Not just for the 90s (hehe)

When a friend of mine read about the cancer journey I’m on, she texted to ask what she could do. Throughout this ordeal, I’ve tried, when people ask that question, to be as specific and practical as possible—I figure that’s best for everyone involved.

At the moment she texted me, I happened to be feeling disappointed because I was out of coffee.

When I first came home from surgery and started immunotherapy, I lost my taste for coffee, which made me sad. There’s a ritual piece to making coffee each morning that I really enjoy. But for a while, I couldn’t tolerate hot or warm beverages—I craved cold, sweet things with ample amounts of ice. I got out of the habit of picking up coffee when grocery shopping, and when I did crave it again, I’d find I often didn’t have any at home.

In a far more succinct way, I texted my friend about my coffee conundrum and asked if she wanted to help me remember to keep coffee on hand.

“I can do that,” she texted back.

And she did.

A little while later, I received an email from a coffee mail service asking for my preferences. It was nice—fun, even—to complete a survey that had nothing to do with my health or well-being. Shortly after that, coffees from around the world—roasted to my specifications—began arriving in the mail.

It’s nice, getting presents (other than bills and scary notices) in the mail. When I make coffee in the morning, I think of my friend Eva and all the incredible productions we’ve worked on together, the meals we’ve shared, and the life lessons we’ve swapped. It makes me happy, even if just for a few moments.

For me, the most challenging part about all this cancer stuff has been the abruptness with which it’s changed how I think about my time and abilities. I’ve always considered myself remarkably resilient, hard-working, and creative—someone with a tenacity to perpetually figure it out.

Lately, that’s felt less true.

Maybe that’s why my Eva coffee felt even more important this morning than usual—and why my upcoming trip to see Emily for Easter feels necessary, too.

Another lifetime when Eva and I worked on Ted Cutler’s “Outside the Box” festival in Boston.