Yesterday I received the sad and deeply troubling news that a friend and colleague of mine succumbed to cancer treatment-related complications. I knew she was sick- like really, really sick, back in late January. My hope was she would pull through- because well, it wasn't cancer sick, right? And, also selfishly I wanted and needed her as my friend. We were soul sisters; neighbors, young-ish, professional, single ladies, parents to beautiful children who deserve their awesome moms; survivors who beat cancer, and had a whole lot of life in front of us. We made plans.
Look, I'm not even going to lie to you when I say that in a way I am accustomed to sick and dying people. I know what it means when someone says they are stage four pancreatic cancer. There's no sugar coating it. There's no- "Oh, you'll beat this!" because everyone knows where the road will lead. However, in the case of my friend, she had beaten her cancer. She got through treatment. She was young. She was vibrant. She was the mother of an amazing young son. She was going to live a nice, long life. Her cancer wasn't coming back. And I even encouraged her to get a second opinion aside from the ill-informed wack-o who declared otherwise...
We would meet on occasion just to simply bitch about the havoc cancer treatment caused in our lives. Me bitching WAY more than she; as she was of a gentler, kinder breed of human...Of course, we knew to laugh it off- because we also knew it could be so much worse. We knew that for whatever reason: we jumped high enough, our blood was red enough, the doctor attended the right medical school- you name it, that we were the lucky ones. It was this very friend who encouraged me- in her quiet, sweet and ridiculously gentle manner to carry tissues to handle the constant nose drainage left over from chemo treatment. She was the one who, through her example, encouraged me to try out online dating again. She said: "Yeah, it took me a while to meet my partner. But oh, when it clicked, it was just so worth the wait." She inspired me. She bravely stated that because her cancer was behind her- and she was never getting it again, it was time to grow her hair back out into a huge mane.
And now she is gone.
Maybe her passing didn't happen the way I remember it- in the blink of an eye-- A text at the end of January saying- "Hey, let's re-schedule. Today isn't a good day." Maybe she was sicker for longer than she let on, as she was deeply private about her health. Who knows?
But what I do know is this: this one is unlike any of the others. This one causes me to want to curl into fetal position and hide from the world. And the reason for this is because ultimately it reminds me just how fragile cancer treatment makes us. It reminds me of my very own vulnerability. And without her in my life, I have to stare this one down alone.
The cancer doctors are totally kicking ass when it comes to actually curing cancer. For many of us, it is no longer a death sentence. This is the result of billions of dollars and billions of hours dedicated to figuring out how to beat it. For that I say, thanks!
BUT- you know....what you forget to ask; and what those very smart doctors forget to tell you in their honest-to-goodness attempts to make you cancer-free, is that well, there may be some "complications." And sure, as a patient, you just want the cancer out of your body- damn the complications. Hell, I wasn't listening to that part anyway....(that's why it's good to record these appointments on your I-Phone because your friends and family will miss that part too, btw...)
But once the complications start to rear their nasty and sometimes lethal little heads, I will hear from the doctors: "The devil is in the details..." "Not every patient reacts the same way." And, in their defense, that's perfectly true. And honestly, the doctors are humans and have no way of predicting the future.
In the best case scenario I get a doctor who says these things with compassion and heartfelt concern. But does that really matter when you find out that despite all of the hell you went through to beat cancer, the prize behind door Number 2 is death anyway?
Today during my final PT appointment at SCCA, I told my therapist about my friend's passing. As I'm huffing and puffing on the treadmill, while fighting back tears, I explained to her that despite all of the exercising, lunges, crunches, you name its, that it really is out of our hands. The complications are so beyond something a brisk walk on a treadmill can fix. And really, all we have is hope and luck. And because she has seen so much in her career, she did the right thing. She nodded her head in silent agreement.
My friend was certainly hopeful and deserving of a full recovery. The complications were just bigger than what her human body could handle. She will continue to inspire me to bravely hold on to hope that I will beat my complications too. But I am not positive I'll ever be able to get comfortable with this level of vulnerability.
I will miss her.
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