Thus, the Juvenille Delinquency years ensue. (Well –as much as Two Boys growing up as Middle Class Jews in the Valley can be Delinquents anyways). (and oh yeah, I stress out to the max, giving myself three years of “terminal” cancer hell)
Damn that hurts. And it just looks all wrong. My right ball has blown up to literally 3 times the size of my left. I’m looking at it, thinking. “Well, if they were both that size, then I’d be doing good.” At least, that’s how I want to remember it now.
In truth, I was probably freaking out. I’m 16 years old and sitting in Doctor Leonard Goldman’s office. He’s older, rotund, affable. But I’m terrified.
I’ve met the Doc 5 minutes ago, and he’s saying “this thing has gotta come out. Tonight.” Pure terror. And panic. At this point in my life, I’m not good at handling things. And I am freakin’. Dad’s at work, and my brother Ken is at school. Where I should be. Brendie, my step-mom, is here, holding my hand. I’m thankful for that still, now. Especially given our volatile relationship. And that’s being generous. My mom. How I miss my Mom. She should be here.