Before every chemo appointment Tita and her husband, Drew, text me selfies of themselves making crazy snarl-lipped pirate/Billy Idol–type faces. “Rock n roll, baby,” Tita writes. “You’ve got this.”
One time I am standing in the middle of the exam room trying to hold my blue hospital gown on while taking a selfie to send back to them of me making the same face when a tech opens the door without knocking. “Whoa. Everything okay in here, Ms. Riggs? You look a little off.”
“I’m completely fine,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I was just trying to pretend I was a rock star for my friend.”
“Oh, okay,” says the tech. “Well, I’ll be right back with the nurse just in case. Please take a seat and press the blue button if you need anything.”