When a person is told he has a terminal illness, depression is a very natural reaction. Not only does the individual have to face a disease which shall bring about weakness and failure of one's bodily functions, but also he is obliged to acknowledge that the culmination of his life waits on his very doorstep. For myself, it was not the fear of death which brought about various intervals of depression, but rather the realization that my dreams for the future and the reality thereof would not coincide. Occasionally, as time passed, I would also become disheartened by the way in which the cancer was transforming my body in a visual sense. I had always taken pride in maintaining my figure for my health and appearance, and now I was helpless against the shape I was quickly becoming as the cancer grew. I was also aware of its effect internally, and exercise gradually tapered off into nonexistence. I found my lungs unable to fully inflate, and my heart beat would hover around 100 beats per minute with only mild exercise; fear would soar when I would, without warning, desperately need a bathroom. I did not hate my life, yet when I was afflicted with nausea for hours in a day or forced to miss an anticipated outing because of diarrhea and the need of a bathroom in close vicinity, my spirits could plummet and make me wish that death was close at hand. While those things I most valued I still possessed, the magnitude of my physical condition would surface when I would once again be harshly reminded that "normalcy" was no longer credible, as if that state of being was a rug which was being swept out from under my feet. In addition to feeling inconvenienced by cancer, I also experienced a sense of worthlessness, although of a different sense than that which I felt upon my initial bout at age 13. When I was younger, I placed a great deal of importance upon physical attributes; consequently the post-treatment loss of all my hair, necessitating the purchase of a wig, resulted in the questioning of my parents affection. I could not understand how anyone could possibly care about a bald, rather skeletal, daughter.