My Best Friend Has Cancer

They say you can't feel another person's pain, and while that may be true, you can sure see pain in their face and body as they maneuver through life.

Eight months ago Val lost her daughter, Laura, a divorce attorney, to a raging cancer after only a six month battle with the beast. The beast won, and Val lost half of her children. Together with her husband, Val grieved and they visited their grandchildren, continued their lives (as best one can after the loss of a child), traveled to North Carolina and Russia, and tried to move on.

As luck would have it, Val had a side ache that just wouldn't go away, and after CT scans, biopsies, X-rays and loads of blood work, she was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, neuroendocrine tumors or NETs, and had extensive surgery at the University of Iowa on September 28. She lost her jejunum, duodenum, 3 feet of her intestines, a gallbladder, two ovaries, and 7 tumors housed in her liver. She also lost 15 pounds.

Val has continued her recovery at home, within eyeshot of her pool, her expansive gardens, patios, and in the comfort of her own bed. A person often feels better once they are home, in their own element, close to the things they love, and with those who love them. But she continues to lose weight.

There is some irony here. Val and I were partners on the Sonoma Diet in April 0f 2006, and each day we would painfully whisper our weight to the other, as we would pledge to follow the diet, forsaking anything white, especially if it was sugar. We have eaten the same (or at least similar) foods, bought and strut around in our Tummy Tuck Jeans together, and eaten so many black Greek olives we should both be one shade darker.

Now Val is having trouble maintaining her weight after so many days of not eating anything, or very little; food isn't the lure it once was and nothing appeals to her. Everything still appeals to me, so the irony continues, and we laugh at it. She continues to lose weight.

I've spent many an afternoon laying on the bed next to Val, talking to her, listening to her, and being there so she can tell me her fears, and together we can laugh at what only the two of us know. Today I took her for an outing -- her first lunch out since surgery, four weeks ago. And with all the wonderful restaurants in our area, she selected a bar-type venue for the big event. Why? I had been at a meeting there and taken Val a sandwich from the restaurant. While she ate four bites of it, she remembered how good it was and it was the only thing she wanted today, so together we went to a bar for lunch. Neither Val nor I are "bar people," if you know what I mean. Earlier in my life, going to the bar meant I was in ballet class -- but not today. Today we went to the bar, and Val ate 1/4 of the sandwich and took 3/4 of it home, in case she craves it later.

When one hasn't eaten for a while, one needs to jump back into the food chain with both feet and start eating, so being the good friend I am, I stopped at the local candy store and bought six handmade to-die-for carmels. I know they're good because in a prior life I ate them once in a while. Two for $1.25 -- they melt in your mouth and suddenly you experience carmel-lust. Val now has six carmels so she can eat one, or half of one, anytime she wants. While I am on the Sonoma Diet to lose a few pounds, my diet partner is on the other end of the chain and I am feeding her everything I want to eat.