So I mailed a card

I got an email from my oldest friend. Or rather, 5 emails. She answered two weeks worth of my messages in one afternoon. Apparently she doesn't go online very often.

I found out that she's seeing a new shrink, a woman named Shelley. So far, so good. She's waiting for an OK to finally get that dental work done. It's been more than seven years since she last had her teeth checked! Since she's a heart patient, her new dentist requires paperwork from her cardiologist. Her son is working for Progressive Insurance headquarters in Colorado Springs. So far, so good.

Oh yeah, and she might have cancer.

There's a lesion on her bladder that requires "visual confirmation," otherwise known as a biopsy. Because she is on Medicaid, it takes a lot of approvals before her uro-gynecologist can perform the procedure. She hopes she won't have to wait too long for the biopsy and results. She says it distracts her from fantasizing about the Beatles.

I am sick with worry. She is in a bad place. She doesn't pick up the phone when I call. She goes weeks without checking her emails.

I am frustrated by her being incommunicado, but I don't blame her. She's on meds for depression. Meds for her heart. Pain killers for her leg. Antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. I know she is either in pain -- psychic or otherwise -- or dopey. I appreciate that, as weak and frustrating as it's been, she's doing the best she can in terms of communicating.

So I sent her a card. It had a little puppy on the front with the words, "Do you need a pug?" And I included a letter, telling her that, since she is so very important to me, I'm glad that she's in her cousin's loving care as she goes through this. I implored her to keep me informed. "Make no mistake: I care."

I signed it, stamped it, and dropped it in the box.

I hope the card, and the love it carries, reaches her in time for her biopsy.