My Friend Steph

My friend Stephanie is truly a damaged diva. Diagnosed with brain cancer, glioblastome (GBM) , a year and a half ago, she embodies a fighting spirit with grace and clarity. They found cancer in the other hemisphere of her brain recently and she has decided to stop therapy and live out the rest of her days with her family. I applaud her for this. Her hair has grown back. She does as much for herself as possible and she wrestles with the changes that take place daily as her brain shuts down non-priority functions.
I work as an oncology nurse now. I have seen the path of a GBM. It's about as hard as it gets. I am frequently torn about what information to provide friends in our community. I would like people to be informed and to prepare themselves, but at the same time, living in the moment, without dreading the future is a gift. I am tortured by the possibilities my friend Steph may face. I don't want my friends to know. I want them to believe in miracles and I want to be wrong about the outcome of this awful experience. What's also hard is there is no one to talk to about it. It's a weird problem to have. I can talk to fellow nurses and they understand, having been in similar situations with their friends or family. However, when your best friends are the ones you really connect with and they are the very people whom you no longer know how to talk to, it puts one in a very lonely place. It's almost a double private hell watching your friend deteriorate and not being able to talk to the people who can help you get through it. While many of our friends know and understand what is happening and are not naive to the outcome, the path Steph takes is still unknown. I now grieve for her husband, her mother, and her sons. I hope with all of my being that as her brain turns off the right functions first.
Being 44 is hard. It's no longer about weddings and new babies and job promotions. It's about divorces, ADHD and deaths of close friends. I can only imagine what 50 & 60 are like. Fortunately my own children are young so many of our daily experiences are about learning and growing and exploring still. Part of me feels like I am hiding behind this veil of my children's happiness while those around me face insurmountable obstacles. It's almost like I feel guilty for being happy and fortunate. It used to be that we all felt this way, and we reveled in it with happy hours, kayak safaris and transient personal interests as a community. Now, it seems that we isolate as families to protect ourselves from the tragic circumstances that surround us. Life is funny that way. Everyday I am grateful that my husband and I have jobs, that we can pay our mortgage and our bills. I am vigilant but grateful that my children do not have a diagnosed illness or that some psycho like Garrido has not ruined our lives. I am grateful for the small things at age 44, but I am suspicious that it's all too good to be true. Perhaps I have paid my dues enough by having a tragic end to skiing career, by being orphaned by selfish parents or for simply working hard everyday to be the best I can be. I hope this is enough as I am not sure if I can handle the physical and emotional challenges of friends around me. They all seem so much stronger.
As every damaged diva knows: That which does not kill us, makes us stronger. Steph is fortifying an army in our community. We are all stronger because of her.