This morning I picked up my cell phone and noticed that I missed a call last evening. When I clicked on "recents" I saw that it was from a lifetime friend named "Mary" I hadn't spoken to her since May when I called to say "Happy Birthday."
She'd left a message which I don't generally like and don't always listen to. This one I did.
"Hey Vera it's "Mary". Ahhh...just giving you a call...I just have some news I need to tell you so if you want to let me know when a good time to call you back is that would be great. My number XXX-XXX-XXXX. Talk to you soon, bye."
In the message she sounded excited, the kind of excited that was reminiscent of expecting a baby or getting engaged but since we're both past the point of wanting babies and she's very much married, my mind went down a generation and I considered her children. I knew that they both already have young kids but also that they both had entered new relationships in the last few years. "Oh, her daughter must be getting married....or maybe, but less likely, her son," I reasoned. Happiness for her began to bloom inside me.
A glance at the clock, told me it was too early to call. Assuming she was still at the same job, 7:30 was "go time" Since she had left her home number (which I happen to know by heart anyway) I scrolled through my contacts, confirming that I have her lesser used cell number listed. I hoped was still her number then clicked off the phone and put it aside until later in the morning.
In between feeding the kids breakfast and getting them out the door, I thought back on the voice message. Mary sounded so upbeat, I went as far as to listen to the message again. At 8:30 I gave her a call.
"Mary speaking," she answered, in her professional voice.
"Hey, how are you?" I said.
"Good, good, I just have some news I want to share."
I decided to hedge my bets, "Who's getting married?"
"Oh! Nobody," she replied.
I was stumped. I hadn't taken the time to consider other scenarios.
"So, what's up?" I asked instead.
"I just wanted to let you know that I have cancer," she said. Just like that. Her voice didn't wobble or change from it's pleasant tone. She didn't start to cry nor did she sound in despair.
Inside my head I flashed back to the stocky eight-year-old girl with the dimpled cheek and twinkling blue eyes. A combination of the summer sun and chlorinated pool water had turned her shoulder-length hair lighter brown in the summer sun. The same hair that appeared almost black when she swam under the water.
"What the fuck?" I think before opening my mouth and saying, "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, I just found out last week," as she launched into the details of her cancer discovery a slide-show of our times together played in my head. It's not that I wasn't listening, more like her words were the soundtrack. Until she said, "The doctor told me that as long as I have surgery within 4 weeks and start chemo within 6 weeks, I should be ok."
"That's horrible," I said. "So, if it takes 4 weeks and two days you're going to be beside yourself with worry."
"Pretty much," she replied.
I was still dumbfounded by her nonchalance.
"So, where do you think you are in the processing of all this?" I asked. "Are you still pretty much in shock or do you think you grasp the magnitude of it all?"
"No, I'm good." She said. "I'm not any more special than anyone else, so why not me? I've pretty much accepted it and just want to move ahead with my treatment."
By chance, if you believe in chance, rather than being treated locally, Mary's operation and treatment will take place at a hospital 40 minutes from her place but just 10 minutes from mine.
Having shared her news, we started talking about stocking her freezer with meals for her return home and for her husband to consume while she is hospitalized. Mary talked about "getting my affairs in order" and I again wondered if she is still in shock.
"Yes, I journal now too," she says "and I started knitting last year so I have a lot of wool that I carry around with me. That will come in handy for all the appointments."
Inspired I say, "Another thing you could do is knit hats, pink or pink and purple skull caps that you could leave at the chemo centre whenever you go for treatment. It might not make your journey easier but it may touch the lives of the other people being treated there, especially with winter on the way."
Belatedly I realized that was deviating from the real issue, skirting around the perimeter of cancer and perhaps trying to distract her from it rather than helping her meet it head on with all its implications and dire possibilities.
In closing I offered, "Let me know when you get your dates from the doctor, I want to know what's going on with you."
"Yes, of course," she replied. "And maybe we can get together for coffee when I'm in town." She said it like she was coming for a convention or a job interview.
I laughed a little when I hung up. I laughed until I wanted to cry for what I know lays ahead for my friend. Mary thought she was well along the path to acceptance but I believe she was feeding my bullshit. Having known her for 35 years, I was pretty good at deciphering the fear and knowing that when the realities of cancer and surgery and chemotherapy finally penetrates her bubble of shocked protection that it will hit her hard, taking her out at the knees and weakening her almost as much as the cancer cells that grow inside.
"Fuuuuuck!" I said to the empty room. I thought of my girlfriend and how she used to return home from swimming lessons and try to show me everything she had learned. How she taught me not to be afraid of putting my head under the water and eventually got me to sit on the bottom of the pool for "tea" parties and how we used to spend so much time together. I thought of the day I beat her up because I thought she liked Evelyn Perrone better than me and how I felt so bad afterward that I wrote her a letter of apology the same day. I thought about how she went to Disneyland one year and brought me back a statue of a pissed off Daisey Duck explaining that it reminded her of me when I was angry and how that made me mad yet I cherished her honesty and friendship so much that I packed that darn duck up and moved it with my belongings from place to place for the next two decades before losing track of it.
I remembered staying at her house for a month when my family was between homes, having sold our old one before the new one was finished being built. I thought of all the pop tarts she smuggled from her house for me and how I thought she was so lucky to always have so much junk food at her place. I sat and thought of the year she spent living with her father and how it changed her but didn't take her from me, thought of the late night phone calls, all the visits, all the little babies we introduced into each other's lives.
I retrieved my phone from the kitchen counter and type the words she said to me decades before "I am here for you. I won't let you drown."
Then I sat down to write.
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