Thinking

I was thinking about my friend who died, and about the power of good thoughts.

When I found that she was sick, I asked a friend who was very religious if she would pray for her. I didn’t really think that it would help -- stage four stomach cancer is about as bad as it could be -- but I didn’’t want to miss even the faintest possibility. She did, but it didn’t help. My friend died a week later. I still think about her fairly often. Usually, its just fantasy about being able to go back and help her nip that cancer. Sometimes I remember standing next to her hospital bed, feeling the texture of her hair as I stroked it while she slept. (I just wanted to do something.) And once in a while, I remember being in a low visitor's chair next to her bed a couple of the times when she had to get out of the bed. Those hospital gowns aren’t made for modesty, and when it rode up her legs I saw much more of her than I’d ever seen before, certainly much more than she might have willingly shown me. It was more than a touch erotic, but I wish that those good thoughts had worked, even so. I've have given up those thrilling sights in a heartbeat, for that.

My situation isn’t nearly as bad. But next Tuesday, as the result of something that I wish I could go back and change, I undergo the" ten percent likely" arm surgery (the buzzword is hemiarthroplasty), to be followed by months of rehab. So much for my good thoughts.

Regrets are pretty enduring things.