I instinctively knew I was going to like her the minute we met! She had a denim dress on, was sporting a nearly bald hairdo due to her disease and each hair she did have was standing up and out as if waving at you a bold "How do you do!" salutation, and she owned an aggressive handshake with blue black hands, again, due to disease.
There was nothing timid about her. She was right up front telling me about her prognosis with the autoimmune disorder and its bad lab values revealing liver and kidney damage. However, she never mentioned giving up the fight, quitting, or any form of surrender.
In fact, she was working out on a treadmill. She sought out new treatment modalities frequently. "Hey Becki, ever drink any of that new fangled health drink everyone is trying to cure anything from toenail fungus to cancer?" She asked with wide open eyes. but she followed traditional medicine's prescribed plan with the hope of buying some more time.
Not that she believed in taking her medications like the doctor ordered. Oh no! She was always juggling the dose or stopping one of them just to see if it would make her feel better. Silly me would try to warn her, "You better cut that out! You need to talk to your doctor first. You're going to get yourself in a crisis!"
Then I'd try to explain the purpose of each medication, the side effects, the dangers of abruptly discontinuing one with a slow decrease, and only with the doctor's approval. Then she would grin at me and agree with all I said just to humor me.
Sometimes we'd 'go out to lunch to a nice little local diner close to her home. She'd have an outrageously beautiful blonde, shoulder length wig on, or maybe her dazzling auburn curly one that so complimented her pale milky smooth skin and gorgeous blue eyes. I would find myself staring at her and thinking how very striking she was even then
.
Sitting there dining over beans and cornbread she'd start in on me, "Now, listen, you got to keep your intestines active. I've got a new natural fiber laxative pill that'll do the trick. The bottle says to just take one or two, but I take four or five depending on my need. Works like a charm every time!"
Then another friend who had joined us spoke up and warned, "Hey, you guys, better be careful with those all natural pills. Look here at this photo in this book I'm reading. Here is the statement with it of what happens if you go off the pills the doctor ordered!"
One look at that photo in the book and my dear friend's eyes bulged as she blurted out, "Hey man, don't be freaking me out with that #### in that crazy book!" I nearly choked laughing at her! The old hippy girl had risen! She wasn't going to read or speak of getting worse!
One day a few weeks later I called to check on her and she admitted with reservation, "Well Becki, it's not good. The numbers are pretty bad now."
I didn't wait for an invitation. I called another close friend of hers and we drove the hour to see her without much conversation between us. Even with the seriousness of the situation, I couldn't help but smile when we walked up to the back door and chickens scattered. We'd see n her before shoo them away, scolding, "Damn chickens! They're everywhere. Want some eggs? They multiply worse than rabbits."
I knew she was weak, but to see her unable to walk, unable to feed herself, and trying hard just to communicate pleasantries was hard. We chatted for a while and prayed with her but then I knew we needed to let her rest. Her parents and her husband were grateful we made the visit. "We'll be back soon. You sleep, take your pain medication as the doctor ordered." I wanted to just be the friend but the nurse kept nudging me to speak up. I wanted to pick her up and rock her, to tell her how really neato and cool I thought she was, (words she liked) and I hoped to hear her curse the poor chickens again.
But I told myself that I'd be back and we would talk some more, maybe I could get her to laugh again. I was certain of more time. I was out of town for 5 days and when I arrived home I called her but he person that answered said she had died the day before.
I was so sure I would have more time to allow her to talk to me about dying and more time for me to tell her how much I appreciated her strength, her humor, her boldness, her laxative pills, her style, her never-say-die attitude.
And now, after nearly 17 years ago that she left us, all the people I've been with since then who were in Hospice taught me that she knows exactly how I felt, she knew my heart then and still does today. We will laugh again.
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