Besties

My very dear friend Lori Greenisen Masset came to visit from Wisconsin. We met at Elmbrook Hospital where we were both candy stripers. We attended the same high school, but Lori is a year older than me, so I didn’t know her until I started at the hospital. Now, what we were doing as candy stripers is anyone’s guess. It may have been community service for my Catholic confirmation class. I’m not sure why Lori was volunteering, but we became fast friends. We smoked cigarettes on our breaks and liked the same boy who worked at the hospital in the maintenance department. He had red hair and a swagger. Lori still insists I stole him from her. That’s up for debate, but I do admit, that was something I was capable of doing way back when. I have since apologized for being a bad friend. Those adolescent wounds run deep, and I am grateful that Lori accepted me back into her life when I reached out fifteen years ago. But this isn’t that story. This is the story of Lori coming to visit me a few weeks ago. I needed some laughter, and she needed to get out of the cold Wisconsin winter. Lori was supposed to stay only four days, in which I had thought we could go for a drive through Sonoita wine country, and then maybe spend a day in Tucson. Lori wanted to see the San Javier del Bac Mission.

Plans changed when Lori said she needed a nap and then disappeared into our guestroom. I received a text from her an hour later: Caught some sort of bug. I’m worried I’m going to get you sick.

I immediately went to her room and knocked before entering. I was wearing a mask and handed her one. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

In such a short time, we had gone from catching up at the kitchen table to Lori flat on her back, flushed and feverish with a sore throat and headache. How can this be? I wondered.

“You shouldn’t be in here. You can’t get sick,” she said.

Lori knows my health history. She was being both considerate and crazy. Of course, I wasn’t going to leave her alone in a dark room. I called my sister Kelli to let her know Lori was sick. Kelli was the little sister who got underfoot when Lori and I were sneaking around, smoking and drinking. There’s a lot of history between us. Lori is our honorary sister. “Is she coughing?” Kelli asked.

“She just got sick. I’m not sure what she needs. It could be anything. I’m going to the store to buy a proper thermometer, some pain reliever, and iced tea. Lori likes sweet tea.”

“Buy some Mucinex. It should keep whatever it is from going to her lungs.”

From the store, I texted Lori: I’ll be home soon. Just checking in.

When I didn’t hear anything back, I rushed home. Lori had a fever of 101º, nothing to be too concerned about, but it was just the beginning.

The following day, Lori tested negative for COVID-19, but she was much worse. By 4 pm her temperature was 104º. “That’s it,” I said. “We need to go to the hospital.”

 We live in a rural area with a local hospital, but with a high fever, I wanted Lori to get the best care possible. This meant a trip to Tucson to see a doctor. The problem is the waiting rooms in the ED departments are full. Patients can wait half a day before seeing a doctor. Lori was too sick to sit that long in a plastic chair.

“I’m taking you to Benson Hospital. It’s on the way to Tucson. If you need more care than they can provide, they will transport you to Tucson by ambulance,” I said. It seemed ridiculous then that Lori may need that kind of medical care.

The staff at the Benson Hospital was wonderful. Lori’s fever was high, and the doctor had trouble stabilizing her oxygen level. When the test results came back, Lori had tested positive for Influenza A. “We’re sending you to Tucson Medical Center,” the doctor said.

It was getting late. I couldn’t go with her, so I called my husband to say I would be home soon. “You’re going to be fine,” I told Lori, more to convince myself.

The following morning, I called the hospital. Lori had pneumonia, but her fever was down. She gushed over the staff. “Everyone was amazing,” she said. Later that day, I drove to Tucson and picked her up.

By the time we got home, I had a fever and was coughing. “Oh, no,” Lori said. “See, I got you sick. I am so sorry, Beth.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

It was Thursday, the day Lori was supposed to leave. Neither one of us was going anywhere.

Lori was taking Tamiflu, and it was working. I thought if things got worse for me, I would call my doctor for a prescription. Over the weekend, Lori improved but my fever and headache kept me in bed.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Lori asked Sunday morning before the shuttle arrived to take her to the airport.

I laughed. “This whole thing is so stupid,” I said.

I still had a fever and headache. I was also nauseous and dehydrated. Ron drove me to Benson Hospital and after being given fluids, pain relievers, anti-nausea medication, and steroids to help my lungs (bronchitis), I was discharged three hours later. The staff was terrific.

I sent Lori a text along with a photo of the hospital: I hope you made it home safely and BTW, does this place look familiar?

But this isn’t the story, either. The story is about friendship and love, and wanting what is best for the people we care about. I made Lori chicken soup when she was here, and she cleaned the kitchen even though both of us craved our beds and solitude. We are both still coughing and in need of midday naps, but we are on the mend. I can tell because we’re laughing again at all the things in life that seem absurd.

When I was young, I envied friendships spanning decades. The inside jokes, sideways glances, the unapologetic intimacy of a touch, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek. I wanted to be one of those women someday. And here we are, Lori and I, two old friends who once liked the same boy and drank beer at the local drive-in with a wacky group of misfits. We swam at Lannon Quarry in the summer and played cards around her kitchen table on weekends in the winter. She slept at my house where my sisters drove us nuts, and I slept at hers where her older brother often rolled his eyes at us before walking out of the room.

Lori and I are both old enough to understand that this was nothing more than an inconvenient blip on life’s journey. There will be more vacations, more stories to tell, and more memories to make. We have finally arrived at that sacred place where a lifelong friendship means something.

Full Disclosure: The photo of Lori and me is a few years old, but who’s counting?