Kathryns Walk

On this day the woman who birthed and raised me was born. In many ways she was a wonderful woman. I choose to honor the good in her today - the things she passed on to me that I recognize as wonderful and valuable. The things that made me a better person.  Among many other things she taught me generosity, love of cooking and food, and the value of trying to do the impossible when it’s in service of a higher purpose.  We shared many, many great times over the years. Peeling apples for pies and a love for discussing religion and the Bible. I'll never forget our white water rafting trips, and her joining me to jump off a 25-foot cliff into a raging river. I cherish those memories.  She wasn’t so hot at some other things. Her Evangelical passion was the "Unstoppable Force" to my queerly "Immovable Object." It destroyed our relationship over the last 3 years of her life. Her dedication to the Bible often trumped her dedication to family, with sometimes disastrous res...

At 66 I looked around and saw: A man I love dearly, who loves me right back.A bunch of kids who’ve turned into amazing young adults. A shiny new granddaughter. A bunch of friends for whom I’d give my life. A life rich in hope, wonderful memories, and love. I hope this happiness for every one of you. 

  If you've worked with me you know that I set deadlines. I learned this at first from an old boss - Jim Roda at Kitsap County Public Works. He taught me "if you don't set a deadline, it won't get done." He was right. I've gone a little overboard on urgency and deadlines. Nowadays I set them a bit earlier than it might be possible to complete them. Sometimes probably drive people around me a little crazy.  Here's why. I have a tumor in my chest. It's the size of a softball, lodged in the middle of my right lung, and adjacent to my heart. It's been radiated - it's not dead, but it's not really growing either. It just sits there. I feel the tumor with every breath I take. I feel the pain from it pressing against nerves from my shattered rib (where it started) every moment of every day. Yes, the drugs help. The pain is a tolerable reminder that I won't live forever. How long do I have? No one knows. Given how fast this one grew, and given ...

(A bit redacted) You’ve been on my mind alot lately. Here’s what’s going on. Yesterday my daughter had her first baby. The baby is simply perfect ❤️ The timing is so good since the return to chemo has really gotten me down. I’m reconciling myself to the truth that the future for me will be a gradual grinding decline. Age does this anyway right? But multiple myeloma is its own special grind, inevitable and painful.  Could take a year, could take a decade, but inevitable. Might come slow, might come fast. There’s simply no way to predict anything but the decline. The decline is for sure. Life is a combination now of trying to be numb interspersed with occasional moments of beauty. I used to feel so invincible. It is what it is and I’m sorry to dump it on the table like this. We don’t need help or meals or money but the occasional check in and inspiration is most welcome. I’m resolved to ‘not live in fear’ and won’t be following all of my doctor’s instructions. I won’t make these rema...

After a brief but loving chiding I've received from a few close friends, here's an update. The chemotherapy and stem cell transplant didn't do the job. Cancer is unchanged in me, neither for better or for worse. The radiation last year slowed down the tumor in my chest, and no new ones have appeared. Turns out my cancer and bone marrow are just as stubborn as I am. Sometimes stem cell therapy doesn't work, they tell us. That was disappointing, to say the least. Pain is a constant companion, dulled at least by the medications they give me. Beginning in a few days, I begin weekly treatments, which could last the rest of my life. Or as long as we can afford them anyway. Don't get me started about politics and medical insurance please ;-) What goes through your mind when you learn the name of that thing which will probably end your story?  Plenty. Such a combination of sorrow, depression, but also joy over the wonder of this earth, the things and people you've been ...

  I'm coming back to life. Sometimes I feel bad, like the chemo is still inside me. But most of the time I feel better than I have for a year. My body is resilient and healing and snapping back to where it needs to be. I'm so grateful for Swedish Hospital, for Kaiser Permanente, for my husband Dave, and for all of you who have been so supportive over the past year. I truly couldn't have done this alone and I love you all more than you can imagine. New challenges and achievements are coming, and I can't wait to experience them. Hard work will pay off, and life will be good. Thank you so much for caring about me and walking with me through the last year!