So I’ll be brief.Christa was one of the three people who got me through the divorce. She’s one of the three people who took turns coming to see me, to check on me, and to lighten the agonizing load of depression and anxiety, week after week. I’ve known her since she was a teenager, and she’s grown into one of the bravest, funniest, smartest adults I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. She’s one of the (very few) people who can call me at 3am from a foreign jail and say “GET ME OUT OF HERE,” and have me roll out of bed and get on a plane to mount a rescue operation, and vice versa. (Note: this hasn’t happened, but it’s nice to know, right?)
Christa is in her mid-20s now. She has Hodgkin’s lymphoma.Since she’s so young, she’s on a pretty aggressive chemo. Her hair started falling out by the handful last week, so she got some wigs and shaved her head–and then she came over and shaved mine.
“Are you sure?” she kept asking. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
The hell I didn’t. Fuck cancer, man. Fuck it. This is my girl, one of my two best friends in the entire world. We’ve relied on each other, gotten each other through so goddamn much.
The worst thing is that this is an enemy I can’t hunt down and beat the shit out of for her.You guys know I rarely ask. But if you have some change rattling around, and feel a need to throw it at something, there’s a gofundme for Christa’s medical bills. Should you feel moved to contribute, thank you. So that’s why I’m rocking the Buddhist nun look lately. And wearing hats.