ALICIA'S STORY

Alicia R. Parlette was 23 last year when she was told she had a life-threatening cancer. This is one in an occasional series of articles about her experience. For previous articles and a list of cancer resources, go to www.sfgate.com/alicia.

---

It's been almost 18 months since I found out I have a rare cancer, alveolar soft part sarcoma, and seven months since I started taking the painkiller OxyContin to diminish the pain caused by a tumor in my right hip. That's a decent chunk of time. I would have thought I'd be used to the new rhythm of my life by now, as abnormal as it may be.

Not so. I haven't found a way to increase my energy -- which is depleted by the painkillers and interferon, my cancer treatment -- and I can't seem to follow a schedule for work.

Each week, I have two standing doctor appointments, but every week other things sneak in: a stop at the pain-management clinic, a checkup with my nurse practitioner, an extra bit of rest on an exhausting day.

You'd think with no growth in the cancer in six months, my life would feel stable. But it doesn't. Silly as it sounds -- especially since I work only 15 hours a week, if that -- I needed a vacation.

I wasn't the only one thinking this. Friends of my brother were, too.

My brother, Matthew, has been best friends with Kevin since fourth grade, and Kevin's parents, Bruce and JoAnn, had gotten close with my parents. After my mom died, they became surrogate parents to Matthew, and every so often JoAnn and I spent time reminiscing about my mom.

Other than those occasional sweet moments, I didn't connect with either of them very often. So I was surprised when JoAnn called and said they wanted to treat me to a long weekend, anywhere in California.

The gift of a vacation. It was perfect.

When JoAnn asked where I'd like to go, I told her my only requirement was that I be able to spend hours at the ocean. She found a house at Sea Ranch, the oceanfront community north of Bodega Bay, and I made plans with seven friends to go.

The girls I invited made a portrait of my life seen through friendships:

Ashley and Jennifer are my godsisters, twin daughters of my surrogate mother, Sally, and friends who share thousands of embarrassing memories with me dating to kindergarten. If I ever get married, they will be my bridesmaids.

Johanna was a close friend of all three of us in elementary school, but when I moved in seventh grade from Concord to Granite Bay (Placer County) our friendship suffered. When I reconnected with Jo in 2003 after she transferred to UC Davis, where Ash and Jen studied, I was thankful we got a second chance.

Jenny and Jill are two of my four high school friends who live in the city. Jill and I were really close in junior high -- we brainstormed goofy role-playing games and sneaked around our school's quad, "Mission: Impossible"-style. Our friendship was rooted in the unself-conscious fun that comes with being a child -- or with being naturally secure, which Jill is.

I was Jenny's first friend in Granite Bay, after she moved in down the street from me right before high school. She, like Jill, was confident, but in a way that skewed maternal. I told Jenny my mom had cancer months before most of my other friends knew, and she handled it with both grace and unfiltered, genuine grief.

None of my college friends were able to make the trip; we've spread far during the two years since graduation. But two friends from San Francisco were able to come: Becky and Alice.

Becky and I met during interviews for the Hearst Fellowship program, and through occasional e-mail and one dinner in Houston, when I was there for a second medical opinion, we cultivated a friendship that's not just based on knowing newspapers. She moved to San Francisco, and spending time with her has shown me I can still make good friends, even as an adult.