Every once in a while, life does something that falls along the very gray lines of grandiose and the exact mix between terror and wonder: it smacks you in the face with something that in English we refer to as “Perspective,” and in other cultures is phrased as something that I find to be unpronounceable.

About two hours ago, I experienced this firsthand. I’ve been neck-deep in proposal-land (not as much fun as other “land”s like Disneyland or even Narnia) for the past two weeks; focusing on a variety of very interesting, but time-intensive projects. I’d put the rest of my life on hold, choosing to spend the vast majority of my time working through the intricacies of these various projects and spending all day or night for days at a time obsessing over every little detail to get them to the point where they’d pass my personal level of muster.

Today, as I was wrapping up a meeting with a partner on one of these projects, I found out that a very close family friend of mine that I’ve known since we were both about 6 was admitted to the hospital with liver failure. The conversation is a little bit of a blur, so all I was able to gather (read: “remember”) was that on the scale of how your liver is supposed to function, the average is around 30 Random Units of Medical Measurement (RUMMs), she measured 1100 RUMMs, and no one knows why including the array of medical personnel who currently buzz about her suite. The doctors are prepared to say that her liver is in danger of imminent failure and the likely scenario is that she will need a transplant immediately.

Now I tend to use humor as a defense mechanism and I’m totally prepared to say that I’m a little drunk off of a 2005 Cabernet right now (define: “other coping mechanisms of the Italians”) so that’s probably affecting the overall grammar/readability of the above couple paragraphs, but without getting too emo about the situation I’ll say this: perspective granted

I’m also more than a little concerned/scared/worried about her. In fact, were I not mincing words I’d say this: I’m scared shitless for a friend and close-enough-to-a-family-member who was recently admitted to the hospital for a very serious and life-threatening condition.  She’s with some of the best doctors in the world right now and they’re apprently baffled; it’s like an episode of House without the whimsy, wit, or knowledge that everything’s most likely going to be alright in the end (and that it’s not Lupus.)

I don’t know how this is going to end (which, being totally honest again here, freaks me the fuck out) and what’s worse is that even including those of us with medical degrees and years of training, I’m not the only one who feels that way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking any of the doctors or questioning their intelligence, but the idea that even people with years of training who have seen literally thousands of sick people find this to be so unusual that there are no answers makes it somehow ever scarier from the outside. I can only imagine how she feels right now.

The likelihood is that I’ll be deleting this in the morning, but please forgive the sudden onrush of emotion right now; I’m working out my thoughts and working through my emotions using the best way I know how: a keyboard, the internet, a little bit of humor to dull the edge of the sword, and a lot of red wine to dull the rest of it.