So there I was, sitting in Jean’s living room, telling her about the time I had to give myself an emergency enema while in Thailand due to the lack of movement in my bowels. She likes this sort of openness, after all, she had just showed me the X-Ray of the newly found lesion on her lung that is most probably cancerous.

Shit. 

I don’t quite know what to say or where to compartmentalize this new feeling. I don’t think I can take much more of “life”. By this, I mean, how many layers upon layers of living and “life happens” and “this is your story” and “how about this for an adventure, Michelle?” I can really take. Now, I know that Jean’s health issue is not about me. But, as you may or may not know, Jean and I have become very close since I’ve arrived here back in July. Daily coffee chats, heaps of advice from her, tips on how to deal with my legal stuff…. she is a mainstay in my Australian adventure. 

And so, I just hope and pray that this doesn’t become what we won’t talk about. We nod and smile and enjoy our many shared things in common. We quickly glazed right on by the fact that both our dads died of lung cancer. She immediately made sure I knew she was not blaming anyone for this and that she knew that after 35 years of smoking, this was bound to happen. 

A small spot on her lung and she still asks me if I’m holding up okay still. Life as I know it is evolving at a rate I am unsure of. This is not some Tuesdays with Morrie shit. This is my pal next door, Jean, who is scrappy and feisty and too full of pride to say she is scared shitless and needs help. 

Life. It just doesn’t let up.