Miss Ann Thrope reminded us in her post that September is National Ovarian Cancer month. Reading this, reminded me of a brave friend who died last year from this horrible disease.

I've written about my friend a few times, here and there in my blog, but wanted to honor her again by telling her story.

Cindy was one of those people that made you laugh, no matter what your day was like. I was fortunate enough to have an office three doors down from hers on our floor, so we'd go in each others' office, shut the door and have laugh breaks a couple of times a day.

We needed those laughs back then because we were both working with some very cranky people.

Cindy came into my office one day and said that she wasn't feeling very well. She had this pain in the upper right quadrant of her abdomen. Alarms went off in my head because I know that as either liver pain (not exactly the liver, but the nerves surrounding it) or gallbladder pain. I told her that she ought to go see her doctor about it because she fit into the "four f" category, that doctor's refer to when they suspect gallbladder issues:
- Fat (she wasn't fat, but she was overweight)
- Female
- Fair
- Forty (she was actually about 50)

Her doctor ran some blood tests, including liver function tests, but told her that the pain could be caused by a clumsy accident she had the previous weekend- she had a push-mower and ended up falling over the top of it.

I asked her to write down the numbers when they called back with her lab results, since I'm pretty much an expert at liver function test numbers (LFTs). I know what it means when "x" is elevated .vs "y" or what might be considered alarming numbers.

She got her results back and her LFTs were alarmingly high, but again, her doctor told her that she might have bruised her liver when she fell on the handle of the lawnmower.

He could have been right, because any sort of injury to the liver will cause it to freak out and spill a lot of enzymes into the blood stream. But Cindy didn't feel better a few weeks later, so I insisted that she go back to her doctor.

He ran more tests and her LFTs were still very high, so he ordered a CT scan and an ultrasound.

That's when they found her ovarian cancer.

The LFTs were completely unrelated to the ovarian cancer, and most likely were caused by falling on the lawnmower. But if she hadn't fallen on the lawnmower, she wouldn't have had the tests leading to this discovery. I was sure that this was a sign that she was meant to beat this cancer.

Early detection of ovarian cancer offers a 90 percent cure rate. Sadly, a lack of symptoms from this silent disease means that about 75 percent of ovarian cancer cases will have spread to the abdomen by the time they are detected and, unfortunately, most patients die within five years.

I was hoping she was one of the early detections.

Sadly, she wasn't.

Cindy had a flying pig collection LONG before she received this diagnosis, but her collection grew to mighty proportions after word trickled through the company about the cancer. I bought her flying pig pj's for her surgery and hospital stay. I hoped they'd bring her luck. If nothing else, they were funny to look at and I knew how much she liked to laugh.

She ended up on both radiation and chemo and it looked like she was cured after about a year. During this time, she continued to come to work, donning a wig over her bald head.

It was also about this time that I moved to another division in my company and we were no longer neighbors.

I'd go visit her on occasion at home. She lived on a lovely little island with her two cats. When she was at home, she wouldn't wear the wig because it made her head itchy. I never really liked that wig because it didn't look like her hair.

Eventually her hair grew back and life got back to normal. Since we were no longer neighbors, our visits became farther and farther apart because we didn't have the daily reminder of how important our friendship was. Eventually, we became the type of friends who know that they're friends, but it's not very evident based on the amount of communication.

I have lots of friends like that.

A couple of years ago, she happened to be in my building, I saw her from a distance and was shocked at what I saw. She was wearing the scarf she used to wear when I'd visit her at home. She was going into a meeting, so I didn't want to interrupt her.

Instead, I emailed her. It was one of the most difficult email messages I've ever sent because I felt SO guilty about not keeping in touch and having to find out about the recurrence of her cancer this way.

I simply wrote, "I saw you today from a distance and don't like what I saw. I'd like to talk to you about this."

She called me that day and we caught up. True enough, the cancer had returned with a vengeance. Still, we fell back into that old pattern of laughing together. It was in this conversation that she told me that I made her laugh like nobody else could.

This is something I'll remember until the day I die.

For the next two years, she continued on a roller coaster of chemo and radiation. She was on a feeding tube off and on for over a year because her throat was so raw from the treatments, she was unable to eat.

I found this out when I tried to set a lunch date with her. She told me why she couldn't eat, so I said that we could just have "pretend we're working, but instead we're cutting up" meetings- just like the old days. We'd schedule a real lunch when she was able to eat again.

To enable her to continue working, she sold her beautiful property on the island and rented a condo just down the street from the office. This way, she could come home and nap when she needed to. She said she missed the quiet of the island, but since she was single, she had to keep working so she could cover the medical bills and keep her medical insurance.

She had a brief period where she was able to eat again, so I set up a lunch date with her and told her that she gets to pick the restaurant. I emailed her the morning of our lunch date asking where we were going to meet. After not receiving a reply for three hours, I called her voicemail. It indicated that she'd be out for an indefinate amount of time.

I knew what that meant.

The last time I talked to her on the phone, I knew it wouldn't be long. She didn't even pretend to try to have energy to talk with me, so I kept the conversation brief and asked her if I could come visit her. I told her that I'd help her clean her apartment, but she said that she didn't have the energy for even that. That was the last conversation we had.

I didn't call her after that because I didn't want her to spend the energy she didn't have. Instead, I sent cards. I never heard anything back from her- but I didn't expect to. I just wanted her to know that I was thinking about her.

I found out that she died through our company newsletter and have to say that it was quite a blow to find out in this manner. How else would I have found out though? We didn't have mutual friends and I didn't know her family.

After the initial reaction of deep sadness, I felt relief for her. She was a much stronger woman that I'd ever hope to be. Seeing her struggle for so many years with the illness caused by chemo and radiation; not being able to eat for over a year; having to go to work even though you feel so awful; well, I just can't fathom it.

I'll always think of her as one of the strongest women I've ever known.

Rest in peace, dear Cindy. I know that wherever you are, there is a lot of laughter.