February 13th 1985
I am not writing in this journal by choice nor am I not writing by force. I am simply writing because there’s nothing else to do in this goddamn place. The dull buzz of daytime television along with the soft murmur and isolated beeps from the machines that keep me alive fill the emptiness. Dr. Campbell says that writing “should do me good.” I think she’s afraid I’ll off myself before they’re finished. Three months ago when Dr. Campbell told me I was going to die I was faced with two options: die alone at home or die alone at the hospital. I chose the hospital. Ever since, I have endured a variety of treatments and taken concoctions of different medications. None of it helps. I don’t know what exactly they’re doing. Dr. Campbell says they’re trying to make me better.

February 18th 1985
Today Nurse Sherry wouldn’t get me a sucker from the gift shop downstairs. I had spent the last couple days scouring for coins when I finally had enough to pay the $1.19 (tax included) and she said it wasn’t a part of my treatment. No s*** it wasn’t a part of my treatment why else would I want the goddamn sucker? “Tommy,” she pleaded in her sickly sweet voice. “You know Dr. Campbell wants you to stay on the recommended diet so that you can get better, right?” “Better? It’s too late for better. If I’m going to die in this hospital I want to at least remember what a goddamn sucker tastes like.” She nodded in sympathy like they trained her to and made a note to ask Dr. Campbell about it.

February 19th 1985
I never got the sucker.

February 21st 1985
I watched a movie today. It was about a young girl who was in the hospital sick as hell with no way of recovering. The community came together and raised enough money to send her to one of the best hospitals in her state – Ohio or something – and she miraculously recovered and life returned back to normal. Or something like that. That movie really pissed me off. Do people really think that’s how the story ends? Happy ever afters don’t exist. The good guy doesn’t always win. People die, they have to. I’m happy that Sally or whatever the hell her name was got to live but she’s a minority. The rest of us stare at the blank walls that surround us, trapped like animals, feeling unsatisfied. Feeling like there’s something more to be done with no way of doing it. Those empty walls that taunt us are the last things we will see.

February 25th 1985
Five different doctors came in and watched me. One of them with beady eyes stared at me for five minutes before scribbling something in a notepad and leaving. I felt strange, like a lab rat under observation. When Dr. Campbell walked in I was actually relieved to see a familiar face. “Can’t a man get some goddamn privacy anymore?” I accused. “Oh don’t worry about them. They were just here to take some notes on your behavior after using some new medication.” I looked at her suspiciously as she filled out some charts but decided to drop it. I kept thinking about those beady eyes.
February 27th 1985
Another man died today. I know because Dr. Campbell peaked into my room when she thought I was asleep. I heard her whispering to the nurse but I couldn’t pick up any words from their hushed conversation.

March 3rd 1985
I decided to visit Marty. When I walked into his room I found him in his familiar Dartmouth sweatshirt and spectacles intently fixated on the television. Tufts of white hairs appeared on his scalp and brown sores decorated his body. He only broke his gaze once to glance at me and demand that I close the door. “Don’t you ever stop watching that damn thing,” I exclaimed as I usually exclaimed when I came to see Marty. “Don’t you ever get tired of being a smart ass,” he responded as he usually responded. I took a seat down at the tiny coffee table. Marty soon joined me and we began our usual game of cards in relatively comfortable silence. Finally, I asked him “Anything new?” “Two. One in California, one in Colorado.” There was silence. “Any women?” He shook his head no. We continued to play.

March 7th 1985
Dr. Campbell started giving me another pill. She said it’s to alleviate the side effects of another pill that I am already taking. I told Marty about it and he looked at me curiously and looked away.

March 13th 1985
When I went to Marty’s room he told me to get the hell out so he could take a nap. I knew this meant that he was hurting and didn’t want me to see. That was the thing about Marty and I, we were both the same. We worked, we made choices, we were alone. Alone to die alone. When I got back to my room there was nothing to do so I turned on the TV. Breaking news – Woman dies from mysterious illness at Mercury Hospital Center. Family demands answers. My heart began to pound – thump, thump – as my eyes remained fixated on the screen. I didn’t even notice when Dr. Campbell walked in. I didn’t even notice when I suddenly became very tired. As I drifted I saw those beady eyes staring blankly at me. It was too late.

March 15th 1985
I don’t remember much about the last couple days. Whenever Dr. Campbell walked into my room I didn’t even greet her with my usual banter, I just stared off into the distance. I could feel the sympathy emanating from her when she entered which pissed me off. “Marty,” she said cautiously, “we have another pill for you it’s for” “I don’t want any more goddamn pills. Let me die in peace.” She hated arguing so she just left the pill on my table. “Your choice.” She left. If I didn’t take it now, they would find a way to give it to me. I popped the pill dry and returned to my previous activities of staring.

March 20th 1985
Marty is gone. They said he went to go spend time with his family before he kicked the bucket. His bed was freshly made, our playing cards stacked neatly on the table. Something had happened. Marty had no family like me – or maybe he did and never mentioned it. I sat down and began to flip through the cards to soothe my aching head. My hand paused on the queen of hearts card. There was writing on it. I read it carefully: “Time is Running Out.” I flipped through the rest of the deck but it was the only one with writing on it. I slipped the card into my gown and returned to my room.

March 29th 1985
I’ve moooled mulled over Marty’s cryptic message for several days. It could mean time was running out for him, or me, or

April 3rd 1985
It’s hotter harder and harder to write now. It horts hurts too bad. I think

April 11th 1985
I can hardly write. Nurse Sandy Sherry helps me sometimes. I hate help I’m not a goddamn kid I’m just an old man sick as hell. But I can’t stop righting writing. Something it happening I don’t know what but I need to write. For Marly Marty at least, wherever he was.

April 15th 1985
An angel came in to my room today. I know it was angel because she had a soft glow around her and glided on the floor until she was looking down on me. Her soft, brown eyes inviting as she pleaded that I join her. I said no and looked away. I’m not ready to leave.

April 20th 1985
Dr. Campbell comes to room at the hour each day. We don’t talk much now, I think she’s too busy feeling sorry for me to say anything. She offers her daily words of encouragement and as she began to leave I asked, “What are you people doing to me?” She paused in her step and remained facing the door before finally turning around. She had an almost maniacal grin plastered on her face and assured me they were trying to make me better. Quickly, she left.

December 24th 1984
I remembered Christmas Eve many years ago when I lay motionless underneath my covers, impatiently waiting for the slightest sound from the foyer. Finally, I heard quiet shuffles coming from the living room, where the tree was, and I silently slipped through the door and tip toed in the direction of the noises. You could imagine my surprise when I saw a dark figure meticulously placing each gift underneath the luminescent tree. Remaining invisible in the corner, my heart thumped as I watched the dark figure drink the milk me and my sister left and quickly scribble on a notepad leaving the ripped note on the coffee table. What surprised me even more was when the dark figure quickly retreated back to my parents’ bedroom. I quietly followed in pursuit and watched through the crack of the door as the dark figure climbed into bed with my sleeping mother. Enraged I busted through the door and jumped onto the bed yelling and kicking for the man to get away from my mother. You could imagine my surprise when the dark figure turned over in confusion and revealed his familiar scruffy face. Confused, my parents asked me what was wrong. I said I had a bad dream and they hugged me and sent me away. When I returned to my room, I wished with all my heart that I had never followed the dark figure because then I wouldn’t have realized that the dark figure placing the presents underneath the tree wasn’t Santa. I cried myself to sleep that night and thought it would be the worst Christmas of my life. Sitting now in this hospital bed I realize how I would relive that moment 100 times more if it meant I could eventually leave this blank room.

Despite the many pills I take each day, I do not feel myself getting better. Each day brings monotony. I miss the excitement and hustle of the city. I miss Charlotte. I wish things could return to how they used to be.

December 26th 1984
Christmas was relatively uneventful. The hospital staff dressed up in green and red and the patients who could eat were given special meals aka lukewarm mashed potatoes, dry chicken slices, and soggy string beans. They tried their best to make it seem like everything was ok. We were alive! We would get better! But my mind still wandered to happier times.

January 2nd 1985
Yesterday was New Years Day. I couldn’t help but remember laughing with Charlotte as we struggled to open up a cheap bottle of champagne to celebrate our engagement. Happy tears streamed down our faces when the cork flew in the opposite direction leaving a dent in the wall. I remember her sloppy, wet kisses and falling asleep with her radiant body curled beside me. I was the happiest man alive. Now I feel robbed. Robbed of a future that could have been. Robbed of my dear Charlotte.

January 15th 1985
Dr. Campbell came in at quarter to 11 this morning. She is tall and attractive with thick, curly brown locks tucked away in a neat bun. She always wears the same black slacks with pinstripes covered by a white lab jacket. In her breast pocket she carries a small leather bound notebook that she scribbles in periodically. She is punctual. When the clock strikes 10:45 I listen for the click clack of her heels creeping towards my door. She smiles that same sympathetic smile she gave me when she told me I would have to do an extended stay at the hospital. You’ll be home soon she, she convinced me cheerily. I find myself sitting in the same bed several months later. After giving me my daily concoction of pills she leaves with a quick encouraging note and swiftly exits leaving the door shut.

February 2nd 1985
The doctor’s visits are short; the pills I consume daily are innumerable. I’ve begun to make a list of the different colored pills I take to both pass time and amuse myself
Yellow ||||
Green ||
Pink |||||
Why are they giving me so many pills? They aren’t doing any good but I continue to count and count. When Nurse Sherry comes in with her mostly empty white cart and politely hands me my daily concoction. Nurse Sherry is a slight woman with slicked back hair and a prominent mole on her chin. She does what she is told, you can tell by the way she nods politely when a patient speaks as if acting exactly the part of the perfect nurse. Something about her makes me feel a bit uneasy but I shake it off.

February 16th 1985
A new patient arrived. He was put in the room across the hall from me. Around noon I peered in the tiny window and saw him for the first time. He was a bit round and stout with a stern expression glued on his face as he observed the platter of pills sitting in front of him. Instead of taking them one by one, he threw them away in the trash and returned smugly to his bed. A grin slowly crept on my face…I like this guy.

March 1st 1985
Marty comes over to my room a lot now. He curses like a sailor but plays a mean game of cards – any game of cards in fact. He isn’t someone I would normally befriend but one must make alliances in a place like this.

The pains have also started again. It feels like my entire body is fire, my muscles and loins groan in protest whenever I move them. The pills aren't working I would complain to Dr. Campbell and she would just nod and scribble into that damn notebook. I need help, real help not this bullshit.

March 19th 1985
Something isn’t right. Dr. Campbell came to my room to tell me great news about my pains. I was being moved to another hospital where they had a special medical wing for my illness. This doesn't make sense. There are no hospitals nearby. I think they might be