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I met Andrea when we were both freshman at Hood College. I remember the day well, because it was the same day that I learned my grandfather had just died. I went to dinner hoping to meet some friends, and came across a few girls I knew, and one person I vaguely recognized from classes. When I told them what had happened, the girl I didn't really know immediately came over and asked if she could give me a hug. That was our first official meeting.
Later I went with Andrea back to her room (it turned out we were in the same dorm), and in the conversation that followed, she told me everything about her disease, and how much it affected her life. I remember that that conversation as one of the most intense and overwhelming of my life, because everything she said was so far beyond my experience it was almost incomprehensible. I could hardly take it all in at the time, but one thing stood out: Andrea was different from anyone else I knew. She experienced life from a totally different perspective, and it was hardly a pleasant one. The prospect of continuing to know her was more than a little daunting. If there was ever a time to have turned away, that was it. I did not leave, and I'm glad to say that I never have.
We were in a class together that semester, and often got together to study and do homework. I saw firsthand just how Andrea's RSD affected everything she did when I saw her forced to miss classes because she literally could not manage to sit in the room for two hours at a time, or couldn't keep up with her notes because her hand hurt too much to write. One time our professor was talking to us, and patted her arm as he walked away. He meant it as a friendly gesture, but she turned to me once he was gone and whispered, Šü“I almost screamed when he touched me like that. A person who could be injured by a light touch that was intended to be kindŠü”I had never imagined such a thing before.
Five years have passed since then, and Andrea and I are still good friends. Some things have gotten easier, but it has never truly been easy. Andrea experiences so much pain as a natural part of her life, and is required to deal with more (physically, emotionally, and spiritually) than anyone else I know. As she herself reminds me, RSD has shaped who she is today. She can never forget her disease, and neither can I. Anytime I start to, I am always reminded that RSD can not be pushed off to one side or dismissed. My friendship with her has always been on a much different level than with other people I know. In a lot of ways, this friendship requires more work. It's especially hard when I know she's hurting, and I can't do anything about it. It's difficult to effectively sympathize with someone when you truly cannot comprehend the agony they are in. I'm often left wanting to say something, but the best I can come up with are empty platitudes that I know won't be welcome, and that sound pathetic even to me.
There have even been times (mercifully limited) when I've wondered if the burden is too much to carry. I have seen it happen to other people close to Andrea, who fell away because they could not continue to be friends with her. But I will not be one of those people. Leaving would not only hurt Andrea (which I absolutely refuse to do), but it would also take away a friend that I cannot bear to say good-bye to. I can talk with her about things I can't really express with other people. This relationship might involve hard work, but it is fulfilling in a way that no other friendship could be. RSD is hard to deal with, even for someone who doesn't have it, and it makes it hard to stay, especially since as someone who does not have the disease, it can be temptingly easy to simply beg out and go. But this is my fight against RSDŠü”to keep it from coming between me and my friend. And there is no way on this earth that I am going to let RSD claim that victory over me.
Being the friend of someone with RSD, as with any other chronic disease, is no simple task. I could say it gets easier over time, and things will definitely turn out all right, but that's not something I or anyone else can guarantee. Like the one who must battle the disease, friends also face a never-ending struggle, though our struggle is different. I cannot walk away from my friend, and that means standing with her, and being nearby so she can have the support she needs. Being there might not sound like much, but it can often be the hardest thing of all to manage. And as Andrea often tells me, it can also make a world of difference to one you're standing there for. My greatest help is staying at her side, and joining the struggle as much as I can. There is a limit to what I can take on, but if my friend needs me, I will help her. I care about her too much to do anything else.
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