Dear Journal:

The weekend brought more displeasure and unhappiness. Drama, distain, ugliness. It was all around me. My best friend over dosed on Zoloft ® after I held left her house early (around 1 in the morning) Saturday night. My baby boy (not mine, but I’ll be glad to take guardianship should that need ever arise) sick. My parents arguing at Gram and Pop’s house while playing cards. I feel like shit and I look like hell. There are no anecdotes to this one. Oh no sir this is anything short and funny about this weekend.

Holding down Sean while he gets an IV, I worry about (---------) {Name Suppressed for Confidentiality} 40 miles away in an emergency room almost like the one I was in. I slept nothing. I woke tired. It was a big test, there’s no kidding about that either. It was a test to see if I’d crack. I won’t let it happen. No matter how many bombs you drop on me, I’m still there, standing flagrantly antagonizing you to drop more. You cannot take from me what is mine. You cannot take from me what is personal. You cannot take from me anything because I won’t let you.

You cannot take my friend. You cannot harm my baby. You cannot bring me into your financial problems. You cannot lead me into a debate that your husband is circuitously avoiding. Assiduous, I will perform to the best of my ability no matter what. It hurts, yes, but I must endure because it is yet another test of how far I can go before I explode. You can light my fuse, but you can’t make me explode. I’m like a thermonuclear warhead; you can shoot my atomic core with a sniper, but unless you enter the code to detonate me, you will achieve nothing but aggravating a warhead.

Congregated at the kitchen table, we play cards. Aunt Lisa to my right and Pop to my left. The parental units 2 o’clock of me. “How are we getting connected to the Internet but not paying for it?” He sits there, abstinent from the conversation hoping that he doesn’t get the brutal treatment. I will not fight with you, you petty old hag. How dare you. You cause no fear, no joy, no nothing and I make sure of it because once you’re bitten, you’re twice shy.

The call. I didn’t want to hear that. I wanted to pretend that she didn’t overdose. I wanted to pretend I was there, holding her and telling her that her problems weren’t what they seem to be. I had to go to the ER to be with her. To slap her. To do something to comfort me. I almost lost one of my best friends this weekend and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Sean unresponsive to cold rags and ice; it was so terrifying. How am I supposed to help? What do I have to do? I did what I could. I spent the entire night with Aunt Beth and Sean at William Beaumont Hospital. Coaxing him into understanding that the little finger clip wouldn’t hurt him. Assuring him that the pain of the IV would go away and that he was a brave, big boy for taking it like he did. Waiting for the CBC to come back with some conclusion. (CBC = Complete Blood Count… Test conducted to determine the status of the immune system and other things.) The poor thing, lying there with an IV in one arm and a Beanie Baby in the other. Sleeping away the night while I sit there talking out of nervousness to Beth. The sleep was unrelenting and eventually overcame her too. I sat there, feeling alone, isolated in that hot hospital worrying about her… Is she okay? Is my voicemail going to tell me I have a funeral to attend?

I didn’t get home from the ER until 4:30 in the morning. Sleeping 12 hours wasn’t sufficient. I am still tired, but I feel like I need some therapy and the best therapy is the therapy I get from this journal.

I found out what one of my parental units did this evening (technically yesterday considering the date of the entry). Though it’s not something I’d care to embellish upon, it was the right thing to do. My mentor can’t leave me in agony…she can’t leave me at all. Tanya is a wonderful person and I adulate her. She brought me to the conclusion of what I want to do: pharmacology and internal medicine. Currently a licensed pharmacist, she lay there in pain from the radiation and nauseous from the chemo. It’s heart breaking.

I’ve had the worst break. I don’t know what I want with this week coming up. I don’t know… It just makes me want to break down and cry. I need something so bad that I can’t sleep at night… What is that something?

Respectfully Yours,

Dustin T. McCauley, Future Doctor of Pharmacology and Internal Medicine