Essay

Friendship Elevates Our Lives

The essay that began my writing career

The phone rang.

I picked up the receiver as I continued to fill the dishwasher.

“Angie?” Pat started.

“Hi, Pat. What’s up?”

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end.

I stopped with the dishes, took a deep breath, and steadied myself. After thirteen years of friendship, I could sense immediately something was wrong.

“I don’t know how to say this,’ Pat said. “I just found out from the doctor today what’s been causing the pain in my legs.”

Oh, thank God! I thought. Pat had been suffering from severe pain in her legs for months, and no other doctor had been able to find a cause for it.

“It’s cancer,” Pat whispered.

Now it was my turn to be silent. Be strong, I told myself as my body stiffened.

“Thyroid cancer,” Pat continued. “First, I thought … that’s not so bad. A little surgery and it’s all out. But they can’t operate. It’s on my voice box. They’re going to give me radiation treatments to try to shrink it.”

Pat hesitated.

“It’s in my lungs, too. And liver. And gallbladder. And bones. And spine. It’s all over.”

Tears were in her voice.

“Now, don’t fall apart on me. My family is falling apart. I need you more than ever.”

I felt life change at that moment.

My insides were being sucked out of me. The tears rolled down my face.

“I can promise to keep it together,” I began, “but I can’t promise not to cry. I know when we have some time to absorb all this; we’ll find a way to be positive. Right now it’s a kick in the head. Oh, Pat, this really stinks.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you,” came her response. “My family has become cheerleaders. They’re pushing me to be positive, but I feel so angry and frustrated and scared. Thanks for understanding. It’s ok if you cry. Just don’t lose it.”

The two of us talked for an hour about the disease.

The doctor had called it the “unpredictable cancer.” Both of us felt a roller coaster ride awaited us. Yet together, somehow, we’d get through it.

When we ended the call, I sat alone in my kitchen, staring at the phone.

I wanted so much to lash out, scream, fight, run, cry, worry — something! Nothing came. I was drained by strong emotions, just running on empty. My heart was being ripped apart a piece at a time. Not knowing what lay ahead, the ups and the downs, the good days and the bad days, I felt reality come crashing down. I tried to pray. After a while I couldn’t cry. I sat there staring at the phone.

The days went by.

There were trips to the hospital for treatment. Trips to the doctor for scan, pain medication, and follow-up. The days became month; the months became a year.

Physically, Pat had her good days and her bad days. Emotionally, both of us had the same- good and bad. I wanted to absorb some of Pat’s pain. I struggled with my inner turmoil to be there for Pat. If only I could do more. I tried to remain myself and to stay honest. I had succeeded in forbidding hysteria to enter. We cried, laughed, prayed, talked, and were silent together. I was there to help with practical matters as needed. That was a support and comfort for Pat, but it was not enough for me.

I felt so helpless and insignificant.

I wanted to make it “all better,” but knew only God, through the doctors, could do that.

“One day at a time,” Pat kept advising me.

I felt my friend, through all her suffering and frustration, was the stronger one.

During one stay in the hospital, Pat felt deeply saddened when the man in the next room died.

She cried for an unknown little girl who was in the hospital.

She still could feel and care so much for other people.

Pat confided to me, “It’s all in God’s hands. I want to live. I have the will to live and get better. We’ll have to trust God for the rest.”

Her voice would at times be weak, yet her spirit was strong. My love for Pat had me handling more than even I believed possible, but my love couldn’t make it “all better.”

Pat had touched so many lives.

These people had different reactions to the cancer. Some were afraid to call; afraid to visit. Others would never talk about the cancer. Some busied themselves doing nearly useless things. Others sent cards or flowers. Only a few were able to deal with it openly.

Once when I was visiting Pat, our mutual friend, Barbara, came over. The cancer was not denied. Neither was cancer the only topic. We talked of vacations, work, and children. We joked and laughed. Normalcy was more important than ever in this abnormal situation. After Barbara left, Pat and I had time alone to open up to each other.

Pat began, “You know, this is teaching us both to set our priorities better. I’m coming out of my shell, having contact with friends and family again. It’s important to get things in order and do what’s really important.”

The two of us talked about God and death and the hereafter. We talked about all we did have. About how necessary it is to appreciate those things instead of being upset about what we didn’t have. We talked of our friendship. How blessed we both were to have the love and support of each other.

“Too bad we couldn’t get the message without my going through all this, “Pat joked.

For the first time since this began, I didn’t feel helpless.

At first, I had wanted to do the extraordinary. Now I knew it was as simple as being there for each other as always. Together we would ride out the rough times; enjoy the good times; look forward to better times, and appreciate what we had each day. That and trust in God would have to be enough.

After I left, I joined my daughter at a performance of Charlotte’s Web, the second-grade class trip.

After the play, I walked slowly from the theater with my daughter. The sun warmed me. The childhood story had touched me. Serenity was beginning. Charlotte’s words kept echoing in my heart.

“Friendship elevates our lives here. We’re born. We live. We die. The quality of our life is so much more important than the length of our lives.”

~Previously published in The Standard in 1995

In Writing from Love I share how a promise I made to Pat after she read the first draft of this essay led to my writing career.