Free Jake' Journal: The Riverdale Series Companion by Janine Infante Bosco

Dear Dr. Capernick and the Staff of Riverdale Memorial Hospital,
     
    I want to start this off by saying, I’ve always hated going to the doctor. It was nothing against the doctor or the office I just hated it. One might say I have no patience but you have to admit the whole routine of a doctor’s visit is a goddamn pain in the ass. I mean, doesn’t it ruffle your feathers too when you, the doctor, or the nurse, have to actually see a doctor? If I live, I’m going to fight diligently to change the way a doctor’s visit operates.
    There will be no waiting for an hour, even when you have an appointment. In fact, I think we the patients should be called in five minutes before said scheduled appointment. There shall be absolutely no waiting for the doctor once you are in the exam room, no sir. Instead, the doctor will be waiting in the room for the patient offering them a snack. In a perfect world, a visit to the doctor would be a welcoming experience and not a dreaded one. Then again, in a perfect world, I wouldn’t be writing to you as my body is riddled with cancer. I guess there is no such thing as a perfect anything. Still, maybe you can tweak the whole doctor’s visit thing? I mean at least try to offer snacks.
    I’m really not writing this letter to bust your balls, pardon my filthy mouth, but you’ve been caring for me for a couple of weeks now, you’ve heard me say worse. I’m writing because there are things I’d like to get off my chest and maybe I’m too proud to say them out loud. I want to thank you for taking such good care of me. I know I am not the ideal patient and that my case is a perplexing one, but still you greet me and my illness each day with optimism and compassion.
    There are days when I don’t feel like smiling, days that I feel sorry for myself and ask why me? Never out loud, though. I can’t bring myself to speak the words of pity, especially in front of Cara and my family. On those days, when the reality of being sick is too much, you see it; you see it in my eyes. I know this because as you are preparing me for my dose of chemo and you’re trying to find my veins for the I.V., you joke around with me. You dig deep into me, peeling away the layers of sorrow, and resurrect my spirit. You remind me that I’m a fighter and that with your knowledge and help I just might beat this.
    I came into your office after I had been diagnosed with Stage Four Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and asked you to save my life. I didn’t know at the time I was asking you to play God. I didn’t know the extent of my illness. I knew that stage four of any kind of cancer was bad, real bad. I didn’t have much hope and pretty much had thought I was destined to meet my maker.
    Yet, you had hope. You had determination. You and your entire staff were completely on board to kick this cancer in the ass. Here I was a stranger to you, and you were vowing to do everything in your power to help me. How could I not fight for my life if you all were willing to without hesitation? You didn’t sugarcoat anything and make false promises. You were brutally honest, told me the facts, but you were going to do whatever it took until there was nothing left to do.
    I hated you at times. I hated when you said the chemotherapy would cause me to lose my hair. I really hated you when you told me I might never be able to have kids as a result of all this shit. Cara wants kids. How fair would that be to her? Yeah, you weren’t one of my favorite people at that moment. I hated you the most after the first round of chemo was finished and you had the results of my scan. Nothing had changed. Not a damn thing. I was ready to give up. I told myself I couldn’t go through another round that, there was no point. I’d only get sick and feel miserable for it not to work anyway.
    You didn’t allow me to give up. I thank you for that. That’s why I’m sitting in the waiting room, writing this letter today waiting, for you to call me and give me