Don't Be Afraid To Ask

*40* Annie

I had a great conversation with First, because he never avoided any topic.  I liked him even more.  Initially, it wasn't easy to convince Khaotung that I could hang out with First while he was on the set of our series.  I was happy to kill two birds with one stone: convincing First to heal and convincing Khao to take part in our series.

First felt terrible many times, but whenever Khao appeared in the room (usually in the hospital room where First was placed), he immediately put on a cheerful smile.  He claimed that he wanted to be strong for him, that Khaotung had already sacrificed a lot for him and suffered a lot because of him, so he didn't want to show how bad it was in front of him.  Only me, Zee, and NuNew would see his tears and hear his cries of pain when the drugs wore off.  With Khao, he was tough, strong, fearless.  He had changed, but the change seemed to be for his good, because Khaotung actually looked as if a great stone had fallen from his heart.

— I don't want to alarm him —  First used to say, leaning back on the pillows.  — I want him to be happy, I want him to focus on his work, I know that his role is not easy at all, so I want to support him.  He's been with me all this time, now it's my turn to be with him.

How honest First was, taught me a lot.  First of all, that telling the truth can be painful, but it can also protect us from the much more painful consequences of lying.  Every time I came to his room, I would put a bag full of fruit on the cabinet next to his bed, and then report to him the latest events from our surroundings.  I held him up when he needed to go to the bathroom, handed him a cup of soda when he was thirsty, read him my stories, translating them immediately into English, which amused both of us because First didn't know a single word in Polish and  some words and even whole sentences sounded strange to him.  And sometimes I just fell asleep on a bed prepared especially for First's guests, right next to him, holding his hand.

— I may have come to terms with my death, but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid of it — He said one day.  — Can you hold my hand?  I just want to know that someone is here with me, that I'm not alone.

Brutal honesty, without any sweetening, without embellishing the ugly truth - that I valued very highly.

How well I understood!  Many times, not so long ago, I sat in the dark in my room in Poland and cried thinking about how lonely I am.  And although I wanted all this suffering to end, although I wanted to leave, death itself terrified me.  But my greatest fear was dying alone when you know you're leaving, when you're scared and there's no one there to give you their hand, to sit by you and assure you that no matter what, they won't forget you.  The warmth of another person's hand can ease pain and drive away fear, making it easier to cross that line of no return.  You just feel calmer when you know someone is next to you.  Therefore, if the doctors allowed it on a given day, I would lie down next to First, hold him tightly and let him sleep in my arms.  First was my friend, and although Perth was a little pissed off at first when he saw this, I managed to explain to him why I was doing this.

— For First sleep is a very good medicine.  When he sleeps, he feels no pain, and in the meantime his body is slowly learning to fight again.  It won't be easy, but I believe he will recover and if my closeness is helping him, then please let me do it. — I told him.  We were standing in the corridor of the hospital where First was staying.  He was having more tests done, so we were asked to leave for now.

From time to time other patients of different ages, young and old, children and adults, men and women, walked along the corridor.  Illness and death didn't divide people into better and worse, rich and poor, straight and gay, they both affected everyone equally, regardless of the position occupied by a given patient at work or in society.  One could grimly say that the only justice was that – Death.