“Have you ever had to drink this stuff?” Nicole asked.

“No,” shaking my head.

She was hanging onto the jug of Golightly making a sideways face, her eyebrows lifted.

Me, I was on my way to work at medical records at the U of M, passing through the pharmacy.

Nicole and I met when she was nineteen and I was twenty-two. I worked at Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis at the coffee place and the atrium around the corner was having a CF round table event. My nurse, Mary Jo McCracken, was one of the attendees. I didn’t go to the CF round table, a bit too much for me. But afterward, Mary Jo introduced Nicole to me.

Note: this is before cross-contamination was known. Then, CFers could talk freely and engage with one another.

She often went by Nikki, but I called her Nicole. I tend to use full names, rather than the shorter version. To me, they sound nicer, rounder, and more distinct.

Nicole was petite even wearing jean overalls. Shorter than me, pale with a touch of rosy red cheeks. Fine blond hair and perked up the moment you said her name.

A few months went by, I couldn’t tell you how many to be exact, and I walked into my math course at the U of M. I step down a few rows and looked to my left and about midway through sat Nicole. I didn’t notice her at first glance, but then as I got closer I said, “Hey” and she smiled and said “Hey” in response. I sat down with a seat between us and we were friends from that moment on.

The class was a few floors below ground level, two-three floors. I remember as we climbed, Nicole got a little winded as it was harder to talk as we climbed. So, we slowed it down a half-pace, just enough to continue our conversation.

We saw each other on campus – all across campus. We met at Breuggers, met for coffee, sometimes planned and sometimes not. I remember one such morning it was 7am as I walked on in, and she was already standing in line. I was off to radiology rotations and she was off to class shortly. She was working on getting her child psychology BA.

I met her husband, Mike, at the annual CF Conference. He was a very sweet guy, gentle, and could tell he cared about Nicole quite a bit. We met at the CF climb; she couldn’t climb but Mike did for her. I drove over to her place and exchanged Christmas gifts.

We talked and caught up – every time we made each other laugh. We laughed a lot. She told me one time, “Whenever I see you, you cheer me up.”

She never said too much about how she felt, but one time she had bruises all over and she said they were regulating her Vitamin K. One time at the coffee shop, her hair seemed finer and limper, and she was thinner. Her upper arms were about as thin as her forearms.

“You look good,” she would say.

“You do too. How you been feeling?”  Sometimes she would tilt her head slightly sideways and make a half-grin.

One day, I received a gift from her in the mail. It was a gift certificate to try out her chiropractor. She often spoke about how it made her feel so much better and that I should try it, like gleefully.

I don’t like chiropractors, or I should say they scare me. But, she was so excited to give me this wanting to see if I liked it as much as her or felt relief – I just responded “Thank you so much,” and for sure I would try them out.

This is classic Minnesotan. You never want to make someone feel bad, ever. I mean, who am I to do that? I would be an egotistical asshole. I don’t know anything more than anyone else and I should always be grateful and say thank you. It doesn’t matter if I don’t like chiropractors or not, she spent money on this presumably and really wanted me to try it, sharing her good wealth.

It is the silliest thing, but I almost didn’t want to run into her on campus afraid she would ask me. She was my friend, I couldn’t lie. I could only slightly bend the situation. I eventually went for an intro appointment, and there was a part two and I never returned. I didn’t want them cracking anything. I felt fine for the most part.

She was hospitalized during my crazy, busy radiology rotations but she never told me. She told me after but didn’t want to worry me. I knew she was struggling more but she didn’t want to vocalize it. I reached out to her more, but it became harder which is never a good sign.

Then, I graduated from radiology school and was determined to move out-of-state. I did not want to her tell her I was moving. Also, I was healthier than she was and even if no one said it, we both knew it. That’s the most difficult thing being friends with someone with the same condition, it’s a mirror. Then, a comparison of who is healthier and who isn’t. Rate your illness. The intention is never poor, or mean, or malicious, it is just there. The truth can’t be hidden.

I eventually moved and it became harder to stay in contact. Mostly, I didn’t want to do “This is what I am doing” bullshit. I hate that bullshit. What works for me, doesn’t necessarily work for you. She was good with her route, I just went this route. Yet, I was taking a leap and it was a big one; it couldn’t be ignored.

When we did talk, I really wanted to know how she was doing and I got a lot of “Fines,” or “I am doing alright.” She never expanded.

I did not want to go on about Boston and blah… blah….blah. We talked about school and how she graduated and was working with children, and this is what she always wanted to do.

Then it got quiet for a while. Whenever someone has a chronic condition and they get quite – it isn’t good. Things are happening. Sometimes they can’t speak about them mentally and/or physically. But, it is never good and whenever you have a friend, and a friend especially with a chronic condition “get quiet,” reach out more.

I didn’t because I didn’t want to go on about what I was doing, and it was just life stuff but it was in a new place and new experiences. I was busy, and I was also getting more the same “I am fine.” And to be honest, I do not think I told her directly that I like women – and I was afraid of that as well. I never talked about men or women, it was just off the table. I didn’t know her beliefs and I didn’t know how she would react.

I get an email from her husband some months later. He and Nicole’s family created a memorial fund in the honor of Nicole’s passing.

Reading those words felt like a ghost passed through me. It felt like air-filled my belly. I became weak, and once I started registering, shaky.

I spoke to Mike on the phone. He thought I knew. He said she had passed three months prior. She had not been doing well for a while. She got an infection and was admitted, ICU, and within two weeks her system couldn’t do it.

Nicole tried, she tried really hard. I would have loved to have seen her experience what’s happening now. She passed at the age of 27. Too many years between now and then.

I don’t know exactly why I have been thinking of her – could be the holidays, Golightly, or just the fact we got each other the moment we said, “Hey.” Or maybe her spirit is around saying, “You lucky shit,” or more than likely she would say, “I am happy for you. Now go get’em.” You never know.

We laughed a lot, like we laughed all the time. Then we would cough. I think it is the laughing that I remember the most and the fact she was shorter than me.

She was a great friend.

Much love.