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Elisabeth Villavicencio
Tony and I lived together on Elkton 5 our freshman year of college, and
we saw each other a fair amount in our later years at Maryland through my
best friend, Amie, and our mutual Generics friends. I remember him as the
sweet singer down the hall with the million-dollar smile. He was a
presence, of fun, of comfort, and I remember that feeling more than any
particular words that were said.
We lost touch our senior years, and I moved to Chicago for medical
school. I sat in my classes, memorized drug names, learned the litany of
diseases and the 10,000 new terms that doctors are said to learn during
their first few years of study. I fancied that I knew a lot, that I was
ready for this doctor business.
Then I got an email from Tony, who I hadn't heard from in years. He was
sick, and he needed a translator to explain all the jargon that the doctors
were throwing at him. Could I do that for him? Of course, I answered
immediately. What did he want to know?
Richard, Tony and Frank's Christmas card I wasn't ready for his answer. A bewildering list of drugs and symptoms and questions followed. I knew the answers well enough, but for the first time I realized that how I answered might be as or more important than the words I said. I never thought that one of my first jobs in medicine would be to prepare my friend for the manner of his death. So I poured all the love and support I could into my letters, along with the brutally honest facts he requested. Tony was stronger than I ever imagined. Death didn't seem to scare him as much as having no one to discuss it with. So I answered his heartbreaking questions - "What is congestive heart failure?" - and kept writing and kept praying. I think that Tony supported me through those times even more than I ever helped him, but our friendship in those times meant a lot to us both. Thank you, Tony. You taught me that doctors should remember how to cry. You taught me that faith and modern medicine can go hand in hand. You helped me to grieve, helped me to teach, and helped me to heal. You taught me about being a doctor and about being a friend, and that they're one and the same. Go with God, my friend.
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