Last year a good friend of mine here in Bangkok fell deathly ill. When I say deathly, I'm not exaggerating. He was sick for a long time, and didn't go in to see a doctor until he was so weak and debilitated that he could hardly move. Once a few tests were run, it was determined that what we'd all feared was true — he had aggressive lung cancer.
He checked into hospital for additional tests. I left him in the afternoon, and by the next day he was in intensive care, with a ventilator down his throat. He'd fallen down the evening before, and the doctors and nurses had had to give him CPR.
It was really touch and go for quite a long time, at least a month, with him in ICU. He was being fed intravenously and he couldn't breath on his own. We weren't sure he would survive.
But little by little, with aggressive chemotherapy, he began to improve. Eventually, he was taken off the ventilator and was well enough to head home for more treatment.
I kept in touch with him, sometimes through his family, for the better part of a year. He had CAT scans, MRIs, massive doses of chemo and radiation therapy. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see him again, much less if he'd ever be able to once again leave to US and return to Asia — a part of the world he'd spent much of his life in and that he truly loved.
But return he did.
Last week I saw my old friend in the flesh again. I say in the flesh, but what I really mean is skin and bones. He's really a shadow of his former self. I don't know how much weight he's lost, but it's at least a whole person's worth. When I gave him a gingerly hug, I could feel his bones protruding though his paper-thin skin.
Seeing him like that was a bit unsettling, but I can tell you that it's not the worst I've ever seen him. He's in good spirits and very happy to be back in Bangkok. All his friends here are on strict orders to make sure he gets lots to eat and to fatten him up. We're on that task with great enthusiasm.
He'll soon be off to start a new job, in just under a month, and that's a big part of what kept him going during the past year. He always felt that there were new challenges and new things for him to do in the future. Though there were some dire times and terrible things he had to suffer, he never stopped having a goal — something to look forward to. That hope — and his own pig-headedness — is what kept him alive. And I'm very glad it did.
He's thanked me several times for helping him through his rough times here, when he had no family and very few friends to be there, look out for his best interests and keep an eye on him. Sometimes to argue with hospital administrators. Sometimes to check with the nurses to find out how he was doing. Sometimes to call his family back home. Sometimes just to hold his hand when he was scared.
I've told him he doesn't have to thank me. That's what friends do.
The biggest reward is just having him back here among the living.
Sean Vale
Editor
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