[img]396|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]I’m not crying as much anymore. My best friend Amy was in the ICU for five weeks due to H1N1. There were times when it was touch and go, but I soldiered on and did what I could. I visited nearly every day after work. I had my cell phone out at work to answer any calls of updates. I kept my cell phone by my pillow to take any calls in the middle of the night. I checked in daily with either Amy’s partner or two mutual friends. I, in turn, gave updates to about five other people on a regular basis.
I kept it together. I went to work, ate regular meals, and got through each day. The longest amount of time I spent in the ICU visiting Amy was six hours. I brought a book, a notebook, and money for the cafeteria. Those six hours flew by; I just got used to my routine:
Sanitize hands. Enter ICU. Put on surgical mask. Enter room. Sanitize hands. Hang out. Repeat every day or so for five weeks.
The first time I lost it was the day that I went into Amy’s room. I had my mask on, and no one else did. Amy’s partner Leslie said, “We don’t need masks any more. No more H1N1!” Well, I smiled at first, but I had to leave the room and break down. I was crying so hard, a nurse came over and sat me down in an empty room with a big tissue. Amy wasn’t even awake at this point, but it was a huge step.
The next time I broke down was the day that Amy was awake. She couldn’t talk or move, but she tracked me with her eyes. I kept moving from one side of her bed to the other so she would move her eyes to see me. I don’t know how much she actually “saw.” But it was another step, and I cried again. Hard.
Then Amy went through a strange period coming out of a drug-induced state. I didn’t cry much about that. When Amy went to the rehab hospital to work on her muscles, I went to visit her for the first time. My best friend Amy was back. Really back. And I cried. I was scared to in front of her, because I didn’t want to scare her. But she said I could. So I did. She lay in bed, and we talked for two hours.
And Then She Was Back
I went to see her again a week later, and she was standing up, waiting for me. I…you guessed it. We played Scrabble for the first time in six weeks. At one point, I was emoting, talking about some difficult period when she was in the hospital. I got emotional, and was going on and on when she interrupted me, saying, “Um, Alex, can you go? ‘Cause I have a good word here.”
Now she’s back home and making great strides, literally. She’s better. She survived. It’s a miracle. I’m very very happy. But I keep crying.
The other night I was on the subway, and I passed the stop where I used to get off to go to the hospital. I said in my head, “Keep on going, train, ‘cause I ain’t getting off here!” and I smiled. Then I burst into tears, right there on the subway.
Whenever Amy says the word “Scrabble,” I cry. And when I talk about her progress to my friends, I cry. When I listened to the first voicemail message she left me since she got better, I cried. No one gets it. “She’s better! Thank God! She’s home!” I almost lost my best friend, and I held it together. Now that she’s okay, I can let loose. It’s safe to. It feels cathartic, but it took me by surprise.
I’m not crying as much anymore, but when I feel it coming, I let it out. Guess what I’ve been doing the whole time I’ve been writing this? Amy, I’m glad you’re back! Could you hand me a tissue?
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at campbellalexandra@hotmail.com
