August 21, 1976... got sick. It was around 11:30 p.m. Dad got up and helped me. I barfed and then my throat burned. I never had that before. Dad held me awhile... He's the best dad in the world. The end of the treatment did not mean that I would no longer become sick or weak, and as I prepared myself to return to school, I knew it would not, at first, be an easy adjustment. The calendar did not pause for me to gain strength, however, and five days following my final injection, I went to register for fall classes. The administrators were quite understanding and tried their best to ease my nervousness, making it clear that I should come to the nurse's office for a daily afternoon snack and at any time I felt ill. I would be excused from physical education classes through a note from my doctor, and spend that hour in the library. I felt encouraged to know that I could escape the horrors of P.E., especially since I had to wear a wig and my energy level was quite below normal. Perhaps the reinitiation into junior high would not measure up to my fears, I thought, and went home relieved. Five days passed and the schools opened throughout the city. August 30, 1976... Got up at 6:30 a.m. and got dressed. I ate some Cream-of-Rice, but not much since this is the first day of school. Left and picked up Kristi...I saw some of the kids I knew and some didn't recognize me at first. Went to my homeroom and stayed there an hour. We filled out our schedules and that's about it. August 31, 1976... Couldn't eat breakfast very well. I was so nervous... saw Kristi after Dad dropped me off and we talked awhile before we had to go in the classes... Some kids said stuff about my wig. A girl just stared at my head and a guy behind me suggested to another kid to pull it off. He didn't, and thank God! I was pooped when I got home. I was upset, too. It was difficult to maintain my courage after hearing such threats, but I knew that if I allowed myself to cower in fear before the aggressive words, the likelihood of my avoiding further taunts would have been reduced. That day, without saying a word, I turned a searing, humorless gaze upon my potential attackers, whose faces were forever branded in my memory. They never followed through with their suggestion, but if they had, it is my belief that they would have sustained more astonishment at my hairlessness than was their intention; word of mouth transactions possess little accuracy, and some individuals, perhaps, thought I wore a wig over my own hair for the fun of it.