I found out yesterday that an old co-worker of mine, Henry, has been diagnosed with brain cancer. It happened rather suddenly. One day he started having trouble writing things down – he’d write rather sluggishly, forget words, etc. – and then he started having trouble formulating words when talking. It got to the point where the people at my old workplace, usually preoccupied with the million complicated tasks that have to get done every day over there, noticed and sent him to the doctor. The doctor immediately sent him to the neurologist to get an MRI scan, whereupon they discovered two tumors in his brain. They flew him out to the Mayo Clinic to operate on the tumors, and afterwards did tests and found out that they were malignant. Not only that, but the type of cancer that he has is apparently fast-growing, aggressive, and has a high chance of recurrence.
I haven’t seen him in awhile, because I have this stupid reluctance to visit my old office. The only people left who I really talked to were Henry and this girl from Brazil named Ana, who I haven’t kept in touch with very well either. The few times I’ve visited have been the times when my old friends happen not to be in for whatever reason, and I’m left to make awkward conversation with the elderly office manager lady, who had at one point wanted to fire me because I was vague about scheduling, and who likes to talk about how the other student workers that I worked with are now all married and popping out babies (Ana being among them now, I have learned). Uh, okay. So I haven’t been back. And it’s literally right next door to where I work now.
Yes, I’m a shitty friend.
Henry is the personification of the word “easy-going.” He’s about thirty years old now, but one of those guys that still acts like he’s eighteen (in a fun way, not a creepy way, of course). His joking and perpetually calm manner kept us other front deskies sane when we were on the verge of slamming telephones on annoying students and hurling staplers at Beanie in our frustration. We were kind of like war-buddies.
Not knowing what else to do to make up for the crummy show of friendship on my end, I am going to knit him a scarf. I was initially going to make a blanket, but then I had the depressing thought that it might take too long and…I don’t know. I don’t really want to articulate the rest of that sentence. He’s recovering from the surgery well enough, said my elderly ex-boss, and was apparently able to go jogging on Sunday. It goes without saying that I hope all goes well for him.
Oh, and I almost forgot – one of the worst parts of all this is that he has no insurance. When this happened, he was the insurance coordinator for the office, and part of his job was to make sure that every incoming international student gets signed up with adequate health coverage. And he himself had no insurance, having graduated recently and losing his student insurance. Gotta love this country and its fucked-up priorities.
**Edit: I have decided, after attempting a more boring brown-white-red scarf, to knit Henry a scarf styled after the Danish flag:
He’s of Danish heritage (his full (real) name is really, really Danish). Also, we had an “ethnic foods” potluck at work one day, and he brought this weird Danish herring in a jar that was kind of awful. I thought it might cheer him up and put him in memory of good times, and also be unique and fun to wear. How many people do you see walking around with the Danish flag around their neck? Not too many, I’d wager.
Later, it occured to me that undertaking a Danish scarf might also be interpreted as a political statement, in light of all the embassy bombings of late. So I guess I’m knitting on behalf of free speech, against blowing things up, and for warm necks for friends in need.
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