Kelsie

I saw Kelsie today. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in months, maybe four. It was only an hour of my day but it was the best hour.

She looks like she feels like shit* (for her) but she’s still prettier than just about anyone I know. She’s thin, really thin, and has only the tiniest bit of fuzz on her head, still no eyelashes and still no eyebrows. Unlike every other 40-something woman in Los Angeles she has no fuzz on her top lip. Lucky Kelsie.

I’ve tried visiting her for months. For some time she didn’t feel up to it which I can understand but only in words. I’m pretty sure I’ll never know how she felt… or at least I hope that’s the case. Once she felt up to it I got a cold and because of my own personal BS I have a limited immune system and that took 10 days to clear up. Of course a few days after I was better Jane got it and shortly thereafter Alexander got hit hard, it was a month of everyone being sick and every day of it was driving me crazy because Kelsie is my touchstone. When I’m not sure if the world is crazy or I am Kelsie has the unique ability to unravel everything and in moments find the essence of the issue. She’s never been afraid to tell me when I’m wrong. When Kelsie tells me that I’m in the right it’s like having all the world leaders standing behind you nodding solemnly. It’s a strength that few will ever be lucky enough to feel.

So today was a good day. Sitting on a sofa with dogs snorting and farting and catching up a little and talking about cancer and husbands and kids and really nothing at all.

We talked about how she found her lump and then I’m sort of not really paying attention to the fact that I’m in someone else’s living room and I’m giving myself a breast exam sort of absentmindedly because it’s normal to pull your tits out in your friend’s living room. Right?

I know, that’s what Kelsie said too. I asked her if everyone sort of started feeling for lumps when she talks about finding hers and she looked at me with yellow-green eyes and said, “No.”

And the awesome thing is that there’s none of that bullshit babble that we all use to make someone feel comfortable when they’re being totally inappropriate. She didn’t try to make me feel like it was okay or say, “No, but I understand that you’re uncomfortable/comfortable/tacky-as-hell…”. Just no. That was the answer.

So I took my hands out of my bra and concentrated on my friend.

* Looks like shit is a relative term. It’s a horrible term. She looks sick… but still probably better than the rest of us. Argghhh… foot in mouth.