From Boarding School to Beverly Hills...
One woman’s quest to find true friendship
It’s the middle of winter, my husband has just been diagnosed with cancer and all I can think is, ‘I have no friends. Oh my God, I have no friends.’ Before you think me horribly selfish, or distracted at best, let me explain. We’re stuck in the waiting room of a busy Urologist’s. To my right is an old man who looks bored and disinterested, as though he’s been battling cancer his entire life. On the other side sits a younger man with sheer terror written all over his unwrinkled face. And next to me is my husband of 10 years, Christian, quietly staring into space as his right foot taps away maniacally. He’s worried about his prognosis, I know that, and completely unaware that it’s 20 minutes to three. The children need picking up from school and we’re an hour’s drive away. I don’t want to bother Christian with this now. I don’t want to bother him at all. But I have gone through my mobile phone contact list and come up short. As I slip the useless thing back into my handbag, I realise I have no choice.
“Do you know anyone who could get the kids from school?” I ask softly, embarrassed. He looks at me, confused. “It’s nearly 3pm, sweetie.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Christian shakes himself out of his reverie and retrieves his own phone. Within minutes he has scanned his address book, chosen from any number of possibilities, and placed the call. “Glenn will get the boys for us. Happy to. Says not to worry.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and he goes back to his tapping. But it’s not the kids I’m worrying about. It’s me. I am riddled with guilt and feelings of impotency. In my husband’s hour of need, I cannot offer him the kind of support he can offer me.
I read once that everybody needs at least three reliable friends they can call on in a crisis. Now, at the age of 42, a crisis had landed firmly in my lap and I have been found wanting. From the minute my husband discovered that odious little lump, our life has quickly spiraled into a seemingly endless stream of specialist appointments, medical tests and surgery. With young sons aged five and eight, a seven-acre property, and no close family living close by, now is as good a time as any to call on those ‘friends’ to help with babysitting, lawn-mowing, whatever it is we might need. The problem is, when I take a mental stroll through my address book, the journey quickly becomes very unsettling. Forget three reliable friends, I cannot think of even one. Not one single friend to collect the kids or provide a shoulder to cry on or bring over a comforting casserole when it all gets too much.
Don’t get me wrong. From the moment the whiff of cancer entered our lives, dozens of people have called to offer their help and support. Mortifyingly, not one call came in for me. At least, not from anyone who lived within a 250-kilometre radius. You see, I’m not completely friend-free. Honestly I’m not! I do have some really great mates, most of whom have been close friends for more than 20 years. Unfortunately, when I say close, I don’t mean it literally. They all live far, far away—like that mythical castle you rarely get to see. Three girlfriends live about 900 km away. Two others live in an entirely different state. That makes them fantastic for occasional phone calls and Facebook photo swapping sessions but not much use for scooping up kids at a moment’s notice.
How did I get to this? ... tbc
