DailySusan Humor Blog

SUNDAY: Radiant Beams

ChemoSabe

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
-- Proverbs 17:17

I hadn't seen my friend Michelle for a year. Then I saw her three times in a week, at a football game, a lecture, and a concert.

Each time, I resolved to call her to ask what she had done to comfort her best friend, who died recently of cancer. Michelle had been with her every step of the way.

That same week, I was still trembly over what had just happened to my husband's best friend. He had miraculously survived an aortic aneurysm. We had prayed our brains out for him.

The next day, I got a call from MY best friend.

''It seems I have leukemia,'' she said.

''No, you don’t,'' was my brilliant reply.

Yes, she did. And it was advanced.

I zoomed right over. Diagnosis: Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. We hugged, we cried, we surfed the Internet, we prayed face down on the floor . . . and we laughed 'til tears of joy mixed with tears of grief.

Chemotherapy will start soon. There may have to be a bone-marrow transplant. This was a trial with a capital T.

I looked deep into her beautiful brown eyes.

''Are you ready to fight?'' I asked.

The answer was there before she spoke. ''Yes, with the help of my faith, my family, and my friends.''

She's Cindy Moore, the person with the most smarts and savoir-faire I know. She's adroit with people. She's skilled with decorating. She knows history. She's up on politics. She has done a ton of good things for the community. She's the wife of Omaha pediatrician John Moore and mother of two lovely daughters, Caroline and Madeleine.

She's always been there for me, a big sister type.

Now the tables are turned. I'm going to have to be the strong one. Am I up to it?

What had Cindy said? ''Yes, with the help of my faith, my family, and my friends.''

It's been amazing to watch the help flow toward us from those three things. Friends with chemo experience have advised: know the cycles. Bring food. Get a great wig. Expect sickness. Leave her alone sometimes, but not for long. Give lots of phone calls, notes, gifts, outings, thoughtful gestures.

Just be there. Be a friend. Be a ''chemosabe.''

And be in prayer. I prayed hard for a miracle for Cindy while I was out driving, and immediately saw a car with this license plate: ''LONG W8.''

Meaning, she'll be cured, but it'll take a while. 10-4, Lord!

More help: my uncle and cousins shepherded my aunt through leukemia; they can ''translate'' the technical jargon for me.

Two friends have had hospice training; they're sharing insider tips for comforting those with chronic conditions.

People are responding sweetly in character. Her husband's been fantastic. Her daughters sang a gorgeous duet on Christmas Eve, just for her. Her sisters call and send cards daily. Her brother flexes his muscles and brags that he has ''the largest supply of bone marrow in the world,'' and that God and he are ''tight.''

A neighbor is taking over her carpooling duties. Several others put Cindy's name on prayer chains.

Ironically, Cindy talked me into doing Bible study with her this past fall, her first such experience. She just felt an urge. That's how God moved her into ''community,'' with a dozen new friends praying for her with purpose and skill.

What I love best is how this is drawing Cindy closer to God. She came out of some rigorous medical tests on a gray day before Christmas, feeling small, scared and alone.

She looked up at the sunset . . . and saw a rainbow.

A promise in the sky.

I'm here, Cindy. I'm with you. Emmanuel: God with us. With you.

She cried. So did we all.

Yes, she has a Best Friend. The rest of us have the privilege of being His hands and feet in this trial, to care for her and carry her through.

You're never a lone ranger when you have that Friend . . . and His band of ''chemosabes.''

Listen up, leukemia: you don't stand a chance. Heigh ho, Silver, and away!