Thursday, February 16, 2006
Grace Triumphant 024
March 22, 2005
Hillary lived through the first surgery. But the doctors confirmed pseudo mesothelioma, one of the most devastating forms of cancer known. Her children were still on their way to North Carolina during her surgery, so David acted on her behalf.
I waited at the hospital with him while she was in the operating room. At first we talked about her chances, the prognosis, the symptoms she had shown for the last several months, her uncanny strength that had kept her going when most people would have been down from weakness and pain after only a couple weeks.
But there were intervals when we talked about ourselves. Now that I'm several years older, I think Dave Fringe had one chief concern, and that was to help Hillary. If that meant finding a way to get along with her rabidly right wing friend, then he would find a way. Maybe it surprised Dave to find out that, as a Christian Fundamentalist, I wasn't a fire breathing klans woman. I know it surprised me to realize that he treasured his friendship with Hillary with a commitment I'd seldom seen in anybody, including myself.
I was also surprised, partway through that unbearably long morning of her first surgery, to see John OHara come walking into the waiting area, his eyes casting around in search of me.
"John!" I stood up. "What are you doing here?"
"The prayer chain contacted everybody this morning," he said. "They said your friend's surgery was first thing this morning. I thought I would stop by and get an update." Then he offered a cautious nod to David.
I made introductions. After a minute or two as all three of us exchanged small talk, I could see the confused, slightly panicked look in John's eyes as he began to wonder if Dave was gay. Dave didn't talk with a lisp or behave in an overtly feminine way. He wore a tiny gold stud in his left ear lobe, sported a tuft on the very tip of his chin, and had such an even complexion with no stubble showing that I suspected some type of cosmetic, but if he used any it wasn't caked on. His hair was more meticulously groomed, and oiled, than you'd see on most men. It was short, slicked straight back; one thick curl, like a forelock, spilled onto his forehead.
I knew he was gay because, in the past, Hillary had mentioned running into him and his male partner at different events. It took John a few minutes to work it all out.
John asked me if I would go down to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of coffee with him, and Dave said to go ahead and take a break. We would trade off when I returned.
So John and I walked down the long corridor, its floor pale green and the walls dull white. Why do sick people have to stay in such bleak places? I thought. If we could just get Hillary back into her cheerful mountain cottage, she might improve.
I often thought that way early in her illness.
"Actually," John said, interrupting my thoughts. "I brought coffee for you, Grace. Mr. Beauchamp said once that you like Barnie's coffee, so I brought you a cup from there."
It was astonishingly thoughtful of him. He walked me out to his truck and gave me the cup. Then he passed over some powdered creamer and a plastic stirrer, so I could fix it the way I liked. He'd brought a cup for himself. We leaned against the truck in the brilliantly sunny and cold morning and had our coffee, surrounded by the incredible vista of those mountains. They looked gray, smoke-blue, and pale green that morning, with strips of black where the trees were not yet blanketed in new green leaves.
How could anybody be dying on a morning like this? I thought. And I realized that John really did want to go out with me. Hillary would be so pleased, if she lived through this week.
"I know it's a bad time to ask, Grace," John said, thrusting his free hand into his pocket. "But it's never a good time to ask you out. Somebody always wants your time, or there's some other calamity brewing."
"We've had our share," I said.
"The farewell for Steve and Julie at church is this Saturday. If things are okay here," and he nodded at the hospital. "I'd like you to go with me."
"Sure, John," I said. "Really, I'm honored that you would ask me."
He shot me a quizzical half smile, and then we had our coffee.
|
Hillary lived through the first surgery. But the doctors confirmed pseudo mesothelioma, one of the most devastating forms of cancer known. Her children were still on their way to North Carolina during her surgery, so David acted on her behalf.
I waited at the hospital with him while she was in the operating room. At first we talked about her chances, the prognosis, the symptoms she had shown for the last several months, her uncanny strength that had kept her going when most people would have been down from weakness and pain after only a couple weeks.
But there were intervals when we talked about ourselves. Now that I'm several years older, I think Dave Fringe had one chief concern, and that was to help Hillary. If that meant finding a way to get along with her rabidly right wing friend, then he would find a way. Maybe it surprised Dave to find out that, as a Christian Fundamentalist, I wasn't a fire breathing klans woman. I know it surprised me to realize that he treasured his friendship with Hillary with a commitment I'd seldom seen in anybody, including myself.
I was also surprised, partway through that unbearably long morning of her first surgery, to see John OHara come walking into the waiting area, his eyes casting around in search of me.
"John!" I stood up. "What are you doing here?"
"The prayer chain contacted everybody this morning," he said. "They said your friend's surgery was first thing this morning. I thought I would stop by and get an update." Then he offered a cautious nod to David.
I made introductions. After a minute or two as all three of us exchanged small talk, I could see the confused, slightly panicked look in John's eyes as he began to wonder if Dave was gay. Dave didn't talk with a lisp or behave in an overtly feminine way. He wore a tiny gold stud in his left ear lobe, sported a tuft on the very tip of his chin, and had such an even complexion with no stubble showing that I suspected some type of cosmetic, but if he used any it wasn't caked on. His hair was more meticulously groomed, and oiled, than you'd see on most men. It was short, slicked straight back; one thick curl, like a forelock, spilled onto his forehead.
I knew he was gay because, in the past, Hillary had mentioned running into him and his male partner at different events. It took John a few minutes to work it all out.
John asked me if I would go down to the hospital cafeteria for a cup of coffee with him, and Dave said to go ahead and take a break. We would trade off when I returned.
So John and I walked down the long corridor, its floor pale green and the walls dull white. Why do sick people have to stay in such bleak places? I thought. If we could just get Hillary back into her cheerful mountain cottage, she might improve.
I often thought that way early in her illness.
"Actually," John said, interrupting my thoughts. "I brought coffee for you, Grace. Mr. Beauchamp said once that you like Barnie's coffee, so I brought you a cup from there."
It was astonishingly thoughtful of him. He walked me out to his truck and gave me the cup. Then he passed over some powdered creamer and a plastic stirrer, so I could fix it the way I liked. He'd brought a cup for himself. We leaned against the truck in the brilliantly sunny and cold morning and had our coffee, surrounded by the incredible vista of those mountains. They looked gray, smoke-blue, and pale green that morning, with strips of black where the trees were not yet blanketed in new green leaves.
How could anybody be dying on a morning like this? I thought. And I realized that John really did want to go out with me. Hillary would be so pleased, if she lived through this week.
"I know it's a bad time to ask, Grace," John said, thrusting his free hand into his pocket. "But it's never a good time to ask you out. Somebody always wants your time, or there's some other calamity brewing."
"We've had our share," I said.
"The farewell for Steve and Julie at church is this Saturday. If things are okay here," and he nodded at the hospital. "I'd like you to go with me."
"Sure, John," I said. "Really, I'm honored that you would ask me."
He shot me a quizzical half smile, and then we had our coffee.
