My first paying job out of high school was as a secretary to the Director of one of the biggest News Radio Stations in Athens. His name was Iannis Tzannetakos, a very well respected journalist in Greece, and he was my boyfriend’s step dad.
I will always be so grateful to him for the opportunity he gave me. It was the coolest job anyone could have ever asked for. I have incredible memories from those times. From meeting all kinds of politicians, that an average person would spend a lifetime never even passing by, to actually making friends with people you only get to see on TV, to meeting actors and musicians that came to be interviewed! Once I even got stuck in an elevator with a member of the parliament who was a Minister of the Cabinet, but then he started hitting on me and it stopped being cool really fast. They all used to hang out in my office before they met the Director, because, surprisingly, my office was bigger than his! I met so many well known people in the few months that I worked there. It was awesome!
When Iannis (he insisted on everyone calling him by his first name) first realized that I needed a little “help” coming out of my shell, he took it upon himself to do so. Once he asked me to go to the studio downstairs and tell the audio technicians that I was there to audition as a newscaster. Their job was to decide if I could do it. If that was the case, they would have to decide if my voice and style were good enough to read the news bulletins during the morning and noon shifts.
I was so scared! I think I sat there waiting for my turn, cursing the time I ever started working there, for a while. In my mind I was sure he was doing it to humiliate me and I was pretty mad at him.
When the sound techs were finally ready for me they handed me some huge headphones that I really had to try hard to keep on my head without tilting over. My hands were shaking so bad, I had to put the pages they handed me to read on my lap, so they wouldn’t notice. I was about to go into convulsions, when Ianni’s wife came to check on me. I heard her saying under her breath “He’s crazy! He wants me to try out too!”
I think that’s when I realized what his plan was. He was trying to find a reason to get rid of her because she was always hanging around the office doing nothing and it got to his nerves (yeah, they had that kind of relationship), so alas, he had sent her down to “check on me and keep me company”, wink, wink.
The idea alone was enough to cheer me up, so I was able to loosen up and read the part just fine. It was a stupid "scientific" article about bunnies, and I couldn’t exactly understand how that would be relevant with any of the current affairs I was supposed to be covering, but I quickly understood that all those technicians were interested in, was the pitch of my voice.
His wife refused to read the bunny article, so they gave her one about the weather. We were both deemed to have a “voice for the night” (I know, it sounds perverted, but I swear it was really innocent), but my schedule was in the morning, so I told them I couldn’t do it and ran out of there as fast as my feet could carry me. She on the other hand thought it was very flattering, so she stayed down there for a little longer, to my boss's delight, while I headed back on the 2nd floor to where my office was.
His second attempt to make me a little more social was when he sent me to help out the journalists who didn’t know how to type. I really wanted the ground to open underneath my feet and swallow me, after all I was a little star struck, but my wish was not granted. I knew they needed help, so I walked slowly towards them and said that Iannis had sent me to help them out.
So there I was, the one hailed as their savior, the girl that could type faster than they could. Things were crazy in there! They all worked around a really long table, papers laying scattered everywhere and a grey cloud of cigarette smoke looming over their heads like a death wish waiting to happen. The minute a big piece would hit the room everyone went immediately into a state of panic for a few seconds! Then the chief editor would twirl his moustache and give out assignments so that everyone had a part in the events they should cover, and things would settle down again.
They were always very busy and they were all working in a frantic manner. It was a news station, so they had reporters who read a 10 minute version of the news on the hour, every hour, and others who read the headline news every half an hour. So as you can well deduce, slow typing was not exactly much appreciated in a fast moving environment like that. I was their hero!
So I changed my schedule and came in early in the morning, around 7 am. At first I used to just sit at the long table and type a bunch of things that they would dictate to me. I also used to help them out when they couldn’t figure out how to use the fax machine or the copier. Later on I became more involved in writing some of the pieces, if they were ever short handed.
From 10-12pm I would help Ianni with his stuff. Typing press releases about an upcoming program or guest, preparing reports from information I pulled out of the statistics Nielsen Media Research used to send to us, mostly about the popularity of the station compared to others, or taking notes on his funny (rolling down on the floor funny) bulletins he had me type every now and then, about the correct way to do and say things while on the air.
From 12-3pm I had to return to the “smoking” table and help them out with the first long news report of the day that all the big gun journalists had worked on for hours. There were interviews, special reports, breaking news etc.
It was there that I met Tito. Titos Kontopoulos was probably 8-9 years older than me and he was sharp as a whip. He covered the reports from the Ministry of Defense and he was very good at it. Everybody said he had great potential. You could always count on him to be on time, brief and on the subject, something the chief editors loved! He was a timid and quiet man, and he did his job silently and for the most part kept to himself. I guess we both recognized the kindred spirit within us, and soon the 2 of us had become the “jokers” of the Station. Weird, I know!
We used to cut and paste the funniest articles we could find while scanning through the newspapers every morning, as it was part of our job. We always found the funniest things in the newspapers that belonged to the extreme right wing, and we used to tape them on the wall, right on top of the fax/copier machine. Things like: "The whole nation demands for the King to return to power!" or "Constantinopole will be our capital once again!", stuff like that! Then we would wait to see peoples' reactions as they read them while getting their copies. It was a riot!
After a while the rest of the journalist were on to us, so the right wing guys started doing the same on their part of the wall, using of course articles clipped from the extreme left wing newspapers, so pretty soon it had turned into an all out battle! Who’s going to have the funniest piece on their wall today? It was hilarious!
Soon it was Christmas, and Titos left for his vacation. When he came back a few weeks later however we all noticed that he had started wearing hats a lot, something that he never used to do before. He was different. He went back to being reserved and quiet, he kept to himself and he chose to sit at a desk away from everybody else. Pretty soon the jokes died out, but we all remembered the good old days of the “funny news war” as we called them.
One day I got to work very early. The bus drivers were on strike (it happens a lot there), so I had to get up early and fight my way to a cab. Titos was the only one there and I saw him putting his head down and wiping tears from his face as soon as I walked in the room. I wasn’t sure if I should talk to him or not, he was always so private, but I was really worried about him, and I decided to ask him what was wrong. He still had his hat on and he raised his hands and pointed to his head. “I lost all my hair” he whispered. “I have alopecia because of the stress, my hair is all gone!”
I felt so sorry for him. He used to have beautiful thick hair, and he was taking it pretty hard. I asked him if this would be permanent. “No, it will grow back!” he said sadly. “Oh, come on, it will be all right then!” I tried to cheer him up a bit. I went down on the first floor to get his morning coffee and croissant, and after a few words of encouragement and a pat on the back we both started working again, not mentioning it ever again. Not too long after this incident he decided to start working more on outside assignments, so he didn’t have to face all those people in the office. We all understood, but we all missed him.
A few months later, Iannis resigned from directing the station and a bunch of the journalists that were his friends followed him. I wanted to leave too but he asked me to stay. He knew that they were going to fire everybody that had been hired by him anyway, so he advised me to stay and take the severance they would have to pay me. It wasn’t too long after that and, just like he said, I was fired along with others that had gotten their jobs through him. That’s how things roll in Greece.
A few weeks later Iannis asked me to join him to the next radio station he was hired to be the Director (by that time he couldn’t find his own glasses without me!) but I decided it was time for me to start college full time, so I passed.
Years later I was at my sister’s house visiting. She had a pile of her students’ homework she needed to correct on her desk (she’s an ESL teacher), and my eye caught the name of the student on the first paper. “Titos Kontopoulos!” No way, I thought. I asked my sister and after an exchange of information we decided it must be the same guy! “You’re his teacher? How weird is that? Does he have hair?” I asked. My sister thought I was joking about his thick hair. “Yeah, he has hair, tons of it.” Good, I thought to my self.
I never saw Tito again, but a few years ago as I was reading the news on a Greek webiste, I found this:
Titos Kontopoulos dies, aged 45
Politicians and journalists yesterday paid tribute to Titos Kontopoulos, a respected reporter on political and defense affairs, who died on Saturday at the age of 45 in London, where he had been undergoing treatment for cancer. Defense Minister Evangelos Meimarakis described Kontopoulos as “a fighter, just and serious... a real master of his subject.” Kontopoulos had been working for the Ethnos newspaper.
I was deeply saddened to hear the news, but of course life went on, as it usually does. I thought of him again yesterday, while Brian and I were talking about our experience at the wig shop.
Now that I think about it I’m not sure if he indeed had alopecia due to stress, as he had claimed, or if he was going through chemo and never told anybody. I had never put two and two together until yesterday!
And you want to know something spooky? When I started writing this I had no idea of the exact day he died, so when I googled his name and I found the article I posted above, I noticed it was published on 4/25/06! Three years ago to the day! Yikes!
Not to mention that I did feel a weird breeze behind me and my hair at the back of my head did stand up at some point while I was typing. I’m kidding you not!
Mama mia! I better call the ghost hunting plumbers on Sci-Fi Channel and report my paranormal experience.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Wig
Have you seen “The Bucket List”? I watched it a few months ago, before I was even diagnosed, and I really enjoyed it (little did I know!) Other than the fact that Nicholson plays his “crazy and obnoxious” Nicholson version and Morgan Freeman plays his “Driving Miss Daisy” character yet again, the movie was not half bad.
Well, for those who don’t know the plot, it’s about 2 terminally ill men, one is filthy rich (Nicholson), the other not so much (Freeman). The 2 meet each other in the cancer ward of a hospital that Nicholson basically owns. Freeman starts making a list of things that he’d like to do before he dies. When rich Nicholson gets a hold of it he makes everything happen, but not before he adds a few crazy ones of his own. Both men learn a lot from each other but unfortunately this is not one of those stories where you can say at the end that they lived happily ever after, because of course they both die of cancer eventually.
I too found my self thinking along those lines not too long ago, and the first thing on my list was to teach each of my kids a song on the guitar.
Today I’m happy to announce that David has learned how to play his very first song on my guitar, “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” by Iron and Wine, compliments to his amazingly talented mom who taught him all the chords and how to strum! He still needs to practice a little more but he did great for a first time! I’m so proud of him. Way to go David! :-)
On a different note, I went to the clinic to check my INR today and it’s within the normal range again, meaning I need to continue taking Coumadin and alternate the dose from 5mg to 2,5mg every other day as I have been doing. They didn’t take blood for any further tests, so I guess I’ll have to wait until next Friday to find out what my white blood count is. Last week it was 0.7! Holy cow! The normal range is 4.6-10.2 so I can’t help wondering if that is even humanly possible in a live state! Apparently yes for me.
The doctors mentioned last time that they’ll give me a shot of Neuplasta a day after chemo, in order to boost my WBC and my immune system. I hear it hurts the bones like heck when it enters the bone marrow, but it is very effective. I try to eat healthy and I started doing my stretching exercises again. Let’s not forget that I have a bad back on top of everything else, so I need to take it easy. I’m hoping that my counts will be up next week. Brian keeps stuffing things in my mouth and gets frustrated when I just can’t eat. Maybe one good thing would be that I’ll loose some weight.
Anyway after all the poking and pricking at the clinic, we went to a place called “Allusions” which claims to be “the natural solution to hair loss”. I was a little apprehended when I first walked in. The place looked nice, but I didn’t know what to expect. I felt a knot in my throat. Thankfully the lady that we talked to was very friendly and sweet. She noticed that I felt uncomfortable even just being there.
My guess is I wasn’t the first one to walk through that door carrying this load on their shoulders. She asked me if I was loosing my hair due to medical reasons. I could barely find the words to talk I was so dazed, but Brian saved me as he often does, by telling her I was diagnosed with breast cancer not too long ago and it’s been 2 weeks since my first treatment. I finally found my voice and told her that yesterday was the first day that I noticed a considerable amount of hair coming off. She looked at me and said smiling “Don’t worry, we’ll help you through this.” Immediately something in my gut told me that she really meant it and I relaxed a bit. OK, they don't bite.
She took us in a private back room to look at the wigs they had displayed on a shelf. I sat in a swiveling chair in front of a mirror feeling rather depressed at first. I had to wear a silly cap, kinda like a pantyhose that goes only on the top of the head, in order to keep the real hair down and out of the way.
I don’t know if I was ready yet to admit that I had lost that fight. Not that there was anything I could do about it of course, but it’s really hard to see your hair go! I would have never imagined! The thought of it only makes me feel sicker than I already am, if that’s even possible!
The lady started taking measurements of my head and making conversation. I just wanted to cry, but always true to myself, I held it together. Apparently the bone on the back of my head is not protruding enough, which to me didn’t seem to be such a big predicament, but I found out that it might be a little tricky to keep the wig from slipping towards the front because of it. She said that they can fix it but they’ll have to use double of something or another to keep it in place. By that point I didn’t really mind, “It’s not going to be my hair anyway, so who cares?” I thought grudgingly.
The first 2 wigs that I tried were about the same color as my own hair, only a lot longer. The hair itself was very good quality, they looked and felt very natural, but when I tried it on I felt ridiculous. I looked like one of the guys on SNL when they dress up like girls. It looked so not like me. Scary! Then I asked her if I could try a shorter hairstyle. She showed me 2 more that looked really nice and I loved the color! One was shoulder length and the other one was even shorter, barely below the ears.
I tried both on and we all agreed that those 2 were the ones that looked best on me, especially the short haired one. Who would have thought! I actually looked good in short hair! At that point I had started getting excited and having fun with the whole thing. It was like playing dress up again, and what girl doesn’t like that!
I was still busy talking to the lady, asking her opinion and trying on hats and scarves when I noticed for the first time that Brian had gotten pretty quiet. I turned my chair to look at him and I realized he had tears in his eyes. “Are you OK, honey?” I asked him. The lady quickly excused herself and got out of the room.
“Yes!” he said, “It’s just that I’ve seen how sad and worried you’ve been the past few days about losing your hair. I just saw your face relax for the first time in days when you tried that first wig! When you tried on the second one it was even better! Your face looked so bright and happy! I finally saw the pain melt away from you and for the first time you had a look that said “OK, I can do this”. I’m so happy for you!”
That’s my Brian! He’s always so sensitive and thoughtful. He even wanted me to buy both wigs! Isn’t he sweet? We’re talking close to $1200 for both! Good thing I have a prescription from the doctor for a "cranial prosthesis" and our health insurance will hopefully cover part of it. I told him I only needed one. If I feel like playing dress up again I can buy one of the cheaper ones. You can find some of the low quality ones for $30. If any of you girls (or boys) want a cool wig for Halloween in 2010 I know where you can find a really good one. Sorry it's already reserved for Halloween 2009. ;-)
The girl came back to the room a few minutes later and asked me if anyone has given me a “pink ribbon bag” yet. I had no idea what that was, so she left the room again and came back with this pretty tote that was FULL with goodies in her hands. It was so full it was almost impossible to carry around! I had to hand it to Brian because it was so heavy!
When I came home and opened it I found a hat, a water bottle, 3 books about cancer and how to self-heal (maybe they know something we don’t), a journal/sketch book with a pen, a chapstick and a hand lotion, some mints, a pink satin pillowcase (cotton pillowcases irritate the scalp when you don’t have hair), a pink aromatherapy heating and cooling pad, coloring pencils and post it notes, even a walkman with a tape that helps you meditate during chemo! I’m thinking I’ll probably be spending my next treatment visualizing that I’m zapping that tumor with a big laser gun or something. Not bad.
I’m home with Natalie now. Brian, William and the boys went downtown to see the baseball game, so it’s just us girls getting ready for our slumber party. I’m thinking no hair dressing game this time, which is unfortunately Natalie’s favorite part of the slumber parties we have. She takes out her hair dryer and brushes my hair, puts ribbons and pins on them… It wouldn’t be so amusing if she was left with bunches of my hair in her hands, poor thing!
There’s still light outside so we will have to wait a couple more hours. I decided to turn on my computer and check my calendar. Lo and behold, I have more appointments coming up. One with a dietician next week, then my second round of chemo on Friday and my Look Good… Feel Better seminar that Brian signed me up for last week. Apparently they give you a big box with all kinds of goodies there too!
http://www.lookgoodfeelbetter.org/index.htm
This is a list of companies donating their products for the make-up kit they give you. A big thank you to all of them!
Avon Products, Inc.*
BeautiControl
Beiersdorf North America, Inc.
Bonne Bell, Inc.
Chanel Inc.
Clarins Groupe USA,
Cosmolab Inc.
Coty U.S., Inc.
Del Laboratories, Inc.
Elizabeth Arden
The Estee Lauder Companies Inc.
Aveda Corporation
Bobbi Brown Professional Cosmetics
Clinique Laboratories, Inc.
Estee Lauder Inc.
M.A.C. Cosmetics
Origins Natural Resources, Inc.
Prescriptives Inc.
Stila Cosmetics
Johnson & Johnson Consumer Products Worldwide.
Neutrogena Corporation
KAO Brands Company
Lindi Skin
L’Oreal USA, Inc.
Dermablend, Inc.
Lancome
L’Oreal
Maybelline, Inc.
Mary Kay, Inc.
Merle Norman Cosmetics
OPI Products, Inc.
Playtex Products, Inc.
Pochet of America
Procter & Gamble Cosmetics
Redex Industries, Inc
Revlon, Inc.
Almay
Schering-Plough Healthcare Products
Unilever Home & Personal Care NA
Chesebrough-Pond’s USA
YSL Beauté, Inc.
Alberto-Culver Company
Shiseido Cosmetics (America) Ltd.
Don't be jealous girls, I'd much rather buy the stuff at the mall, than have them given to me because I have breast cancer. I'm sure we all agree on this.
But truth be told, there are some perks to having cancer. Who knew! :-)
Well, for those who don’t know the plot, it’s about 2 terminally ill men, one is filthy rich (Nicholson), the other not so much (Freeman). The 2 meet each other in the cancer ward of a hospital that Nicholson basically owns. Freeman starts making a list of things that he’d like to do before he dies. When rich Nicholson gets a hold of it he makes everything happen, but not before he adds a few crazy ones of his own. Both men learn a lot from each other but unfortunately this is not one of those stories where you can say at the end that they lived happily ever after, because of course they both die of cancer eventually.
I too found my self thinking along those lines not too long ago, and the first thing on my list was to teach each of my kids a song on the guitar.
Today I’m happy to announce that David has learned how to play his very first song on my guitar, “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” by Iron and Wine, compliments to his amazingly talented mom who taught him all the chords and how to strum! He still needs to practice a little more but he did great for a first time! I’m so proud of him. Way to go David! :-)
On a different note, I went to the clinic to check my INR today and it’s within the normal range again, meaning I need to continue taking Coumadin and alternate the dose from 5mg to 2,5mg every other day as I have been doing. They didn’t take blood for any further tests, so I guess I’ll have to wait until next Friday to find out what my white blood count is. Last week it was 0.7! Holy cow! The normal range is 4.6-10.2 so I can’t help wondering if that is even humanly possible in a live state! Apparently yes for me.
The doctors mentioned last time that they’ll give me a shot of Neuplasta a day after chemo, in order to boost my WBC and my immune system. I hear it hurts the bones like heck when it enters the bone marrow, but it is very effective. I try to eat healthy and I started doing my stretching exercises again. Let’s not forget that I have a bad back on top of everything else, so I need to take it easy. I’m hoping that my counts will be up next week. Brian keeps stuffing things in my mouth and gets frustrated when I just can’t eat. Maybe one good thing would be that I’ll loose some weight.
Anyway after all the poking and pricking at the clinic, we went to a place called “Allusions” which claims to be “the natural solution to hair loss”. I was a little apprehended when I first walked in. The place looked nice, but I didn’t know what to expect. I felt a knot in my throat. Thankfully the lady that we talked to was very friendly and sweet. She noticed that I felt uncomfortable even just being there.
My guess is I wasn’t the first one to walk through that door carrying this load on their shoulders. She asked me if I was loosing my hair due to medical reasons. I could barely find the words to talk I was so dazed, but Brian saved me as he often does, by telling her I was diagnosed with breast cancer not too long ago and it’s been 2 weeks since my first treatment. I finally found my voice and told her that yesterday was the first day that I noticed a considerable amount of hair coming off. She looked at me and said smiling “Don’t worry, we’ll help you through this.” Immediately something in my gut told me that she really meant it and I relaxed a bit. OK, they don't bite.
She took us in a private back room to look at the wigs they had displayed on a shelf. I sat in a swiveling chair in front of a mirror feeling rather depressed at first. I had to wear a silly cap, kinda like a pantyhose that goes only on the top of the head, in order to keep the real hair down and out of the way.
I don’t know if I was ready yet to admit that I had lost that fight. Not that there was anything I could do about it of course, but it’s really hard to see your hair go! I would have never imagined! The thought of it only makes me feel sicker than I already am, if that’s even possible!
The lady started taking measurements of my head and making conversation. I just wanted to cry, but always true to myself, I held it together. Apparently the bone on the back of my head is not protruding enough, which to me didn’t seem to be such a big predicament, but I found out that it might be a little tricky to keep the wig from slipping towards the front because of it. She said that they can fix it but they’ll have to use double of something or another to keep it in place. By that point I didn’t really mind, “It’s not going to be my hair anyway, so who cares?” I thought grudgingly.
The first 2 wigs that I tried were about the same color as my own hair, only a lot longer. The hair itself was very good quality, they looked and felt very natural, but when I tried it on I felt ridiculous. I looked like one of the guys on SNL when they dress up like girls. It looked so not like me. Scary! Then I asked her if I could try a shorter hairstyle. She showed me 2 more that looked really nice and I loved the color! One was shoulder length and the other one was even shorter, barely below the ears.
I tried both on and we all agreed that those 2 were the ones that looked best on me, especially the short haired one. Who would have thought! I actually looked good in short hair! At that point I had started getting excited and having fun with the whole thing. It was like playing dress up again, and what girl doesn’t like that!
I was still busy talking to the lady, asking her opinion and trying on hats and scarves when I noticed for the first time that Brian had gotten pretty quiet. I turned my chair to look at him and I realized he had tears in his eyes. “Are you OK, honey?” I asked him. The lady quickly excused herself and got out of the room.
“Yes!” he said, “It’s just that I’ve seen how sad and worried you’ve been the past few days about losing your hair. I just saw your face relax for the first time in days when you tried that first wig! When you tried on the second one it was even better! Your face looked so bright and happy! I finally saw the pain melt away from you and for the first time you had a look that said “OK, I can do this”. I’m so happy for you!”
That’s my Brian! He’s always so sensitive and thoughtful. He even wanted me to buy both wigs! Isn’t he sweet? We’re talking close to $1200 for both! Good thing I have a prescription from the doctor for a "cranial prosthesis" and our health insurance will hopefully cover part of it. I told him I only needed one. If I feel like playing dress up again I can buy one of the cheaper ones. You can find some of the low quality ones for $30. If any of you girls (or boys) want a cool wig for Halloween in 2010 I know where you can find a really good one. Sorry it's already reserved for Halloween 2009. ;-)
The girl came back to the room a few minutes later and asked me if anyone has given me a “pink ribbon bag” yet. I had no idea what that was, so she left the room again and came back with this pretty tote that was FULL with goodies in her hands. It was so full it was almost impossible to carry around! I had to hand it to Brian because it was so heavy!
When I came home and opened it I found a hat, a water bottle, 3 books about cancer and how to self-heal (maybe they know something we don’t), a journal/sketch book with a pen, a chapstick and a hand lotion, some mints, a pink satin pillowcase (cotton pillowcases irritate the scalp when you don’t have hair), a pink aromatherapy heating and cooling pad, coloring pencils and post it notes, even a walkman with a tape that helps you meditate during chemo! I’m thinking I’ll probably be spending my next treatment visualizing that I’m zapping that tumor with a big laser gun or something. Not bad.
I’m home with Natalie now. Brian, William and the boys went downtown to see the baseball game, so it’s just us girls getting ready for our slumber party. I’m thinking no hair dressing game this time, which is unfortunately Natalie’s favorite part of the slumber parties we have. She takes out her hair dryer and brushes my hair, puts ribbons and pins on them… It wouldn’t be so amusing if she was left with bunches of my hair in her hands, poor thing!
There’s still light outside so we will have to wait a couple more hours. I decided to turn on my computer and check my calendar. Lo and behold, I have more appointments coming up. One with a dietician next week, then my second round of chemo on Friday and my Look Good… Feel Better seminar that Brian signed me up for last week. Apparently they give you a big box with all kinds of goodies there too!
http://www.lookgoodfeelbetter.org/index.htm
This is a list of companies donating their products for the make-up kit they give you. A big thank you to all of them!
Avon Products, Inc.*
BeautiControl
Beiersdorf North America, Inc.
Bonne Bell, Inc.
Chanel Inc.
Clarins Groupe USA,
Cosmolab Inc.
Coty U.S., Inc.
Del Laboratories, Inc.
Elizabeth Arden
The Estee Lauder Companies Inc.
Aveda Corporation
Bobbi Brown Professional Cosmetics
Clinique Laboratories, Inc.
Estee Lauder Inc.
M.A.C. Cosmetics
Origins Natural Resources, Inc.
Prescriptives Inc.
Stila Cosmetics
Johnson & Johnson Consumer Products Worldwide.
Neutrogena Corporation
KAO Brands Company
Lindi Skin
L’Oreal USA, Inc.
Dermablend, Inc.
Lancome
L’Oreal
Maybelline, Inc.
Mary Kay, Inc.
Merle Norman Cosmetics
OPI Products, Inc.
Playtex Products, Inc.
Pochet of America
Procter & Gamble Cosmetics
Redex Industries, Inc
Revlon, Inc.
Almay
Schering-Plough Healthcare Products
Unilever Home & Personal Care NA
Chesebrough-Pond’s USA
YSL Beauté, Inc.
Alberto-Culver Company
Shiseido Cosmetics (America) Ltd.
Don't be jealous girls, I'd much rather buy the stuff at the mall, than have them given to me because I have breast cancer. I'm sure we all agree on this.
But truth be told, there are some perks to having cancer. Who knew! :-)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Definitely not like Elvis!
It’s like a daily joke between me and the kids to let them come and tug on my hair to see if my hair is still attached to my scalp! Well, let’s just say today was different. The boys came to my room and while we were talking I ran my fingers through my hair and when I pulled it out a big tuft came out in my hand.
Within seconds our daily joke stopped being funny anymore. I smiled and tried to crack an awkward joke “It has begun, guys!” but I think I couldn’t hide the surprise on my face. David said astonished “I really thought it wouldn’t happen.” Darian looked at both of us nervously not knowing what to do or say. “Yeah, me too” I said trying to sound indifferent.
We all climbed back on my bed, a little more somber, and looked at the catalog for wigs, hats and scarves once again. I could tell that this time they both felt the urgency of choosing a good one for me. They marked their favorite ones and commented on the ones that they thought would make me look “old”. We agreed that we would all initial the ones we liked and buy the ones that got the most approval.
A few minutes later they left the room to move on to their next game and I was left on the bed feeling exhausted. The familiar shortness of breath that seems to have been residing in my lungs lately felt worse than ever. Deep breaths…David came back not too long after, he laid down right next me and said “It’s going to be OK mom.” While touching my hair gently.
I can sense the change around me. My oldest son has started talking softer to me; he even hugs and kisses me now. My youngest has been sneaking in my room with his book offering to read to me. He usually wants me to read to him but not too long ago I told him that it calms me to listen to him read. Now that I think about it, my little girl had nightmares about me going away this morning. I wonder why.
I can’t help thinking about things that I would like to be remembered for.
I’d like to leave behind a mark for my children to look back to, something that would inspire them to think of me. At the same time I dread the thought of leaving things unfinished.
I think about that box in the basement, full of letters and journals I’ve kept over the years. Do I want these left behind? I had Brian promise me that he would keep the letters, and the endless lists I made of the kids’ first words and funny things they said from time to time, but definitely burn the journals. It’s only more painful memories and who needs that?
I talk about last wishes. I don’t have any houses or land to leave behind, so it comes down to personal effects. Brian keeps silent notes in his head, I know it must not be easy for him to hear this, but he’s patient, he understands that those are things I need to say.
We talk about what he would do after. Would he get married again? I tell him he needs a mother for those kids, he answers he loves me. I promise to look after him and the kids, and he says he'll come and find me, so we can be together again.
OK, I know this goes too far. I really don’t feel that depressed. I’m actually quite optimistic about the whole thing. I’ll do what needs to be done and I’ll fight as much as I can, but just like playing any other game, you need to cover all your bases.
I really doubt that I’ll die of breast cancer or that it would happen anytime soon. I’ll probably die of a broken hip in my 90’s or something.
There’s only one thing I’m sure of. I would not want to die like Elvis! I’d take cancer any day!
;-)
Within seconds our daily joke stopped being funny anymore. I smiled and tried to crack an awkward joke “It has begun, guys!” but I think I couldn’t hide the surprise on my face. David said astonished “I really thought it wouldn’t happen.” Darian looked at both of us nervously not knowing what to do or say. “Yeah, me too” I said trying to sound indifferent.
We all climbed back on my bed, a little more somber, and looked at the catalog for wigs, hats and scarves once again. I could tell that this time they both felt the urgency of choosing a good one for me. They marked their favorite ones and commented on the ones that they thought would make me look “old”. We agreed that we would all initial the ones we liked and buy the ones that got the most approval.
A few minutes later they left the room to move on to their next game and I was left on the bed feeling exhausted. The familiar shortness of breath that seems to have been residing in my lungs lately felt worse than ever. Deep breaths…David came back not too long after, he laid down right next me and said “It’s going to be OK mom.” While touching my hair gently.
I can sense the change around me. My oldest son has started talking softer to me; he even hugs and kisses me now. My youngest has been sneaking in my room with his book offering to read to me. He usually wants me to read to him but not too long ago I told him that it calms me to listen to him read. Now that I think about it, my little girl had nightmares about me going away this morning. I wonder why.
I can’t help thinking about things that I would like to be remembered for.
I’d like to leave behind a mark for my children to look back to, something that would inspire them to think of me. At the same time I dread the thought of leaving things unfinished.
I think about that box in the basement, full of letters and journals I’ve kept over the years. Do I want these left behind? I had Brian promise me that he would keep the letters, and the endless lists I made of the kids’ first words and funny things they said from time to time, but definitely burn the journals. It’s only more painful memories and who needs that?
I talk about last wishes. I don’t have any houses or land to leave behind, so it comes down to personal effects. Brian keeps silent notes in his head, I know it must not be easy for him to hear this, but he’s patient, he understands that those are things I need to say.
We talk about what he would do after. Would he get married again? I tell him he needs a mother for those kids, he answers he loves me. I promise to look after him and the kids, and he says he'll come and find me, so we can be together again.
OK, I know this goes too far. I really don’t feel that depressed. I’m actually quite optimistic about the whole thing. I’ll do what needs to be done and I’ll fight as much as I can, but just like playing any other game, you need to cover all your bases.
I really doubt that I’ll die of breast cancer or that it would happen anytime soon. I’ll probably die of a broken hip in my 90’s or something.
There’s only one thing I’m sure of. I would not want to die like Elvis! I’d take cancer any day!
;-)
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Whose number is next?
I woke up this morning thinking about something I read in Renee's blog (Hi Renee, welcome aboard, thanks for your kind words!). She mentioned that one of the times she went to the hospital she was given a number, so she knew she was number so and so while waiting for her turn to be examined.
It reminded me when I was doing my first training at the Medical Center in Athens. I was a young physical therapist and it was my first time in the ICU. We worked in teams of 4, the Chief physical therapist that trained us, his assistant, and 2 of us, still in training.
Right after we would put our white robes on and would report for duty, we' be given a clip board and a pager. There on the board would be a list of the patients that we'd had to visit, their room number, their diagnosis, and the kind of t treatment their doctor wanted us to perform. Each patient was given a number of course, so we knew where to look, in case we had to search in their medical forms etc.
It was a great way to gain experience! We got to work on all kinds of cases. But one thing that caught my attention was that every now and then our beeper would beep and it would show up a patient's number. We were given instructions that every time a number shows up the treatment for that particular person had been cancelled and we should cross out the name of the patient from our list. We didn't give it a second thought and did just as they had told us.
We went ahead with the busy schedule of the day, going from one patient to another, dealing with all kinds of different people and their ailments. By the end of our shift we looked down on our list and the only names left were the ones that had popped up on our pagers and were now crossed out.
My friend commented "Well, it's a good thing we had so many people released today, 'cause I'm beat!" The assistant that was standing right to next her looked at her astonished and said, "You do realize that those were all patients we lost, right?" My friend, still unaware to what the assistant was referring to said "Yes, but it means they got better and they won't need the therapy, so it's good news, isn't it?" She looked at both of us in a condescending way, took a deep breath and said slowly as if that would help us understand better "It means they died... " she said dryly.
My friend and I looked at each other with horror in our eyes. We hadn't realized that getting those message on our pagers all day long didn't always mean that the patients got better, or that they were moved to a different department. It simply meant that they didn't make it. We heard our Chief Physical Therapist say" Well, the good thing is that they sure won't need any physical therapy where they're going!"
I'll never forget how naive and innocent I felt and how quickly that experience grounded us both me and my friend. From then on, and after getting to meet a lot of our patients that were on our daily list, we dreaded hearing the buzz of the stupid pager. We would go down the list hoping it wasn't anyone of our patients or that it was someone that had gotten better and was discharged.
I only spent 3-4 weeks in the ICU as part of my training, but I felt they were the longest weeks in my entire life. That agony of who lived or died will always haunt me.
It reminded me when I was doing my first training at the Medical Center in Athens. I was a young physical therapist and it was my first time in the ICU. We worked in teams of 4, the Chief physical therapist that trained us, his assistant, and 2 of us, still in training.
Right after we would put our white robes on and would report for duty, we' be given a clip board and a pager. There on the board would be a list of the patients that we'd had to visit, their room number, their diagnosis, and the kind of t treatment their doctor wanted us to perform. Each patient was given a number of course, so we knew where to look, in case we had to search in their medical forms etc.
It was a great way to gain experience! We got to work on all kinds of cases. But one thing that caught my attention was that every now and then our beeper would beep and it would show up a patient's number. We were given instructions that every time a number shows up the treatment for that particular person had been cancelled and we should cross out the name of the patient from our list. We didn't give it a second thought and did just as they had told us.
We went ahead with the busy schedule of the day, going from one patient to another, dealing with all kinds of different people and their ailments. By the end of our shift we looked down on our list and the only names left were the ones that had popped up on our pagers and were now crossed out.
My friend commented "Well, it's a good thing we had so many people released today, 'cause I'm beat!" The assistant that was standing right to next her looked at her astonished and said, "You do realize that those were all patients we lost, right?" My friend, still unaware to what the assistant was referring to said "Yes, but it means they got better and they won't need the therapy, so it's good news, isn't it?" She looked at both of us in a condescending way, took a deep breath and said slowly as if that would help us understand better "It means they died... " she said dryly.
My friend and I looked at each other with horror in our eyes. We hadn't realized that getting those message on our pagers all day long didn't always mean that the patients got better, or that they were moved to a different department. It simply meant that they didn't make it. We heard our Chief Physical Therapist say" Well, the good thing is that they sure won't need any physical therapy where they're going!"
I'll never forget how naive and innocent I felt and how quickly that experience grounded us both me and my friend. From then on, and after getting to meet a lot of our patients that were on our daily list, we dreaded hearing the buzz of the stupid pager. We would go down the list hoping it wasn't anyone of our patients or that it was someone that had gotten better and was discharged.
I only spent 3-4 weeks in the ICU as part of my training, but I felt they were the longest weeks in my entire life. That agony of who lived or died will always haunt me.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Life goes on
It's 5:30 AM. I woke up a while ago, and I can't get back to sleep. I feel fine, except I have soreness in my throat which I seriously hope it's due to lack of water, rather than a cold of some kind.
It's Easter Sunday in Greece. I talked to mom and dad and Mikie yesterday. I could hear the dynamites exploding in the background. Yes, you read that right, I did not mean to say fireworks. In Kalymnos, the Greek island I was born, custom has it that we celebrate Easter in a most...peculiar way. Men in their 20's, sometimes even older, climb up on the mountains and throw sticks of dynamites up in the air. Needless to say there's been a competition brewing there for decades. The team or mountain as we say, that makes the most noise "wins". If you still don't believe me, search on YouTube "Pasxa Kalymnos 2008" and enjoy the show. :-)
I'm downstairs in the family room. I can hear a lonely bird chirping. I guess someone else is up all by themselves too. I bet his little nest friends are cursing the way he, or she can't keep his or her mouth shut right about now. At least I don't chirp! :-)
I can hear footsteps. It's either Natalie getting out of her bed to come and join us in ours, or Brian realizing I'm not by his side. I'd put my chips on the first one. She really likes to come in our bed early in the morning and spend a couple of hours cuddling with mom and dad.
If you haven't realized by now, I have nothing that's worth your time to read. I'm just up early, and maybe that in itself has some deep significance that I truly fail to understand, other than of course the sad observation that when you feel sick you tend to have restless nights and useless early awakenings. So, that's that.
I sat down to write some e-mails yesterday, and by the time I was done, I felt so stupid repeating myself in every single e-mail that I decided to send a link to this blog to Gramma. She's the only one I felt like sharing this. I don't know how she does it, but she gets me. The fact that she sees her sister's struggle with cancer in mine I guess gives us both the chance to revisit old ghosts that we had chosen to bury in the past, but now feel that need for them to be addressed.
I can't count how many times since this ordeal of mine has started, I've had the picture of my poor uncle Michael come to my head. I remember I was only 13-14 when I first found out that he had cancer. He left with my aunt to Athens in order to find some "good" doctors there, leaving my 2 cousins to be looked after by my Grandma who came to stay with them. He was diagnosed with lung cancer, that later metastasized to his brain, and spent months in a hospital there.
My brother, who was in his first year in college, used to visit him a lot. One of the times Antonis came back he brought home a small bag with a lock of my uncle's hair that he picked off the ground when he chose to shave his head during his chemo. My mom still has it.
I still have his picture in my head, riding his bike to work every morning, then coming back in the afternoon to eat in a hurry and then go out in his yard and work for hours at a time. I almost always remember him on his knees sweating to plant things, strawberries, carrots, pretty flowers and trees, or paving the walk way to the house, carrying rocks, and painting.
The next time I saw my uncle, he was a dying man. They brought him home in a stretcher, he was half his size, with a gauntly pale, yellow face, and no hair. The laid him on Kaki's bed, and I don't think I ever saw him standing again. He used to slip in and out of consciousness, moaning in his sleep. My aunt used to go in and out of the room bringing him pills and a cup of water, and rubbing her hands raw with alcohol to keep off the germs.
I remember the few times he would open his eyes and see me there he would start telling stories of funny things I used to do as a kid. How I used to say "shhh" with my back teeth instead of "ssss" with my front, how I used to beg him to let me try the carrots he had planted, always funny stories. It felt weird to be remembered that way. Up until then, those would be the kind of stories a teenager like me dreaded. This was the first time I heard those stories and felt proud that they were important enough for my dying uncle to remember.
One day I came home from school early. I had found a puppy in the street outside our schoolyard and I was excited to take it home and beg for my mother to let me keep it. When I walked in the house there was no one there. I went outside to our porch and looked at my aunt's house (our houses are right next to each other, since my Grandpa who built both houses wanted to have his 2 daughters live close) and saw a neighbor getting water from my uncle's well. She looked at me and said "your uncle..." and then gestured with her hands "it's over".
I was shocked! Here I was with this cute little puppy in my hands, all excited to show everybody yet another pet I brought home, or rather saved from the streets, as I always liked to say to my tired mom in hopes she'd let me keep it. I didn't know what to do. I had even brought a friend along to ease the process of persuasion. I could always count on the fact that my parents would go easy on me if I had someone outside the family there with me.
I put the puppy in the bathroom and walked into my aunt's house. I saw my aunt dressed in black. She looked at me sadly and said "Paei o theios", " your uncle's gone". I hugged and kissed her. I looked and saw his body laid in a casket, trimmed with white flowers, right there in their living room. Men and women with sad faces, dressed in black, sitting all around, and my parents among them. My dad stood up and hugged my uncle's body and cried. It's the only time I've seen my father cry. Even my mom was shocked. I don't think she had ever seen him cry either. She came and talked to me.
I felt really lost. I had sneaked out of school during recess. What do I do? "Go back to get my stuff," I guessed. Then it dawned on me. Petros, my cousin was still at school. I had found a purpose, a way to be helpful! I turned to my mom and said I'll go back to school and tell Petro. I'll bring him back home.
I left running and didn't stop until I saw the school's steps. I walked in and timid as I was back then, I immediately felt this had been a really bad idea. Now I actually had to talk to the Principal and ask him to let me go find my cousin in his classroom and break to him the news that his dad had died. I think God felt sorry for everyone involved, so when I finally mustered the courage to walk into the Principal's office, he informed me that his other uncle, uncle Michael's brother, had already come by and picked him up.
I went back to my classroom and told the teacher I had to leave, so I packed my stuff and went back home. Petros was already there when I arrived. After talking to him for a few minutes he went in his bedroom, broke down and started crying. I stood there not knowing what to do. I don't think I had ever hugged him before; I was usually his favorite past time, and not in a good way. One time he and my brother had tied me up on a tree terrorizing me for several minutes that felt like hours to me, threatening me that they would let spiders loose on me if I didn't quit following them around and ruining their playtime! But I was old enough to understand that this was all in the past. I hugged him and lied to him that it would be all right.
We hanged out all day and all night. I remember it was a windy night, but not cold at all. We were out wondering around the front yard, amazed at our newly found freedom to be up so late, not in our beds and not under the constant adult supervision we were used to. They even let us drink coffee! We mostly joked and laughed, but we were also a little spooked by the sound of the howling wind. It was awesome! One of the best times I ever had with my cousin. Since then of course we've grown pretty close. I even was his "koumbara" at his wedding, in other words I was an official witness to his marriage to his wife, which in Greece at least is as important as being a godmother to his children.
The next day was the funeral. We dressed in our Sunday clothes and got ready to go. My cousin Kaki who was up all night sitting by her mom and had nothing to eat all day, just collapsed. I remember walking in the church and only a few minutes after that she leaned on my shoulder and whispered in my ear "I need to get out of here. I don't feel well." I almost carried her out and then supported her all the way back home. She felt clammy and she was shaking. I was a little bummed because I really wanted to be at the funeral, but I didn't regret it. She was in a really poor shape.
I don't remember much after that. The first few weeks I remember spending a lot of time at my aunt's house, thinking they could all use some company and support, but after that I guess life just went on as usual. My family moved to Athens the next year. Later on both of my cousins got married, Petros has 3 kids now, and he took over my uncle's store and opened his own right next to it. Kaki still lives in the house and sleeps with her husband in the same, but newly furnished, room that her father died. My aunt still wears black and lives in a little guesthouse they built for her right behind the main house. In the exact spot where my uncle used to have his tool shed. The one that Petros burned down trying to figure out how to light matches, but that's a whole different story.
Life does go on. Even after death. Only I didn't get to keep the puppy.
It's Easter Sunday in Greece. I talked to mom and dad and Mikie yesterday. I could hear the dynamites exploding in the background. Yes, you read that right, I did not mean to say fireworks. In Kalymnos, the Greek island I was born, custom has it that we celebrate Easter in a most...peculiar way. Men in their 20's, sometimes even older, climb up on the mountains and throw sticks of dynamites up in the air. Needless to say there's been a competition brewing there for decades. The team or mountain as we say, that makes the most noise "wins". If you still don't believe me, search on YouTube "Pasxa Kalymnos 2008" and enjoy the show. :-)
I'm downstairs in the family room. I can hear a lonely bird chirping. I guess someone else is up all by themselves too. I bet his little nest friends are cursing the way he, or she can't keep his or her mouth shut right about now. At least I don't chirp! :-)
I can hear footsteps. It's either Natalie getting out of her bed to come and join us in ours, or Brian realizing I'm not by his side. I'd put my chips on the first one. She really likes to come in our bed early in the morning and spend a couple of hours cuddling with mom and dad.
If you haven't realized by now, I have nothing that's worth your time to read. I'm just up early, and maybe that in itself has some deep significance that I truly fail to understand, other than of course the sad observation that when you feel sick you tend to have restless nights and useless early awakenings. So, that's that.
I sat down to write some e-mails yesterday, and by the time I was done, I felt so stupid repeating myself in every single e-mail that I decided to send a link to this blog to Gramma. She's the only one I felt like sharing this. I don't know how she does it, but she gets me. The fact that she sees her sister's struggle with cancer in mine I guess gives us both the chance to revisit old ghosts that we had chosen to bury in the past, but now feel that need for them to be addressed.
I can't count how many times since this ordeal of mine has started, I've had the picture of my poor uncle Michael come to my head. I remember I was only 13-14 when I first found out that he had cancer. He left with my aunt to Athens in order to find some "good" doctors there, leaving my 2 cousins to be looked after by my Grandma who came to stay with them. He was diagnosed with lung cancer, that later metastasized to his brain, and spent months in a hospital there.
My brother, who was in his first year in college, used to visit him a lot. One of the times Antonis came back he brought home a small bag with a lock of my uncle's hair that he picked off the ground when he chose to shave his head during his chemo. My mom still has it.
I still have his picture in my head, riding his bike to work every morning, then coming back in the afternoon to eat in a hurry and then go out in his yard and work for hours at a time. I almost always remember him on his knees sweating to plant things, strawberries, carrots, pretty flowers and trees, or paving the walk way to the house, carrying rocks, and painting.
The next time I saw my uncle, he was a dying man. They brought him home in a stretcher, he was half his size, with a gauntly pale, yellow face, and no hair. The laid him on Kaki's bed, and I don't think I ever saw him standing again. He used to slip in and out of consciousness, moaning in his sleep. My aunt used to go in and out of the room bringing him pills and a cup of water, and rubbing her hands raw with alcohol to keep off the germs.
I remember the few times he would open his eyes and see me there he would start telling stories of funny things I used to do as a kid. How I used to say "shhh" with my back teeth instead of "ssss" with my front, how I used to beg him to let me try the carrots he had planted, always funny stories. It felt weird to be remembered that way. Up until then, those would be the kind of stories a teenager like me dreaded. This was the first time I heard those stories and felt proud that they were important enough for my dying uncle to remember.
One day I came home from school early. I had found a puppy in the street outside our schoolyard and I was excited to take it home and beg for my mother to let me keep it. When I walked in the house there was no one there. I went outside to our porch and looked at my aunt's house (our houses are right next to each other, since my Grandpa who built both houses wanted to have his 2 daughters live close) and saw a neighbor getting water from my uncle's well. She looked at me and said "your uncle..." and then gestured with her hands "it's over".
I was shocked! Here I was with this cute little puppy in my hands, all excited to show everybody yet another pet I brought home, or rather saved from the streets, as I always liked to say to my tired mom in hopes she'd let me keep it. I didn't know what to do. I had even brought a friend along to ease the process of persuasion. I could always count on the fact that my parents would go easy on me if I had someone outside the family there with me.
I put the puppy in the bathroom and walked into my aunt's house. I saw my aunt dressed in black. She looked at me sadly and said "Paei o theios", " your uncle's gone". I hugged and kissed her. I looked and saw his body laid in a casket, trimmed with white flowers, right there in their living room. Men and women with sad faces, dressed in black, sitting all around, and my parents among them. My dad stood up and hugged my uncle's body and cried. It's the only time I've seen my father cry. Even my mom was shocked. I don't think she had ever seen him cry either. She came and talked to me.
I felt really lost. I had sneaked out of school during recess. What do I do? "Go back to get my stuff," I guessed. Then it dawned on me. Petros, my cousin was still at school. I had found a purpose, a way to be helpful! I turned to my mom and said I'll go back to school and tell Petro. I'll bring him back home.
I left running and didn't stop until I saw the school's steps. I walked in and timid as I was back then, I immediately felt this had been a really bad idea. Now I actually had to talk to the Principal and ask him to let me go find my cousin in his classroom and break to him the news that his dad had died. I think God felt sorry for everyone involved, so when I finally mustered the courage to walk into the Principal's office, he informed me that his other uncle, uncle Michael's brother, had already come by and picked him up.
I went back to my classroom and told the teacher I had to leave, so I packed my stuff and went back home. Petros was already there when I arrived. After talking to him for a few minutes he went in his bedroom, broke down and started crying. I stood there not knowing what to do. I don't think I had ever hugged him before; I was usually his favorite past time, and not in a good way. One time he and my brother had tied me up on a tree terrorizing me for several minutes that felt like hours to me, threatening me that they would let spiders loose on me if I didn't quit following them around and ruining their playtime! But I was old enough to understand that this was all in the past. I hugged him and lied to him that it would be all right.
We hanged out all day and all night. I remember it was a windy night, but not cold at all. We were out wondering around the front yard, amazed at our newly found freedom to be up so late, not in our beds and not under the constant adult supervision we were used to. They even let us drink coffee! We mostly joked and laughed, but we were also a little spooked by the sound of the howling wind. It was awesome! One of the best times I ever had with my cousin. Since then of course we've grown pretty close. I even was his "koumbara" at his wedding, in other words I was an official witness to his marriage to his wife, which in Greece at least is as important as being a godmother to his children.
The next day was the funeral. We dressed in our Sunday clothes and got ready to go. My cousin Kaki who was up all night sitting by her mom and had nothing to eat all day, just collapsed. I remember walking in the church and only a few minutes after that she leaned on my shoulder and whispered in my ear "I need to get out of here. I don't feel well." I almost carried her out and then supported her all the way back home. She felt clammy and she was shaking. I was a little bummed because I really wanted to be at the funeral, but I didn't regret it. She was in a really poor shape.
I don't remember much after that. The first few weeks I remember spending a lot of time at my aunt's house, thinking they could all use some company and support, but after that I guess life just went on as usual. My family moved to Athens the next year. Later on both of my cousins got married, Petros has 3 kids now, and he took over my uncle's store and opened his own right next to it. Kaki still lives in the house and sleeps with her husband in the same, but newly furnished, room that her father died. My aunt still wears black and lives in a little guesthouse they built for her right behind the main house. In the exact spot where my uncle used to have his tool shed. The one that Petros burned down trying to figure out how to light matches, but that's a whole different story.
Life does go on. Even after death. Only I didn't get to keep the puppy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
