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"Miss, miss, please wake up," the doctor at the hospital said to Yuli, gently pressing on her right shoulder. Just minutes before, she had fallen fast asleep in a chair in the ward next to Nancy's bed. Madonna's songs were playing in her ears; she had recorded them herself on the cassette. The music flowed as if through a bridge from the white earpiece of her red Walkman. The abrupt awakening sent her into a state of heightened alertness. 

"We need to move your friend to intensive care to keep her under close monitoring," the doctor continued. 

–Did something happen?– Yuli asked.

“His health has worsened,” he replied. “I suggest you go home and rest. Therapy patients are only seen by doctors, and there’s not much more you can do.”

"But will she be okay?" interrupted Yuli as she tried to fully wake up by rubbing her fist over one of her eyes.

The doctor explained that, given the severe infection the patient had been suffering for weeks, she had been diagnosed with septicemia. He told her the prognosis was not good at all. He also recommended that she not leave without giving them a phone number so they could stay in touch. He finished saying this and left. 

Generally, these types of consequences are caused by old applications of liquid silicone. 

Both Yuli and Nancy's other companions were very familiar with these pathologies, which are very common among trans women. The more resilient trans women are well-trained enough to cope with these kinds of physical ailments. 

Upon hearing the news of Nancy's failing health, Yuli was heartbroken and deeply moved. Just as the wind blows through Yuli's memories, so too did her recollections. Just as the years pass, so too was her companion on her journey slipping away.

 Yuli stared intently at Nancy's face, and through the hot, damp glass of her own tears, she let her gaze linger on Nancy's convalescent eyes. Nancy's eyes spoke volumes without uttering a single word. It was then that Yuli, who could still speak, uttered the only words that evaded and fled from an unacceptable farewell.

"Don't cry, friend," Yuli said. "Everything will be alright." She swallowed hard as she said it.

"It's already December 24th, did you know?" she continued. "It's true that it's not the same when you're not here, even if the night is filled with fireworks. There's bound to be a lot of silence among the girls in the area. We're all going to miss you, but don't worry, if we decide to have a few drinks tonight, we'll toast, and the first thing we'll wish for is your speedy recovery."

Yuli tried, with her fragile optimism, to give hope to someone who had already lost it.

"Now I have to go," Yuli said. "The doctor said they're going to move you to a different room so you can receive better care. It seems the doctors here are much nicer than at the other hospitals we visited."

Yuli said this while forcibly trying to smile to hide so much anxiety.

"I promise you I'll be here tomorrow without fail, and I'm going to tell the girls to come with me too. They've been wanting to visit you for days. I'm going to tell them to come without fear. And I'm going to tell them that here, trans women are treated well, like real people. They'll be happy when I tell them that there's no neglect or lack of love here. We've finally found a good place where they care about us. I'm sure they'll all want to come and get treatment at this hospital afterward."

She smiled through sobs, a state of anguish; emotions strong enough to tighten like a knot in the throat. 

Yuli took a deep breath and, with a large mouthful of air that reached her lungs, resumed.

"I'm heading to the hotel now, you know. I need to take a shower and change for work. Well, that is, if I can get in without running into Eva, the manager. She's been chasing me for the room rental money for days now, and you know how she is. God only knows I want to pay her, but I can't scrape together the damn money. And the bill keeps getting bigger every day. You know how it is. The end of the year is always the same shit, there's never a penny to spare. Most of the clients, at least the ones with money, are the ones who go on vacation with their families, and the area ends up being a ghost town. The guys who hang around are the same old freeloaders. You know how it is, they just come looking for a quickie or one of the girls who's into it. And forget about us bringing any money home."

Yuli wouldn't stop talking

Nancy's gaze was dull and lost; though she seemed not to understand, she appeared to be slowly traversing each word Yuli strung together. Her nerves caused her to stumble over her own words, while inside, resigned tears flowed, accepting the cruelest and harshest reality. 

Yuli touched her purse and took out a small image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. She gently leaned back on the bed and lay down next to her friend with the simple purpose of holding her hand and embracing her. A synonym: I'm here with you and I won't let you go. She stayed like that for a long time until finally, in that endless embrace, Nancy closed her eyes forever. Meanwhile, she carried in her ears the last words she heard from Yuli, her farewell.

– Don't ask why, but even though we're a little sad, take my hand and I'll hold yours until you're ready to let go.

Only a few minutes passed before Nancy's hand began to give out—Yuli, overwhelmed with grief at that endless end, finally said goodbye, saying: “Don't worry, my friend, I'll be alright. Go in peace and rest. Go to heaven, my friend. Go with God and finally live, for me, for you, and for all of us who remain; a very Merry Christmas.”

Sometimes, for those who are stuck, farewell hugs leave wounds so deep that not even thousands of Christmases can heal them.