if you ever think you're having a bad day...

 I meet Gail in 1981. 

She is my first boss after graduating from business school. 

Although younger than I am by a few years, Gail has already been at Gillette for three years when I arrive. 

She is the one who teaches me how to write. How to rationally structure arguments. How to maneuver around corporate politics. 

She is a great mentor who also happens to be very smart. Supportive. And kind.

I leave Gillette in 1984 and don't see or speak to Gail until we reconnect via LinkedIn. It is then we discover that we both live in NYC. 

We meet for dinner in February 2011. We haven't seen each other in 27 years so we have a lot to catch up on. 

In short, Gail is now married to Greg, a brilliant Harvard-educated doctor.  She's held various senior executive positions at major cosmetic companies. And she is still tall and glamorous, with luxurious skin and hair — just as she's always had. 

Over the years, we don't see each other often but are always in touch.

Then, the day before Thanksgiving of last year, I get this text from Gail:

Gail is not an alarmist. Neither is she a complainer. Her disposition is sunny. Bright and sunny. She barely recognizes clouds. And if she does, they go unacknowledged.

I call her right away. It turns out to be a tumor at the base of her tongue caused by the HPV virus. The prognosis is excellent; the treatment (chemo and radiation) is dreadful.

Exactly three days later Gail calls crying. "Greg just died." Greg has had many medical issues but his death is sudden and unexpected.

Then...

In preparation for her grueling, two-month treatment, Gail goes through a series of tests, including a head-to-toe PET scan. It is then they discover a brain tumor. Totally unrelated to her tongue cancer.

Can you imagine?

Through it all Gail never complains. Her spirits remain high and her humor is always intact. I honestly don't have the words to describe my admiration for the dignity and grace Gail shows throughout this personal and medical nightmare.

Never do I have a conversation with Gail that she doesn't:  Ask how I am. How my son is. And tell me again how much she appreciates whatever small thing I may have done to support her.

Gail finishes her chemo/radiation treatment in April.

She has her brain surgery two weeks ago (successful and benign).

Today she is told her healing is "perfect."

She is in better health than anyone I know, having had every inch of her body poked and prodded and examined and treated.

She is now on her way to a complete recovery. 

And her hair, and everything else about her, is still luxurious and beautiful.