hiding the bodies

It’s been a week.  Started a new job on Monday–and immediately knew it was too soon…but stuck with it and am rounding up my first official week.  It’s been painful, in many ways, and today was the worst.  I will spare you the gory details, but–needless to say–surgery is as awful as you think it is.  I’m finding there’s more to it than just the physical discomfort and assorted after-shocks of having a missing organ.  I might write about that sometime, but not now.  Now?  I’ve got just enough energy for this.

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Most people have people.  Family.  I don’t.  For the most part, as much as I want to say my friends are my family, the reality is that I’m on my own for most things.  Important things.  Little things.  Stupid things.

That isn’t to say I lack friends.  I have many, and I am routinely amazed by the depth of my friendships.

But it’s different.  As much as you want to say that friends can replace blood, the reality is that there are very few people on this Earth that I can always count on to be there.

If you have even one person like that, you’re really lucky.

In the past, the only people like that in my life were my ex-boyfriends.  And I learned pretty quickly that, even they, often don’t live up to that standard.

I’m getting better at choosing friends.  But it isn’t an easy process, and that thing about trusting people to be there?  Well, you never really can.

Except now, I can.  And it surprised me.  A lot.

I talk a lot about my roommate.  He’s an important person to me.  A good friend, always.  But I never really saw him until my surgery.  He was the one who fought with me to take care of myself even when I was too stupid to do so–even though he knew I’d fight back and resist the shit.  He was the one who scoured Denver for medicine to help me feel better when I refused to take good care of myself.  He was the one who sat in a waiting room for hours while I was given quarts of water.  He was the one who drove me to the hospital after finding an ER with a low wait time–who tried to use his own HSA card for my bills so I wouldn’t have to worry.  He picked up my medicine and went to the bad urgent care peeps’ office when they wouldn’t return my calls.  He was the last person I saw when I went under and my only hospital visitor.  He brought me my laptop so I wouldn’t be bored.  He carried my shoes.  And he’s put up with me since getting out.  He’s adjusted my pillows and made me food.  And taken care of the house and the cats–though his work stuff has been completely awful and insane.

He was my person.  And he didn’t have to be.  And he’s been picking up the slack for a while now–during those times when I didn’t realize how sick I actually was.

We don’t have the perfect relationship.  Never have.  We sometimes fight like cats and dogs.  But there’s no denying our love for one another, and the fact that we will always be there for one another.  It’s rare to find friendship like this one.

Tomorrow’s his birthday.  And I couldn’t get him a present or buy him a cake (he doesn’t eat cake anymore, anyway), so I thought it’d be nice to say all of this.  Because we don’t say things like this enough.

Thank you, my friend, for always being there–even when I don’t know you are.  Thank you for caring for me more than I care for myself, sometimes.

Happy birthday!  ❤

(Here’s to a much less stressful year ahead..fingers crossed).

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