one of my follow-ups, I finally found out what remission means.  We hear it all the time, and we probably each have our own ideas as to the definition.  What my doctor said was remission means that they can't find any signs of the disease no matter what tests they run.  I asked him, "so far so good?"  He replied, "So far, excellent."

Rather harmless reminders of my then-recent past also occurred.  John was really instrumental in some of these.  Once, we were at a Suns game.  I went into a loud, lengthy but benign coughing fit.  John says, "Let's see, dry hacking cough...", as if he was starting to go through the symptoms.  It was nice that I got to a point where we could joke about it.

The specter of recurrence is known in many a survivors’ circle as the sword of Damocles. For those not familiar with this story related by Cicero, Damocles was a brown-noser in the court of the Syracuse King Dionysus II. Damocles was just kissing up to Dionysus about how good it must be to be the king. The king offered to switch places with Damocles so that he could feel what it was like to be king. So Damocles is sitting on the king’s throne enjoying himself until he looks up and finds a sword hanging by a single strand of horsehair.

And that’s what every cancer survivor I’ve ever encountered feels: that sword suspended precariously over you. But meanwhile life goes on. And it did. I went back to school, having to go through the process of re-admission. And I finally graduated in the fall of 1992. My brother graduated the previous summer, and I was having a hard time keeping things in perspective because my younger brother wasn’t supposed to graduate ahead of me. But it wasn’t like I kept flunking classes, changing majors, or doing anything else that would sabotage the process. I was out for a whole year for pretty good reasons. It seems like such a silly thing to be upset over, but I still was young and had that young person’s perspective of "right now."  Now I can say it didn’t make any difference when I graduated. The important things is that I made it to the point where I could graduate.

Time had been arranged with me regarding talking to some people who were just starting their way through Hodgkin’s. There was one young lady that I was talking to over the phone. She was not much younger than I and she was going through the tests. She just had her bone marrow biopsy (poor thing) where she was also told “a little pressure.” I wasn’t far removed from the whole experience, so I ended up relating many of the negative things about it. She said, “David, is there anything positive to come out of this.” I think I did say something positive, although I can’t remember what it was. But when we finished the conversation, she felt a lot better, and that came from knowing that she was not alone.

The second was a young man that had just started chemo. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but it was such a relief to him and his family. Maybe me just being there and being healthy helped.

Our family did three presentations: two in Georgia and one in Phoenix. It was entitled “Combating Cancer as a Family.” I would like to think we helped people. I could see in the audience as we were speaking that people were absorbing what was being said.

So like I said before, the visits went to one year, around December. I even made arrangements to come back and see my oncologist when I was living in New Jersey in 1996. But in 1997, I’d have to be seeing him a little early.


Part VIII: It’s back?

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part VI: Another CT and Radiation

From Part V

To start from the beginning, click here for Part I

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

So if I remember, I had a chest, abdomen, and pelvic CT scan. I had to pick up that oh-so-yummy contrast again. I heard suggestions to put it in juice or something. But why contaminate the beverage?

I’m at the CT scan, I remember being injected with the iodine. And the metallic taste hitting my mouth which triggered a nauseous feeling. And as I was going through the scan the tech saw what was going on and periodically she would ask, “are you all right?” I wasn’t, but I nodded because I just wanted to get through with it.

The CT scan results came in and the doctor said there was some residual scar tissue. I never knew if it was that the tumor up and died, part of it did, or what. But next, we were going to do radiation. Now this would be done by a radiation oncologist, and we happened to get referred to one closer to home. This would be a different ride. The experience for me was more of a physical pain, whereas chemotherapy was very much an emotional pain.

I was to carry my patient records to the doctor. I saw my original CT scan results for this first time. It would have really freaked me out if I had seen it at the beginning.  The tumor must have taken up about 1/3 of the left-hand side of my body. The dimensions the report gave were 17 centimeters long (or tall, since it was going the length of my body), 10 centimeters wide, and 6 centimeters deep. I don’t know how I was even breathing, or living. One of the first signs of this whole thing was the coughing. I now saw what was going on: that the trachea was displaced 3 cm to the right, and that was the cause. I knew it was pressing against my trachea, I just didn’t know how much.

The first time we saw the radiation oncologist, it was in consult. He was telling me among other things that: I’d be tired (like playing basketball for 4 hours, he said), that he’d get about 10% of my lungs, but that I’d barely notice it. I’d have hair missing in places. I’d also get tattoos.

I was to undergo mantle field radiation therapy, which involves an extended area of the body.  And it's not used much anymore due to improved chemotherapy, like ABVD.  But ABVD was a little known chemo treatment back then.  The first step was to get me set up so that they could set up this mantle field. They had to take x-rays and mark out spots where my lungs were so they wouldn’t hit them, or most of them. So the technicians were drawing all over my chest and neck. I also received tattoos, Now these were far from decorative and were just dots and like all tattoos hurt like hell when I got them. And no, you can’t connect them to make something interesting; however, they do seem to form the shape of Optimus Prime’s head. Errrr....Anyway, I went to work in the afternoon all “tagged.”


Radiation was to be for three weeks. So here’s what goes on in radiation, for those of you who have not been through this fun experience. For my case, I was hit from diaphragm to neck, and shoulder to shoulder. That’s a pretty wide field. I lay on this..tray and the tech puts these lead alloy lung-shaped blocks on a tray right below the radiation source. 

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It looked close to this.

The form of radiation is actually X-ray only in much powerful doses than we usually get at the doctor’s office or the hospital. The technician adjusts everything, including my head, which he tapes my chin back. This is actually a pretty normal procedure. It was done so my neck and chin could get hit. After adjusting everything, the tech would leave the room. Obviously that was so he could control the machine in safety. I was the one getting nuked, not him. So I’m alone with this machine. I’ve got my hands on my hips as instructed. Then a low hum comes, like a fluorescent light only slightly louder. It lasts for twenty seconds. How do I know? Because there’s not much to do in there, so I counted....1 one-thousand, 2 one-thousand, etc. Counting also took away the thoughts of what this thing was doing to my body. The tech comes in, flips the machine around so the circular end is now underneath. 

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A machine on its way around.

He puts the blocks on again and lines it all up, leaves, and I get zapped again on the back.

The tech’s name was Doug, and he was a nice guy. He was the one doing all the treating. He seemed perfectly happy to answer questions and really seemed to understand what the patients were going through.  At least for me that was the case, and that might have been because we were about the same age  Not too far into the treatment, he showed me those lung-shaped blocks. It was here that I learned they were made out of a lead alloy. The alloy had a low melting point, and so it could be put into coffee pots to melt it down. And these blocks were extremely heavy.

At the beginning of week 1, I because nauseous for the first two treatments.  I think that I was still associating treatment with nausea.  As the week went on, my throat started getting dry. Now I keep the company of smart-alecs, which is okay since I am a bit of a smart-alec myself. I complained at work that my throat was dry. My friend responded, “Well there’s a way to fix that. It’s called water.” I actually though water would do it, but it didn’t. By the weekend, the throat started to be sore.

On Saturday, I worked out and I was a little mad and discouraged because I couldn’t finish my regular workout. Later, we were going to celebrate my brother’s birthday. I complained about my throat and my aunt said at the restaurant, “looks like it's Martinis for you, dude.” They helped but only temporary.

Week 2. The doctor had said the radiation was frying away 500 calories a day. I was now down to many a kids’ dream - a diet of milkshakes. High in calories, easy to swallow. But it was getting worse and I complained about it to Doug. He explained to me that it was like I had a sunburned throat. As I was starting to entertain the idea of spraying Solarcaine down my throat, he recommended that I get something topical, like Aspergum. And that seemed to do the trick, but it was only temporary. By the end of the week, I could no longer taste my food. So: Can’t taste, can’t swallow. That took all the incentive out of eating. But the doctor said, “you need to eat.”

Week 3. I don’t remember so much of it. That was probably because I spent a lot of it sleeping. The doctor said I would be tired, and he wasn’t kidding. My daily schedule that week was get up, go to treatment, take a nap, go to work, then go to bed. I had to have found some time to eat.  My throat was miserable, and I the outside of my skin was starting to burn.  Although the exterior was more of a suntan and not a sunburn.  Looks at this point were very deceiving.  I suppose I squeezed in something to eat.

After radiation was finished, it took a while for some of the side effects to go away. The facial hair around the chin and neck was completely gone by the end of treatment. So I didn’t have to shave there, and I figure I’d probably develop pork chop side burns if I just let everything grow out.. But I didn't I’m just sorry there’s no photoshop for this scenario. I started shaving to try to jump start it. Regardless of whether it was effective, the facial hair returned in November.

For months afterward I’d have this really funny tingling sensation shooting down my sides. The doctor told me that was going to happen, and it ended about December.

The throat wouldn’t stay sore but it would stay dry. The doctor told me this during treatment. Today if you eat with me, you’ll notice I have a liquid in place before I start eating. I have to be able to wash the food down. Otherwise it kind of gets caught, not necessarily in my throat but also in my esophagus.

Now come the follow-ups.  We're not done with the story yet.

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part V: Chemo, Part 2

Continued from Part IV

To start from the beginning, click here for Part I

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

My parents had showed me a newspaper article (pre- internet) about a new drug called “Zofran.” I latched onto that drug name pretty quickly. It promised to be the anti-emetic to really eliminate those nasty side effects of getting sick. But I was skeptical. It wasn’t like I haven’t been given anti-emetics. How good could this stuff be?

I found out at about the sixth treatment. By this time, I wouldn’t make it home without getting sick, and the periods were getting longer and more miserable. My doctor was asking me about that, empathetically responding to be at how miserable it became. He then said, “Well today, we’re going to try something different.” I almost knew what he was going to say..He then told me about…Zofran. The nurses would get a saline solution going through my veins to open them up, just like they did with the chemo. Then they would put in the Zofran. Then those lovely chemicals that I fell in love with…not.

As soon as the stuff started flowing, I got that metallic taste in my mouth. Now my mind had conditioned my body to react to that by throwing up.  The chemo cocktail had not yet been injected. My doctor walks in and said in his usual dry humor, “boy I’m glad I didn’t test it on you or you would ruin my reputation.” That association with the metallic taste would not leave throughout my chemo treatments.

I went home without incident. I was sitting up and it seemed like a miracle. What wouldn’t escape me is this very hard-to-describe feeling of some sort of weird sickly stuff going through my body. I think it was telling me what was going on in my bloodstream. I can’t describe it any other way, but I felt it. That’s what other people never saw. But it just told my body all was not well. I will say that ability to “feel” what’s going through my body helps me sense if I’m dehydrated, so developing that sense certainly hasn’t been all bad.

That night, my Dad and I decided to play a little trick on my Mom. She went out on an errand, the first in many a chemo night she had been able to do. So we had it all set up like the times I was throwing up: a towel with an emesis basin on it. That was my reluctant friend.

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Then I lay sideways on the couch, as I had for all the previous times. My mother came home, and if I remember correctly, she was disappointed. But then I got up and of course she realized she'd been had. Later, my brother called I answered the phone and I said that I just had treatment. He was surprised because this just didn't happen.

Chemo – whether it includes vomiting or not, is not a pleasant thing to go through, although the emotions were amplified when I turned up getting sick. There was full anxiety come Tuesday before the treatment. Wednesday was the treatment, and I felt like total crap for the next couple of days.

A post-Zofran would include me taking 2 milligrams of Lorazepam to calm me down so I wouldn’t do the vomiting reaction. That often didn’t work with the reaction, but it pretty much mellowed me out. By the time I got home, I’d crash for an hour or two. And I remember waking up with that yucky bloodstream feeling.and being pretty depressed . The depression would last for days. Now, I've since been diagnosed with clinical depression. Going through this chemo thing could make many people depressed just by itself. I imagine the chemo probably spiraled the chronic part. You just wondered how long you had to take this. Is it going to get better?

At work, there was someone who was wearing this perfume that made me nauseous. If I could, I had to not sit next to her. But why that particular perfume? It turned out that the oncology nurse wore that perfume, and I had associated that smell with the chemo which in turn was associated with nausea and vomiting. My cousin had me smell her new perfume, and I immediately got nauseous. Well, we found the culprit.

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But this didn't last very long after treatment. So all is well with Yves Saint Laurent.

To this day and much to my surprise because all the other associations have long gone, I still get nauseous at the smell of latex bandages. I chalk it up to a “chemo flashback” and I’m sure every survivor has one and a bad association with some sensation that triggers it.

In March, we were able to squeeze in a trip to Georgia, visiting Jekyll Island and Atlanta. Atlanta was where the head of the baptist prayer ring was. He was a colleague of my mom. He had talked to me months before in Phoenix thinking my prognosis was worse than it really was. He is one of the nicest, warmest, and funniest people one can meet. I remember then I was wearing a pair of old jeans my brother gave me. It was waist size 29, and I was filling it out. I wouldn't be able to wear it much longer.

About April, I had pretty much gained all my weight back. I thought it was time to start working out again, lest that weight all go to flab. It would be a new beginning, and I’d start to get in shape. So I asked my doctor what he thought about exercise to get his blessing. Knowing his sense of humor, I should have known the answer by now: “Personally, I’m opposed to it.” So I reworded the question to ask his opinion “as a doctor.” He didn't have a problem with resuming exercise. So I go off and sign up. I looked at my photo ID that was taken then, and I looked at my picture, trying to figure out what was so different. I know there would be a difference in the hair, but something else was amiss. Oh, right - NO EYEBROWS. And the face was a little puffy, which is common for people going through chemotherapy. I really had a hard time with losing the eyebrows. I always thought they were one of my defining characteristics, at least superficially. But so was my hair,

Now as far as my hair was concerned, it wasn’t quite disappearing. What was happening, though, is that it was getting very, very thin. At one point during the treatment I was being weighed and my doctor pointed at me and said, “he still has his hair.” But it was such an ugly head of hair. Because each strand of hair was a different length, it looked like someone scooped up hair from the floor of a salon and glued pieces haphazardly onto my scalp. On the upside, I could wait until at least three months until my next haircut. And all I needed then was a trim. That would sort of equalize the haphazard strands of hair.

I remember I went out one night, and I remember saying to my friend John that I had two treatments left, and it looked like I was going to keep the hair. I think we did a toast to that.

At this point, I tried to re-take one of the classes again. When I had dropped out, I was taking advanced classes because I was almost done with school. Eventually, I decided just to retake them because it was really hard to jump in the middle and trying to remember everything else. Besides, it was hard to be in class when I had the yucky feeling.

Between the 11th and 12th - the last treatment - there was about a month because my white blood cells and bone marrow seemed to be taking a break. I was flunking the blood test every week I went in for three weeks. It was in this interim period that I started feeling my head and noticing there was some new hair sprouting up. My cousin who at the time was a stylist, spotted these little hairs, confirming my discovery. It was the fourth of July. I was scheduled for a treatment the next day. Funny how a another treatment was scheduled after a holiday.

By the end, there weren't too many good veins left as I had been a human pincushion.  So I think the hospital record of  five was tied during one of the last treatments.

So I went in the the 5th of July and my white blood cell count was the highest it ever was during chemo and my oncologist said that I really outdid myself that time. He also said, “I still never got your hair” and joked that I was ruining his reputation. I took the usual chemo, went home and crashed, and when I woke up, I went and ate a steak, very much aware that I wouldn’t have done that not so long before. My last treatment was done.

But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Remember the doctor mentioning something about radiation way back? That was still going to happen. But before that happened, I’d have a CAT scan.

Continued in Part VI

Hodgkin's: One Survivor's Story, Part IV: Chemo, Part 1

From Part III

When I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma, it helped to talk to other people to know I was not alone. When I went into remission, other people starting their journey were helped simply by talking to me. I was amazed by that. The internet is full of information. I hope in that cybersea, I can somehow be of help.

So now I was out of the hospital and have to adjust to the new changes in life the best I could.

The next few days had extended family over a lot. I was exhausted. A hospital stay, pneumonia, and the treatment really did its trick. I also had no appetite, thanks to the chemo. I just didn’t feel like eating anything. The day after I got out of the hospital I had an eye exam so I could get new glasses to replace the cheap plastic frames I had. As about all of you know, an eye doc's chair is perfectly upright (unless it's tilted back to get a good look at your eyes), and I was fighting hard to stay up because I was so tired and weak. We went out to eat afterward, and I barely touched my meal.

And it when on like that for about three days. I finally did eat and got a new thing that I had never gotten before: a bad case of gas lodged in my upper abdomen. What happened was a combination of genetics (family history of hiatal hernias) and that the tumor had displaced my diaphragm Since then, medical people have been alarmed to see a gas bubble there on x-rays, not knowing the whole story.

For school, I had stopped three weeks short of finals. I got incompletes for all my classes except for one where my grade wasn’t going to change no matter what I did. I didn’t have work. So my life was on hold, at least for the mean time.

Relatives came and we went various places, but I got so tired that I’d just lay back down in my room. Other changes were taking place. I moved back home with my parents, clearing out my apartment. My old bedroom at my parent's house was re-decorated and some furniture was put in. I dreaded Christmas and the only reason for that was that the day afterward I was scheduled for another treatment.

Friends of my parents asked that they could do. My Dad just said "a note and a joke." I picked up some good jokes, actually. Many of them from people I didn't know.

I also had a lot of people praying for me. My name was in prayer groups everywhere it seemed. And there was at least one that I didn't know I was in ahead of time. It didn't matter to me what faith the prayers were in, as long as there was no human sacrifice involved. What it was to me was people's expression of well wishing in a way that was meaningful to them. That's what was important, and that meant a lot to me.

Almost instantly, I could feel that lump go down. In fact, the doctor asked the next visit as if expecting an affirmative answer, “is that going down.” So yes, now comes that next visit and scheduled chemo. I went in, got my blood sample taken. To my understanding platelets and white blood cells are looked at because they are collateral damage from the chemo. It’s important that the patient has a white blood cell count high enough to fight off infection. I had taken to shaving with an electric razor because they didn’t have blades that could cut and expose. I was gargling baking soda. Anyway, the “white counts” weren’t high enough. I wasn’t going to get the treatment. There was some sense of relief, even though I know that I had to get the treatment to get better. So I had to wait another week.

I also had a prepared list of some questions. One of them was that we were planning a trip to Utah, which would include skiing. The doctor gave me quite an admonishment even though I wasn’t going to skip out on treatment. My oncologist assumed I was and said adamantly, “you are NOT going to deviate from this treatment.” I haven’t been skiing since treatment, event though that wasn't the issue. Really, we were asking if the cold was going to be all right for me given the immune deficiency. But I was going to be no less susceptible than anyone else to ailments than anyone else in the Wasatch Mountains. We ended up not going because I had to come in the next week and that's when we were planning on going.

Still, my hair wasn’t completely gone, but I was still anticipating the hair loss. My friend and I were joking about how I should wear a wig with a natural hairstyle, except that it would be in some bright color. I chose purple.

The next week was the day after New Year’s. I had done the young person’s New Years’ over-imbibing.. My brother took me out to champagne brunch. Now, I was never clear on the verdict as to whether or not alcohol was a safe thing to do with chemotherapy. Obviously it’s not preferable, but I can report on that and other occasions that it did me no harm. So I had recovered by the next day when I was to get my first treatment on an outpatient basis. And once again, it was my oncologists’ partner, the one who suggested that bourbon be in the contrast solution. He said, with somewhat of an apologetic tone, that my counts were up and “you are getting it today.” So I took my medicine, literally speaking, and spent the rest of my day throwing up. That steroid was awful. I couldn’t stay still and I felt really “squirmy” as I put it, for days afterward.

My dad was trying to assure me that I wouldn’t be throwing up. When we got home, it didn’t take long for me to kneel before the proverbial porcelain god. That was probably the last time of all my treatments that I would throw up in the toilet first. I usually wouldn’t make it that far again. I looked up at my dad who was there in the bathroom with me. I felt after him saying that I wasn’t going to throw up that I had let him down.

I hadn't let him down. What was really happening is that my stomach was doing its job. As soon as the toxins hit the stomach lining, what does the stomach do? It tries to get rid of it. The chemo confused it.The human body is a wondrous piece of machinery even though it...uh...sometimes produces mutant cells. And unbeknownst to me, my brother and my dad went out to get sandwiches one night and my dad started crying saying, "it's not fair. He's trying so hard." So yes, I was not letting him down. It just hurt him to see me go through all this. As a parent, I certainly understand. Oh, well now I've spoiled it on the fertility part.

After a few weeks, I was going stir crazy. So I decided to go back to work.

My third treatment I won’t forget. I was lying on the couch yacking it up when the announcement came on the TV that the U.S. had just bombed Iraq. This was the beginning of Desert Storm, and I had teased my brother a couple of weeks back asking if he was ready to go over. This was when I was still in the hospital knowing if there was a draft, I’d have the “4-F” status in the bag. But the rest of the night wasn’t funny. It was miserable. There were two wars going on as far as I was concerned. I came out of the doctor’s office at about 4:30 and threw up at home. I didn’t stop until about 8:30.

There was another treatment where I was sick – like with a cold. I remember that the doctor ordered a lower dose so that perhaps my body could still get its act together and fight it. He also prescribed an antibiotic. The lower dose didn't help reduce the vomiting. But I ended up recovering from the cold pretty quickly.

I’ve written of the power of talking to someone else. My parents had invited someone that had her first bout of Hodgkin’s when she was 11. She got it again 7 years later. And then about every 2 years it would show up again. She was 29. And man, that was really the first time that I could see everything could get better. I had a chance. She inspired me. I remember being a rude host when my friend John came over (the same friend who gave me the banner in the hospital, joked about the wig, etc.) and we were going out. And I remember riding in his VW bus with him and looking southwestward at the winter sunset with a renewed sense of optimism.

But concrete cause for optimism came about a little later. Around this time, the doctor took a chest x-ray. It was extremely promising as it had shown the massive tumor reduced by about ¾. But as the doctor said, “we still have a long way to go.”

So we continue in Part V