Jennifer

Two Friday's ago, I was nearing the end of what would be a very short and relatively uneventful stay in the hospital. Compared to the stays in 2000, 2001, and 2003, this was more like a resting vacation. Lots of sleep.

On Thursday night I met Jennifer. There is a small courtyard outside of the ward I was in, complete with a reflecting pool, lots of greenery and flowers, and small benches patients and guests can sit on. The nurses were encouraging me to walk around, and about 11:00 pm, I wandered out to the yard. I took a seat about 10 feet from the only other person there, a woman by the name of Jennifer, seated in a wheelchair. Jennifer would tell me later she was 53 (I'm 49), and you could see in her visage that there was a time in the not-so-distant past that Jennifer was a very attractive woman. Time and the past few years had served to take the obvious away from her, but you could still see it if you were someone who has the ability to see below the surface of a person.

Jennifer was/is really sick.

Sitting in her wheelchair, she struck up the conversation from our distance. Her voice was strong and vibrant, with only the slightest of shake or reverberation in it. She asked how I was doing and why I was there. I proceeded cautiously, telling her what was wrong, but as is my custom, not making a big deal about it.

Good thing, too.

Jennifer proceeded to speak without reservation about her issues. Five years prior, she had been diagnosed with Lymphoma. That terrible ailment gestated into breast cancer, and she lost both breasts and a good deal of her lymph nodes under her arms. She was currently in the hospital because of an erupting stomach ulcer, and she had just been informed they think she may have another form of Hodgkin's. 53 years old. Fifty-three.

This woman was so sweet, it was incredible. She spoke of her husband and children in glowing terms, and never once complained or even insinuated that she had been dealt a crappy hand. We talked for nearly a half hour, mostly her talking with me listening, trying to soak in one of the greatest lessons a person can learn one on one - the lesson of true fearlessness.

Here I am with my little ditty that got me slammed for a few days, and I'm talking to someone who may or may not have a few days left. I thought I was lonesome in the middle of the dark nights at the hospital, but my worries were absolutely nothing compared to hers...and she dealt with them with dignity and style. Yes, style. Try to imagine this if you can. You are her, and you are - for all intents and purposes - flying solo on this trip. Nothing is going right for you, and every minor success is followed by a soul-crushing letdown. And yet you're smiling, speaking candidly and freely, and you're wishing someone else with only 1% of your problems the best of luck. You even say you'll pray for me.

So, I told you to "IMAGINE" you were her. You can only do that because you are obviously not her. But if you were, would you - could you - be as strong? I'm not in search of your answer. That is for you and you alone to know. And just in case you're wondering, yes - I've asked that question of myself as well.

And so may you also have the best of luck, Jennifer whateveryourlastnameis. I made sure I said a prayer for you that night. You seemed to need it more than me.

Or perhaps you didn't, now that I think about it.