I’m taking a break from writing about cancer to describe the supreme idiocy of some people that populate an office. These are the people that constantly complain that the copier is broken and when they walk away they leave a trail of staples and paper clips to get into the tiny parts of the machine. But besides that, I have to go over to the copier to make ONE copy today. Just one. In doing so, I notice that there is an error. It tells me to open tray one. In tray one, there are two stacks of paper. Grimacing, I take out the right stack. Why? Because under the pieces of paper it says in huge, purple marker: DO NOT PUT PAPER IN THIS TRAY. I just…no. I have no words for that.

The thing about experiencing a major life event is that people will inevitably disappoint you. And at the same time, people will surprise you. For instance, before I knew what was really going on, my friend S and I were hanging out. I spoke with her the night before my biopsy. I called her when I got the news, got her machine and told her to call me back. She didn’t. Three weeks went by, and I called her once or twice more and didn’t receive a return phone call. Finally, on my birthday, I wrote her an email asking if everything was okay with her. The response I received was one I would have never anticipated. It would seem that my cancer was a bit much for her to handle. At the current time, her life (mainly her work) was too overwhelming for her and she didn’t feel that she could be there for me. I was an inconvenience, really. However, when I was better she’d love to get together for coffee or a movie. I kid you not. Someday I might have to reproduce the whole email here. But to her credit at least she was honest about it. At least she told me right at the beginning, “Hey, I know you’re under the impression that we’ve been pretty good friends for a couple of years, but that’s not the reality. And I have to save all my “being there” time for people who I consider important. So don’t count on me. Kay?” I didn’t have any expectations after that. But the people who I relayed the story to would be all indignant and angry and “who does she think she is!” and then they turned around and did something similar, that really hurt. These were people whom I had been there for during their difficult times. People whom I counted on, really and truly, as my friends, all of the sudden weren’t there. They were too busy with their boyfriends/fiances, with work, with taking a test, or anything else in life, to even stop by. Or on a far lower commitment level, to even call. There were some who I called out on this. And when I did, the answer I mostly got was that they just could not fathom that I was sick. They did not want to deal with it. They wanted to believe that everything was fine. When they did see me, I looked okay. When they talked to me, we didn’t even talk about cancer. So, they figured it wasn’t that serious. And then there were others who simply didn’t call because they were sure I didn’t want to hear about their trivial problems when I had such big issues to deal with.

So I wound up in a unique situation. I didn’t want people to treat me like a special case. I was all for boyfriend problems or crazy coworker stories. I wanted to feel as normal as possible. I didn’t want every conversation to be a philosophical debate about life and death. But at the same time, I needed my friends to acknowledge what I was going through. I needed them to realize that it wasn’t a bad cold (which if I did get, would put me in the hospital). I needed them to understand that I was very sick and that I needed them. Again while trying to convince myself that I wasn’t all that sick. Some people came around. Others, I’ve pretty much cut out of my life. I can forgive them for their selfishness but I just can’t care enough to want them as my friend.

Which leads me to the pleasant surprises. Friends that I hadn’t kept all that much in touch with became great parts of my life again. They constantly called or came by with goodies. They would sit and watch a movie with me when I couldn’t leave the couch. They would offer to come to chemo with me. I had a friend from work, who was truly amazing. It’s funny, because a lot of people believe that it’s the grand gestures that matter most. But he would call me at home and give me the office gossip. Or because I couldn’t share food, would stop by the store on the way to work and bring me a personal container of milk and a box of cereal. And just those little things mattered so much. I had other friends who sent weekly cards, which were really cute. My best friend from Boston came down to stay for several days. When I was in the hospital with pneumonia my friend from Pittsburgh stayed with me for the full eight hour time of visiting hours. My friend from San Francisco flew in and brought with her some Lush products (which I promise I will dedicate much more time to later). My friends from London also came in. My brother and his friends were constantly bringing me scarves. My aunt would send care packages almost every other week with home-baked goodies and the entire Bath & Body Works line. My best friend since I was little was at my apt. every weekend. When I first got sick, she came and did my nails. She bought a hat I had been coveting. She cleaned my apt. when I was too weak to do so.

But out of everyone, I have to say it was my mother was the most amazing person. She read every book, came to every appointment, researched websites. She let me get angry, she let me be sad, she came with me to the mall and bought me ridiculous perfume and sat with me at chemo and watched movies. She stayed with me at night when I was so scared that I wouldn’t wake up to see the sun. She made me smoothies. She supported me in every decision I made. She told me when I was being rude. And one day I asked her how she could always be so good through this whole thing and she gave me the greatest compliment ever. She said to me, “I get my strength from you. You are fighting this and you are usually so positive and believe me I wouldn’t be handling this as well if it wasn’t for you.” And I say this and really mean this. By having such wonderful parents (although yes, my dad did cry a lot) I was very lucky in an unlucky situation.