Loss of a Classmate II

This afternoon I checked Facebook after work to learn that another of my med school classmates, John M., died earlier today after a battle with cancer. It seems so surreal that less than four years after our class lost Kasha, now we've lost John, too. I'd be lying if I said John and I were friends in med school; we sat in different parts of the classroom and never did any rotations together. My six weeks in Corpus Christi was the closest I got to spending time with John and the rest of the "Corpus crew;" I still have pictures of us TCOMers hanging out at Sue's July 4th BBQ or Utopia (which is now closed) for happy hour. When I look back, he was probably one of the shining stars in the class, because while I've forgotten the names of classmates with whom I barely interacted, I've never forgotten him.

One of the things I remember most about John is his smile. He had a great sense of humor, and there was something about his smile that made me want to smile as well. Once during our first year, Erwin was showing me the recently-released "Ms. New Booty" music video (I am not making this up) during a break in class, and John, who was sitting several rows behind us, saw what we were watching and started laughing, too. I was initially mortified, but soon realized that John was laughing with us, not at us. His laughter was contagious, and he was no stranger to poking fun at himself on occasion. The too-small Batman and Robin costumes that he and Tony wore to the 2005 Halloween party attest to that.

I didn't know John had metastatic cancer until several months ago, when I heard the news through the TCOM grapevine. I was told that not many people knew of his diagnosis, and out of respect for his privacy I kept the news to myself. I can still remember how my mother didn't want others to know when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, preferring to go on with her life and not let cancer knock her down. John, as it turns out, was no different; after his diagnosis he continued working at his residency for quite some time. It's a question I've asked myself before: if I was diagnosed with a deadly illness during residency, what would I do with the time I had left? The selfless doctor in me would probably wish to continue my training so that I can become the best doctor I can be before I depart this world, but the larger, selfish part of me would want to quit residency, spend time with family, and travel to Japan, Paris, and other places I've yet to see. So when I heard what John was doing, I couldn't help but admire his strength and courage.

Even if I didn't know John had cancer, I could guess from his Facebook pictures that something was different. He'd lost his hair, and his face had that hollow look that I'd seen so often in my cancer patients. The only difference: in his pictures he was smiling. There were times where I thought about writing on his wall to tell him I was thinking of him, but never did, as most likely I wasn't even supposed to know he was sick. News of his death today still came as a shock to me, as it tears my heart whenever young people with their whole lives ahead of them have their lives cut short.

Goodbye, John. You will be missed.