I went to see Susan in the hospital today. She wishes to be seen and known, as she sorts through the next part of her life. Zinnia came with me, greeted Susan, and lay down on the floor.

A stream of nurses, doctors, and aides came in to see her.

This young dog was calm and affectionate to everyone and came over to Susan and licked her fingers. It took a half-hour to get  Zinnia through her many admirers. Family members begged me to visit their mothers and friends (we did go to see three or four).

Susan said she would welcome mail while she is in the hospital.

Her address is Susan Popper, 211 Church Street, Room 309, Saratoga Springs, N.Y., 12866.

We talked for an hour. We covered a lot of heavy ground.

Susan’s immediate future is unclear. Here cancer is inoperable, but she is scheduled for a battery of tests this week to try to determine the source and exact location of the malignancy.

We talked about a will, a Do Not Resuscitate Order (DNR), and I asked her directly – she has asked me to be honest with her – if she thinks she is dying. She said she is not prepared to accept that yet, not until the rest of the tests come in.

I told her that I had no idea if she would live and die, but it might be wise to begin talking about it and thinking about it. I asked if she would like to see a spiritual adviser, and she said yes.

The hospital’s palliative care unit is coming to see her tomorrow; I can tell they are trying to determine what the best way will be for her to get comfort care and support. I told her I see no way that she can return home – she can’t walk – and there is no one there to help her.

She might stay in the hospital, sign up for hospice care, go to a nursing home, or rehab center until she is better and stronger. I don’t know if that will happen.

Everyone I meet at that hospital has impressed me with their attitude and the depth of their training and their accessibility.  In minutes, there was a line at the door waiting to see Zinnia.

I so appreciate my dog. As you can see in the photo, the whole time I was talking to Susan, she lay on the floor and didn’t move. She knows somehow. In a month so, I’ll take a therapy dog test with her, and she’ll be official.

At this hospital, she is already welcome. I bring her medical papers with me.

Susan and I talked about her making out a will and her financial situation.

I brought her her Kindle and two oatmeal cookies. (and teased her about the snow I had to climb over to get to her door).  She loved seeing Zinnia. Her brother is arriving on Wednesday.

I think she hasn’t given up on the idea of going home, and it may be possible, depending on her insurance and the availability of local nurses and health care aides. It’s not a decision for me to make; I can only give an honest opinion.

She has asked me to be her Patient Advocate, and I’ll take that seriously. It means I have access to her medical information and can speak to her doctors.

As most of you know, some of the hardest decisions about medical care are made by corporate insurance companies, not doctors.

If Susan wants to do it, I’ll try to support her. But I told her I can’t be the help.  She understands.

We had a healing and honest and essential talk.

Whenever there’s trouble, I said, it’ s a two-way thing. I take responsibility for my part. One woman who used to be on my Creative Group wrote to tell me she thought I was a monster.

But I’m not a monster. And I know it.

I’m just a human being with all of the human brokenness that marks humanity. I think we are all broken. Some of us know it, some of us don’t.

Susan and I talked honestly about our friendship and how we feel about one another now.  We talked about the troubles in our relationship and came to terms with them and an understanding them.

Closure, I think they call it.

Right there, in that room, our friendship remerged and defined itself, I could feel it. I asked her not to lie to me anymore, and she didn’t.

I could feel the authenticity.

We have left these human frailties behind. Life and death are more important.

My job now, I said, is to help you, period. I don’t need to go backward. I am not interested in the past; her future is what’s important now.

We have important work to do. Then we went over her debts and mortgage and taxes. We do have some work to do.

Death is profoundly democratic; it is the great leveler, the unifier, the teacher of perspective and empathy, the voice that asks us to think about what matters, and what doesn’t.

I am sorry to see my friend in so much pain and dislocation. I am happy to be of use. Good can come of anything, even the harshest suffering.

Susan and Maria are planning to talk later in the week; Maria is still sick, she couldn’t come. They also have some reckoning to do.

So it was a good day for friendship. I wish Susan peace and comfort and compassion. She has so much to think about.

I came home and fell asleep for four hours.