Finding Love Through Friendship and Health Challenges on Valentine’s Day
Valentine’s Day no longer revolves around flowers and chocolates. It has become an acknowledgement and acceptance of a horrifying event and deep appreciation and respect for the people who have helped me through it. It also serves as a reminder that sometimes friendships are formed in unlikely places. After all, had it not been for a cantaloupe-sized tumor, I may have missed the opportunity to deepen my relationships with friends and even develop new ones.
Two years ago, Valentine’s Day was supposed to be celebrated by dinner with my husband at a French bistro, but things didn’t go according to plan. The week before, I’d had the stomach flu, and in the throes of its glory, I felt something on my lower right side. At first I thought it was a hernia. When I saw my doctor, she felt something too. The next day, I had a CT scan, and within hours of that test, a phone call. My doctor confirmed I had a mass the size of a cantaloupe on my ovary. She recommended an oncologist in the area who had an appointment available for me within the hour. So much for chocolates, flowers, and French food.
There was a three-day time span from the results to surgery. I lived them on autopilot. My friend Robin, who stood with me as I received the doctor’s call, has had the unfortunate role of being present when horrific things happen to me. When my mom was fighting cancer, it was Robin who called 911 when we found her unconscious in her home. On this Valentine’s Day, my husband was in meetings that I didn’t want to disturb. Without hesitation, Robin accompanied me to the pre-surgery appointment because I could not process what was occurring.
As Robin studiously scribbled notes, I sat in the exam room dumbfounded. I ate healthily, and I was an avid runner and cyclist. I bought organic fruits and vegetables. I remembered watching my sister-in-law Karen take charge of organizing shivas or meals and assisting sick friends, often peers in their 40’s. “Your body began to turn on you,” she told me. Now, within the walls of my abdomen, a gathering of cells collected and divided.
Be fruitful and multiply. Bear fruit. I was fruitful. I’d multiplied a couple of times. During my first C-section, my husband observed that my uterus, open and laying on top of my stomach, resembled a giant plum. He was instructed to end all further commentary about that birth as well as the birth of my second son. Now, I had more fruit inside my body, this time a cantaloupe. Maybe doctors used veggie metaphors for guy troubles?
The surgery found no evidence of cancer, but I waited two weeks for conclusive results. Cycling season was approaching, and I feared my fitness would decline. I bargained with God and thought that was fine as long as I didn’t have cancer. Robin suggested I speak to my mom out loud rather than in my head, so I did. I asked that she keep her eye on me unsure if it was a prayer or a wishful conversation. Four years ago, over Thanksgiving weekend, Multiple Myeloma had taken her life at 68. She’d been traveling, active in stock and movie clubs and enjoying retirement when she got cancer. The last thing I wanted was to follow this trajectory.
I spent my recovery walking and singing, if only to myself. Walking was the only exercise permitted and singing helped my breathing. I did some thinking, even though I tried not to. Always proactive about my health, I had learned from watching my mom not to ignore pain or an unusual feeling, but to confront it. It was one of the lessons she had inadvertently taught me. I also wondered how I could repay Robin or express to her my deep gratitude for her friendship and for being a steady companion during my life’s darkest moments.
Ellen - Yoga Instructor (left) | Ilyse (right)
Finally, I received a voicemail from the nurse that the tumor was benign. Still recuperating, I planned future activities that included regaining abdominal strength through Pilates. I’ve exercised with trainers until it became a chore. Ironically, it didn’t take long for Pilates to become my favorite part of my week, but it wasn’t because of the workout. An hour of pre-scheduled joking, sassing, lively conversation, and banter with my instructor, Ellen, transformed the workouts into simply hanging out with a new friend. Honestly, I found it odd to categorize it as a transactional friendship. I had never had a friendship based on the premise that one person provided a service to the other. As she shifted my positions and corrected my body while reminding me to keep my shoulders down, chin up and breathe, the more personal it felt. In between movements were a lot of heartfelt talks about family, religion, and current events. On one hand, I was keenly aware that I didn’t want to prematurely ‘Level Up the Friendship’ like Keith Hernandez did in a “Seinfeld” episode.
Was it a sign that I immediately connected with someone whom I had known remotely, but who would become one of my favorite people in the world? I’m certain it wasn’t because of my Pilates ability. Ellen had to see me weekly whether she wanted to or not. Was the universe sending me a signal by leading my post-surgical recovery to Pilates, so I could befriend someone whose first and middle name was my mom’s, but in reverse? Is that why Ellen gets me and I get her? My standing as Ellen’s friend or client began to nag at my overthinking brain. As the surgery faded into a memory, it simply grew into friendship.
Through that experience, I realized the power of friendship in getting through the tough times. Also how friendships can develop in unexpected places and during complicated periods of life. My heart is full of immeasurable thanks and gratitude for the support and love that Robin and Ellen have given me. That is more valuable than any trinket or box of candy.
