I got up at o-dark-thirty to drive my good friend to the cancer center for her infusion. She has a rare form of cancer and has to have infusions for three days; then a couple weeks off. The infusions last 8 hours or more, each. She is one of the neatest people I know. She brought homemade cinnamon buns for the nurses and shared one with me. I sat there, enjoying my treat, licking my sticky fingers, while they attached the infusion to her permanent port in her chest. She smiled at my enjoyment, and at the same time, asked the nurse for a little something for nausea. I ate the damn bun as quickly as I could, conflicted between hurting her feelings, and “Oh my God, I don’t feel so good myself”….Her cell phone rang, as a text came through. She anxiously picked up her phone and I could see a smile cross her face. “It’s one of my kids. They always send me a text on infusion day.” I asked her what they say. She said, “Good luck, Mom. Stay strong. I love you.” The phone rang a second time, and a third. She didn’t pick them up, as she was growing sleepy from the drug. She was smiling though. She knew exactly what they said.