Time: post 1x21
"Hi, my name is Beth and my best friend has AML. From the moment April admitted to me she was sick, I felt like I was at a loss for what to do and how to help. We had only met a few years earlier, right when she graduated from Vassar and I moved to the States, because we were the same age and both newbies at the coffee shop. But in those few years, the Carver family had become my family and I couldn't imagine my life without them. Without Sara and Emma, who were my pseudo-mom and –grandmom and always welcomed me into their home. Without the feisty Brenna, who I could tell had a hard time figuring out how to handle it when her dad died just as she was realizing that she didn't want the same life path as her 'perfect' older sister. But most of all, without April. April, who didn't expect an ounce of sympathy from me when I realized that she gave up a dream internship in New York to move home with her grandmother, mom, and sister and work in a Boston coffee shop after her dad died. April, who was the most focused and driven person I had ever met. April, who welcomed me with open arms when I didn't know a soul in the States. April, who helped me understand what it meant to stick around through the hard times instead of bolting the country when things got difficult or stopped being exciting. April, who I considered more than my best friend but my sister."
"So when I heard her say the words "I have leukemia," and then continue to tell me that she couldn't tell her family because they wouldn't be able to handle the news, I felt like there was nothing for me to do but sit there and cry, and tell her "You can't die!" And because she's April and she takes care of people, there was nothing for her to do but jump up to comfort me. At first I completely freaked out and tried to protect her, but after a few days it was pretty clear that I was suffocating her and not really helping. So I backed off—tried to switch gears and play the 'supporting friend' role. That was especially tough the first few weeks before she even told her whole family, and then when we were preparing for her first round of chemo. But we got through four months of treatment and then she was in remission and we actually had a few months when we were both normal 20-somethings with increasingly demanding jobs. It was hard because our relationship changed so much when she got sick and then it kind of felt like our lives were pulling farther and farther apart, but the bond because of what we went through really held us together even when we fought. She's the best friend I've ever had and ever will have, no matter what happens."
"But then about a week ago, April found out she relapsed. And it's a lot more aggressive this time, which really scares me. We got 24 final hours of normalcy, and now she's back in the hospital doing the whole chemo process all over again. In the past few days I've spent more time at her bedside in the oncology ward than I've spent 'on the outside.' Last time she had chemo I was unemployed thanks to a reality check from April to 'set goals for yourself, take some risks to achieve them, and do it sooner rather than later because the future is totally uncertain.' This time I do have a job and the future is even more uncertain, so I basically decided to take a risk by ignoring my boss as much as possible. I've been there while she was feeling good and wanted to find me a boyfriend or even write a freelance article for the paper. I've sat there just holding her hand or snuggled while she napped peacefully. I've jumped up to push her IV pole and guide her on the walk to the bathroom when she started feeling nauseous and throwing up. I've had sleepovers regularly interrupted by beeping machines and nurses who kept coming in to draw blood, give blood, or make her take even more pills. Last time I cut and styled my best friend's ever-thinning hair and marveled in amazement when her newly shaved head made her look even more determined, and this time I was so so proud of her for embracing the bald right from the beginning. I still feel like I'm being punched in the gut every time I walk into her room and see her lying there alone and feeling weak, but I put on my best "supportive best friend" face, crack a joke and ask if she's ready for some fun, and bring out another movie/trashy reality TV show/board game to keep us entertained for the next few hours, often accompanied by a new scarf or beanie. I am regularly amazed and inspired by how often she refuses assistance, the insistence with which she says "I'm gonna be fine," her desire to go for a walk (however short) even when she is weak enough to actually admit it, and above all the fact that she refuses to give up her duties as the big sister. I just love that girl so much, and I-I can't possibly imagine my life without her. She's gotten better at accepting it, but every time she starts talking about the possibility I—" My voice finally cracks, and suddenly I realize how long I've been talking and snap out of my daze.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't all want to hear me go on about her like this and you really don't want to watch me cry. This is a support group for family members and I'm just a friend. I just needed somebody to talk to who would understand, and the only people I have are…well the only people I'm close to here in Boston are April's family. So… I'm gonna go check on April now. Thanks for listening."
I was leaving the multi-purpose room and on my way to the elevators when I heard "Wait!" from a girl who looked to be about Brenna's age, running to catch up. "Hi, my name is Katie and well…I'm like you. Technically a friend, but always felt like more of a family member. Um, do you need to go see April right now, or do you have a few more minutes to talk with me?"
I'm not really in the mood to keep talking after already spilling so much, but this girl seems nice and Brenna's supposed to be there tonight so it's not like April will be alone and anyway, I'm still crying and there is NO WAY I'm letting April see me this way. "Sure, I can talk for a few." We find a couch in the reception area to sit down, and I text Brenna to let them know I'll be upstairs later.