*Author’s note: This entry was written in December, but I have waited until now to post it out of respect for my friend’s privacy.

Well – goddamn it! I am back at Northeast Georgia Cancer Care today. This time I am here with a dear friend, waiting for her to see the doctor. I am pissed off! I had just taken a breath and here it is again at my door. When she told me, I was in shock – still am. I feel like someone sucker-punched me right in the gut.

We are here because they suspect she has leukemia. So, we start the cancer conveyor belt again. It is hard to watch her being taken to the lab for vitals and blood work. CANCER SUCKS!!!!!! We can send people into space . . . we have technology that was only dreamed of when I was child . . . but we still don’t have a cure for cancer. It is time!

I think I am more nervous today than when I was here as a patient. It is so hard to watch someone you truly love have to face this bullshit. When you are at the Cancer Center, you had better be prepared to wait. I walked down the hall just now; all the rooms are full of patients but I didn’t see any of the doctors.

My friend just said, “Good lord, just give me chemo and let me go home. They make you wait so long you don’t even care anymore.” And of course they are playing the fucking Christmas music again. Pure torture, I tell you. Our appointment was for 9:15. It is 10:30, and we still have not seen the doctor. Whenever I have an appointment, my friend Johnny asks, “Is it the four-hour appointment?” – meaning a Cancer Care appointment.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” sings Bing Crosby. Right!!!! Then, “Have a holly jolly Christmas this year.” If I had a gun I would blow the damn speakers out of the ceiling. They continue torturing us with the music and all of the room doors decorated with a holiday theme. I guess maybe it is a way to keep your spirits up when you work in a place with so much sadness. As I’ve said before, the people at Cancer Care are wonderful – I just wish there was no reason for a place like this to exist.

We finally see the doctor, and she is wonderful. She is very kind and answers all our questions. The doctor suspects Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL). We will wait for the results of one final blood test for confirmation and to determine staging and treatment. One day at a time – we will not get the results until the 30^th. It is hard trying to live with this constantly pressing on my mind.

During my own diagnosis and treatment, this friend was amazing, walking with me every step of the way. I will do the same for her. She is so funny; the day she called to tell me her doctor suspected cancer, she said, “But I am not writing a blog and I am not wearing that wig!” We both laughed, but after we hung up tears streamed from my eyes. I am heartbroken.

My armor is a little too big for her to wear. She is a tiny woman, so I guess we will need it adjusted and sized perfectly so she will be ready to take it into battle. I am so grateful that she showed me by example how to be a kind, loving caregiver. Now that our roles are reversed, I only pray that I can care for her the way she did for me.

So – please keep her in your thoughts and in your hearts. You never know what life has in store for you. Enjoy each moment – tell the people who are important to you that you love them – breathe deeply and calmly and take the next step.