Five years ago, on the eve of my birthday, I was shaving my head and accepting the fact that my birthday would be like none other before it. I had been diagnosed with Leukemia only a few weeks before this, and my last few weeks of being 16 had been less about learning to drive, and more about being on bed rest. It was hard to even feel like the same person I had been in August, just a day before my diagnosis. The suddenness of my diagnosis hadn’t made my adjustment equally prompt.
During August, my childhood best friend, Maria, had been staying at my house for the summer. We spent those months without a care, spending so many days on the beach or rollerblading, not knowing what was insidiously blooming in my bone marrow.
When I was diagnosed, hers was the hardest call to make. I had to explain to my best friend, who was more like a twin sister, that for the first time in my life my body was short-circuiting and survival for me was not a certainty. Cancer executed the first of many thefts, and took from us the trademark feeling of invincibility that one feels at 17.
Maria and I grew up inseparable. Our friendship has grown and stretched and strained with us. Even though Maria and I have lived in separate countries for longer than we have lived in the same country, our friendship has survived decades, long distances, fights, and anything you can really think of. We have fought, laughed, cried and had the best of times and the worst of times. And for me, getting diagnosed was certainly The Worst of Times.
That’s why on October 6th, while I received a large green bag of Methotrexate, Maria was boarding a plane to the United States to come surprise me. With her two siblings, her mom and dad, and around five Maria-sized balloons, she drove 45 minutes from the airport to my house. Her family all wore tiaras, hats, and came bearing gifts, all in the hopes of making my birthday a little sweeter.
So in walked Maria’s family, tip-toeing to be sure not to give themselves away. Maria opened my door, releasing all her balloons and opening her mouth ready to yell “Surprise!” Halfway through the first syllable she realized I was in a deep sleep.
That wasn’t the only moment that being sick made that weekend anticlimactic. Walking was hard, eating out made me nauseous, and long talks made my brain, which was marinating in a constant stream of Prednisone, quite confused.
But my friend, who had flown 3,000 miles just to come hold my hand, wasn’t bothered by a thing. And even though our visit was short, and made even shorter by the time I was out of commission, it was truly the best birthday I have had.
This year, I’m lucky enough that I’ll get to spend her birthday with Maria.
Maria has taught me a lot in our 20 years of friendship, and I hope that someday I can be half as good of a friend as she is. Because, flying 3,000 miles is only the beginning of her kindness. She has taught me that true friendship is understanding people for who they are – limitations, flaws, and good qualities – and always, always showing up.