An Ode to McKenzie
It is currently November 1st. Two weeks ago I had the worst appointment since this entire journey began. A new doctor and I met for the first time and he essentially treated me as a statistic instead of a person. He talked to me about my timeline and how long I’m expected to be alive. He had never met me before. Barely read my chart, I’m sure. It has been 10 months since they found my tumor and since the clock started ticking on my timeline. He said on average, people with my condition have FOURTEEN months. That truly freaked me out. So I did what I thought was the right thing and made an appointment with the doctor I see frequently and who knows me best. She said that that number was highly skewed and that adults in my age range are living longer. She said I’m stable at the moment. I could keep going for a while. 5% make it to 5 years. It might be low odds, but I have a lot of will so maybe I’ll make it that far. I’m not sure, but then again, who is?
She said some other things about my condition too. She said that brain cancer is different than others. It doesn’t spread outside of the central nervous system. She said they’ll be able to tell about 9 months prior to my passing. She said that brain cancer takes you gently and without pain. You get less hungry and sleepier until one day, you just don’t wake up.
In some ways, I found this comforting. In others I found it sad. I think so much of what I feel right now about this situation is overridden by what I feel lacks in my life. The career that I had planned on pursuing has been downgraded to a certification course to become a peer support specialist. You will likely see that as a positive (and it is), but for me, it feels like a consolation prize or a participation trophy. I’ll never have the opportunity to become a therapist, but I’m hoping in some way this can be the way I can help someone else. It’s sad for me to also know I’ll likely never have the romantic relationship I wanted. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to put myself out there again because well who would want someone that is dying? And how do I even begin to accept love for the body that is actively killing me?
It’s so hard to access this part of my grief. I feel like I’m in bereavement for my former life. Nothing is the same now. I’m certainly not the same. I don’t know how to allow myself the space to really sit with these feelings for more than an hour at a time. It is baffling somewhat to me with how deep my emotions are. It feels like I’m losing myself, but not in the way that I’m becoming something new. It just feels deeply depressing to be interacting with what’s missing.
While I do have these hours I spend in my grief, I also have things I try to celebrate. I have a support system made of family, friends, and my care team. A system I feel grateful for every moment of my life. There is one person in my system that holds space for how I feel without any judgement or argument. She has been with me every step of the way. She is real sisterhood for me. She encourages me to go deep. She and I have known each other since 2008 and have grown up alongside each other in every way - through life’s best and worst moments. She is my chosen family, my sister, my mismatched sock. She is the reason I feel okay about everything. I hope I find her in every lifetime. We are mourning alongside each other. Her friendship is the reason I’m able to hold myself together most days.
We focus so much on finding *the one* in a romantic partner, but as much as I’ve longed to feel the love and adoration from a partner, I can’t help but feel that this platonic sisterhood is my *one.* So I honestly feel okay about giving up my hopes for romance. I have the most amazing & truest love I’ve ever known from someone who has been my confidant for decades. I feel incredibly lucky and blessed to get to experience this sisterhood. Having such a deep friendship gives my life meaning in ways I never even dreamed of.
She’s been the North Star of my life and my greatest support.
Love ya Kenz.