Search:The WebTripod

From Rich Garabedian, Software Engineer:

"Okay Rich, now it's your turn."

With those words, Anna asked me if I'd like to write the next installment of "Letters from Tripod." I have mixed feelings about "Letters." On the one hand, I always look forward to reading the exploits of my talented colleagues; but on the other hand, I'm not much of a writer and I had no idea what I'd say when it was my turn. (That's probably why I work in Tech. I'd rather write a line of code than a line of prose any day.) So, at the same time that I was enjoying reading the letters, I was also dreading the week when I'd hear, "Okay Rich, now it's your turn ..."

It's been about four months since I started working at Tripod and now it seems the torch — ummm, I mean keyboard — has been passed to me. My trepidation slowly increased as I thought, "What in the world will I write about?" This question became especially poignant after reading the many fun and witty anecdotes penned by my co-workers. How could a techie, a "non-writer" like myself, compete with that? After much thought and apprehension, I decided on a personal topic. Reader, beware. This is not one of the light and merry messages that seem to be a trademark of "Letters from Tripod."

I assume most Tripod members, like those who work at Tripod, are young and active, perhaps in their late 20s to early 40s. I also assume that heavy, dark topics like disease, death, and dying are not something people like us think about too often — at least not in a personal context. I know I sure didn't.

My family is a fairly typical one. I have two siblings — a brother and a sister — and two parents. We are close; closer I think than most families. Still, there were times in my teens when I "hated" my sister, rebelled against my parents, or wanted to do nothing more than beat my brother senseless. Like I said, a fairly typical family.

About two and a half years ago, my sister announced she was having a baby. This would be my first niece and my parents' first grandchild! We were all excited, and I must add that I was relieved. I was the oldest married kid and my mom had been riding me for some time about when her grandchild would arrive. Anyway, sis had her baby — a beautiful and healthy girl!

Not long after the birth of my niece Maya, my sister went in for a usual post-partum checkup. During the routine exam, her doctor found a lump on her thyroid. It was a bit out of the ordinary, but probably nothing to worry about. Still, the doc decided to order some tests.

The tests came back suggesting cancer.

There were more tests. In retrospect, I now realize that I had refused to believe that my little sister could have cancer. Believing this fact seemed to me to be giving up. If I believed, then it was possible that she could have cancer, and maybe even I could have it. I'm 32, and at the time my sister was 29. We were too young to worry about cancer.

Some time went by and Thanksgiving rolled around. All of the tests and doctor's visits were over, and yes, my sister had thyroid cancer. She was scheduled to have surgery before Christmas — the entire thyroid was to be removed. At this point, my ideas about believing changed. Yes, she had cancer, but no, nothing could happen to her. She was too young to have something terrible happen to her, and I was too young not to have my little sister around. We talked often and I spent a lot of time assuring her nothing could go wrong. In truth, it was a fairly routine operation; well, as routine as an invasive surgery can be. She was a great surgical candidate: Young and healthy. There was some risk of damage to her vocal cords but I blocked even that out of my mind. Believing still felt like dropping all defenses.

I am happy to say that this story turned out well. The surgery took place without incident and the cancer was self-contained. The doctors said that the cancer had not migrated to the lymph nodes, which meant that long-term prognosis was excellent. Throughout this ordeal, I think my entire family grew closer (I know my siblings and I did). I call them more often and I'm more apt to say I'm proud of my brother, or that I love my sister. It's so ironic that it takes tragedy, or near tragedy, to bring about changes like this.

We are young and we think there will always be a tomorrow. Well, as I found out, being young means little, and there may not always be a tomorrow. We were lucky — my sister is 100% OK. But I know of situations, and I bet you do too, that didn't work out as well. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to mean as much unless it happens to you. That's just another one of life's amazing ironies.

So, if you do nothing else this week, pick up the phone — or better yet get in your car — and take some time off to be with someone you care about. Life really is short.

Mom, Dad, Jim, and Tam: I really love you guys!

Rich

---

Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

---