Lesson two: There's no algorithm for friendship

"Having cancer will show you who your real friends are."

I don't remember who told me that so I can't tell you whether the speaker turned out to be a real friend. It's true, sort of: like any life-altering event, cancer can test friendships, revealing surprising strengths and unexpected weaknesses. But if I had to make a list of the people who proved to be real friends, I'd be hard pressed.

Maybe I should call on Charlie Eppes, the math whiz on the TV show Numbers. Faced with some gnarly mystery of human behavior, his most common response is something like "I can create an algorithm for that." Let's imagine an algorithm that could sort out those amongst my acquaintance who qualify as real friends.

First we'd have to assign numerical values to various responses to my plight: sending a card, cooking a meal, covering a class, buying a scarf, and so on. Bonus points for sending me cases of ginger beer, taking over all my committee work, and driving out to the middle of nowhere at the crack of dawn to take me to chemotherapy--but how many points for each?

Would a hand-written note count more than a store-bought card? How about e-mail? I appreciated every card I received but I was sustained for weeks by one simple sentence in a student's e-mail message. Extra credit for saying exactly what I needed to hear?

What about people who didn't say anything? Sometimes nothing is exactly the right thing to say and sometimes it's a cop-out. I can think of a few people who really should have kept their mouths shut, but the most painful comment was completely in character and taught me nothing new about the speaker. (And if you think I'm going to repeat that comment here, think again.)

Maybe our friendship algorithm should take into account how my understanding of the friend's character changed over time. Several casual acquaintances surprised me with their willingness to help, resulting in some newly strong relationships that will last. Others surprised me by becoming distant, unwilling to be involved with my persistent problems. I can't say that I blame them--after all, nothing clears a room like the whiff of death--but I certainly learned something about those friendships. Should the algorithm subtract points for disappointing responses? How many points?

It's no use. I can't put a number on the words and actions that mattered most during the darkest times, nor can I quantify the gratitude I feel for those whose apparently insignificant gestures helped me hold on. Cancer taught me why there's no algorithm for friendship: because real friends don't keep score.