Tuesday, April 24, 2007

"Take me down to the infirmary and lay me down on cotton sheets..."

One of my best friends died today.

We’d only known each other since November 2004, but as soon as we met we clicked and became inseparable. We very rarely argued, and when we did it was always about music. She had an affinity for techno and dance music, whereas I was always more eager to listen to singer-songwriters.

We used to drive to work together and could talk in nothing but song titles during the hour-long commute. Those were awesome times, and I missed them when I took a job in downtown and my commute got shortened to less than 10 minutes. We still hung out at the gym and on the weekends, but it wasn’t quite the same.

Last year she started feeling under the weather, so run down that she could barely function. She became forgetful, sluggish, had next to no energy, and got easily confused. After a series of tests we were told that she needed surgery, and even then there were no guarantees, but really, the choice was a no-brainer. She had the surgery and amazingly bounced back to her former, fun self for awhile.

It almost seemed as though we both knew she was living on borrowed time, however. I worried about her constantly and could never quite shake my doubt that she would have a relapse. Every time we were together I feared that something would happen to her and I wouldn’t know what to do. I mean, I know basic first aid, but that wasn’t going to be enough to save her if it came right down to it.

My worst fears were realized a few months ago when she began acting tired and run down again. She would be fine for a couple of days, but it was taking longer and longer for her to recharge and recover, which we knew was not a good sign. We danced around the subject, not wanting to admit that she was never 100% better after the operation, but I think deep down we both knew it was simply a matter of time.

She started having mild seizures, which were over almost as soon as they happened. She tried to act like they were nothing, tried to convince me that she would be fine, yet seemed completely unaware that she had developed a very weird stutter. She also began to behave erratically and was certainly not her old self anymore. I know that the worst thing you can do is research symptoms on the internet, but that’s exactly what I did, and the more I looked the grimmer it got.

Naturally.

Wading through the internet gloom and doom, it became clear that anything I tried to do to help her would simply be akin to dressing an amputation with a Band-Aid.

This morning on the bus she totally lost it—her erratic behavior reached a crescendo and she suffered yet another seizure. Frantically, I tried using the pointers I’d gleaned via Google, to no avail. It was obvious that she was sinking fast, and all I could do was hold her as she shuddered and sputtered. She never even gave me the chance to say good-bye.

We’ve been through so much together, and had so much fun, that I’m finding it hard to let her go. But maybe I’ll feel differently when her replacement arrives later this week.

Farewell 40GB iPod. There will always be a place in my heart for you.

4 comments:

Daniel said...

Oh dear.

I hope you had the music backed up somewhere.

It is always tragic to lose such a friend.

Miss_K said...

Oh yesh, we have an external hard drive for my tunage. I'd have FREAKED OUT if I'd had to reload all the music back into it.

Hey, didn't something similar happen to you in the not too distant past?

Daniel said...

Yes and I had not backed up my music...

I need to buy an external hard drive sometime.

Some music is backed on my laptop (iTunes folders) and take up too much space.

Anonymous said...

You dirty RAT! I thought you were writing about..............

Never again will I read your writing unless I read it backwards.

ole norm