By Henry Flesh

THE KINGDOM OF THE SICK 7 Once I'd recovered from the initial shock of learning that I had lymphoma, I had an overwhelming urge to attempt to right anything that had gone amiss in the past—disagreements, grudges, feuds, fights. It seemed crucial that I toss off old resentments as I struggled with my illness.

I spoke to many friends and family members, paying particular attention to those I'd had problems with, and managed to form closer ties with each. I linked up with some I'd lost contact with for as much as a decade. I was even able to forgive my mother, who had disinherited me just before she passed away. Dozens of people visited, including siblings who came from out of town. This made me feel infinitely better, and I have no doubts that the support I received was to a large extent responsible for my success in coping with sickness.

Still, there is one person who did not accept my offer of conciliation: a business associate with whom I'd formed what I thought was a very close friendship. Unfortunately, our relations had soured two years before I entered the hospital, when a professional disagreement resulted in two bitter legal altercations. After many months, we settled out of court (quite contentiously, to my regret) and then stopped communicating. Indeed, if we saw each other on the street or at a restaurant or party, we didn't acknowledge each other.

The pain I'd felt at the end of our friendship continued to gnaw at me whenever I recalled our bond, how we had once helped each other so much. I sometimes wondered if this pain, the mourning I felt, could have affected the onset of my disease.

In an effort to end our feud, I asked a mutual friend to act as emissary by delivering the following message: "It is clear that we will never agree as to what actually went down in our dispute. Nevertheless, you did a lot for me, as I did for you. Let's just talk and put all of this behind us."

To my dismay, my request was refused.

It remains difficult for me to accept this. How can one adjust to being dismissed in such a basic way during a grave personal crisis? I try to console myself by thinking that at least I made an effort, that there is no more that I can do. But I remain disconsolate. As my illness persists and I await two stem-cell transplants, I continue to hope that my onetime friend will relent and speak to me, that we can let go of what passed between us long ago. o