March 21, 2000

Despite all of the apparent cynicism, I'm really kind of an upbeat guy. Yes, really. I won't go as far as to call myself an optimist (particularly, vs. a realist), but I generally like to have my feet planted firmly on the ground, but have a positive outlook. Generally, life is good.

I went to visit a friend of mine today, a sick friend of mine. This is my friend, Laurie. Laurie was an administrative assistant in my group back in about six years ago. We have kept in touch throughout the years, even after we stopped working together. We have many of the same friends. We get lunch every once in a while. Sometimes we go on the occasional escapade… for instance, when we were both thinking about getting tattoos and we were looking around the different tattoo parlors. I ended up getting mine; she lost her nerve.

She throws the funnest parties that many of us still remember… There were rumors of Curtis passed out on the floor under a pool table… A number of Jello shot parties which will remain quite vidid in memory… theme parties ranging from homemade pizza parties to Elvis's birthday parties.

Her driving is much more assertive than mine. She's the only person who ever managed to make me car sick. And this is when I seem to scare the wits out of a number of people when I drive.

All in all, she's one of those people who always seems to live life to its fullest… vibrant in her approach to everything she does.

This is why it so tough to see her so frail. She was diagnosed with lymphoma about a year ago. She has been fighting her heart out. The news I get about her condition fluctuate from the optimistic to the grim. It's this little game we all play. We don't ask, hoping that we don't somehow manage to ellicit the bad news… thinking that somehow our asking has somewhat caused her condition. We don't want to hear the bad news and assume that if we don't hear anything, that the news can only be bad. Meanwhile, Laurie is surviving… fighting.

I got the news in e-mail from some friends of ours who are closer to her. Conventional treatments don't seem to be working effectively, and they're trying some experimental treatments. They stress that any visits help her spirits immensely.

I got that mail. I read it. I made a mental note to visit her when I got the time. Funny, isn't it? How we happen to make the time for what we call important. I told Len about it and we talked about visiting her. That was weeks ago. We still weren't any closer to going. I'll admit that I was passively avoiding it. Saying that "I'm too busy" is too convenient of an excuse. I'm not good at facing illness… not like this. I'll own up to it. I was afraid to see her. The last time I lost someone who was close to me was my father.

Yesterday, Jim suggested that we call her and visit her. I acquiesced. We talked to her briefly and made plans to see her today. Coincidentally, today Scott also asked me if I was going to see Laurie. I told him that Jim and I were planning to see her today and he was welcome to come with us; he ended up driving.

I remember when I first saw her today. She had lost most of her hair and eyebrows. Her face was retaining water due to the chemotherapy. I couldn't recognize her at first. For a moment, I though we had gotten the wrong room. She greeted the three of us and smiled weakly. Her father was also there in the room looking after her. I think I may have managed a subdued hello. I sat quietly in the chair while she talked quietly, almost a whisper. Occasionally, I looked through the array of cards and ornaments wishing her well… many from people I knew, some from folks I didn't. I also noted the collection of suspended bags of different IV's that she was connected to. She kept fading in and out of sleep. Towards the end, she didn't try to stay awake any longer. We left shortly after that. I don't think I uttered anything but that hello.

I was numb during the visit. I started feeling all of it shortly after. How could I possibly describe what I felt? Yes, I've read about it. I know some of the things that can happen. It's one thing to know about it, and it is entirely another see it. I was unprepared for it. I couldn't imagine not being able to recognize her. Then I thought about me… So what?! I'm selfish. This makes me think about my own mortality. She's young; she's not supposed to be going through this. We carry on through life, thinking that we'll be around in a year… in five years… We have to. There's no way we could function if we thought that we may never make it to work tomorrow. Where would we be?

I think Jim said it best. "This sucks!" He is unfortunate enough to have gone through this a number of times. He knows what can be interpreted as good news and bad news. He explained that the numbers are grim. I hate this.

Where's the line between an optimist and a realist? …between possibility and probability? I'm torn between preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. How do you say goodbye to a friend? How do you say goodbye like this? How could I utter the words? Would the words be for her? …or would they be for me?

I can't do it. There'll be no goodbyes.

March 21, 2000