Beginnings and endings, life changed continually under their influence. Autumn 1981 seemed rich and alluring, a virtual invitation to walk in the sun. In a diary entry dated over one year later, my memories of that time were sweet. Nov. 3, 1982... My life was beginning to come alive... From an experience with cancer five years before, I was given a sharp taste of the harsh brutality which is an innate, but sometimes overlooked, characteristic of life. I viewed life as highly impermanent, and believed that it was too short to spend one's precious time playing games of popularity and prestige. What mattered was feeling... experiencing... life to its fullest without marring in any way the rest of society. Modeling I saw as a potentially exhilarating encounter, which, like all facets of one's life, would inevitably come to an end. Carrying this baggage of values upon my shoulders, I felt entirely prepared for success or failure, and intended to propel myself toward modeling at full throttle. I had no idea that the end would so soon be upon me... PAGE 195 Chapter 25 Return of Cancer "To reverse the feeling that I was the query in an unfair hunt, I had to establish for myself that I had complete control over the situation." CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Return of Cancer It was October and my classes were well under way. Seated at my favorite table with books and papers sprawled casually about, I was studying for an exam between frequent sips of coffee and sight-saving glances around the room. I looked down at myself and tried not to think; the striped sweater I wore readily acknowledged my asymmetrical stomach, even if I did not. Whatever it was had not gone away. Several days earlier I had noticed a certain lopsidedness to my stomach region, but not desiring to worry, assured myself that it was "indigestion complicated by gas" and would, therefore, "pass." The odd part was that it did not pass, and staring down at my stomach it was still readily apparent. "Maybe I've always been like that," I told myself. "After all I did lose three-fourths of my stomach." I must not have convinced myself, however, because when Norm and Dad rumbled down the stairs, I asked them for their opinions. As each took his turn interpreting the portents revealed by my striped sweater, the other would say, "Call the doctor if you're so worried." I had to agree that it was better than speculation, so I picked up the phone and dialed the doctor's office. His nurse, a brusque, dominant figure, answered. I had always been rather overwhelmed by her, and in my currently agitated frame of mind, sputtered out my name and request as would an army private to his platoon drill sergeant. "Dr. is on vacation," she stated. "Uh, could I see the other doctor?" I asked as my emotional ball of string unraveled a bit further. I only wanted to see a doctor; it did not matter who I saw. I just had to know that I had no physical problem.