Saturday, August 25, 2007
Poor Buddy

There's this guy at work named Buddy, I barely know him. He's a nice guy, though, liked by everyone. He used to be a headbanger, apparently, but now he's just a suburban dad, a little older than me, with a wife and two young kids at home, working as a PC tech.

A couple of weeks ago, he hurt his back doing chores around the house, so his wife took him to the emergency room. They checked his spine carefully, and found that he wasn't badly hurt... except that something was wrong. There was a thing on his spine. Probably nothing, but he'd had a touch of the melanoma a few years back, and they wanted to be thorough. So they scheduled some more tests, and he came back to work. He was there last week. Hell, he was there on Monday.

Yesterday he was at the hospital again, in considerable pain. They said he had the beginnings of liver and kidney failure. They still hadn't gotten his test results back yet. Today, I'm told, he was diagnosed with massive, pervasive cancer in his spine and multiple organs. He'll be dead very soon, and nobody is pretending otherwise. He asked them to drug him up enough for him to take his kids to Disney World next week.

Like I said, I barely know this guy. But god damn. How can you not be affected by something like that, even if it occurs only on the perimeter of your life? Sickness happens, and death happens. By the time you get to your 30s, you've probably known a few people who've dealt with serious illness, some of them tragically. This isn't the only cancer diagnosis I've known of. But usually when the word "cancer" comes up, especially among the young, it's scary, but it's something that people cope with, deal with, fight against. It's a dark cloud, not a death sentence. It's something they get through.

But not this guy. It's over for him. There's nothing left to do but to go to Disney World, and then come home to die.

God, poor Buddy.
10:15 AM ::
Amy :: permalink
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