Image: Deborah Dewit Marchant (Used with Permission)

Sometimes you know something before the doctors do.  You hear that small, insistent voice inside that you’d like to ignore, but can’t seem to put away.  It was that way with my liver cancer.  I had had a pain under my ribs for months.  I kept thinking it would go away, or that maybe my gallbladder was acting up, as they do sometimes at my age.  Or maybe it was heartburn with a tilt.  Or something.  But as time went on, I knew it was something real, and something serious.  Unfortunately I am a nurse, and we are hard to fool.  One morning I just knew, truly knew, that I was not going to dodge this one.  This was the real deal.

What surprised me was my reaction.  I was uncharacteristically calm.  I would go and have tests done, of course, but I already understood what lay ahead.  And I was overwhelmed with one emotion:  gratitude.  Not for the illness.  For that I had disdain and a sneering sort of anger.  But I was awash in the number of things for which I was grateful, and that would be hard to leave.  I felt a couple of tears slip down my face and land on my T-shirt.  The list in my head got longer and longer, and I sat at the computer and wrote a letter:

    Hello Everyone. 

In the interest of saving my energy for the fight ahead, I am writing this letter to everyone at once.  I hope you will forgive me the economy of this decision, but I know you will understand.   

With a diagnosis such as this, I think it best to write while I have my wits.  One never knows where chemo and/or metastasis will lead, and there is so much to say. 

If you are getting this letter at all it is because I am grateful.  I have had the privilege of so many friends, lovers, husbands, wife, children, siblings and colleagues that to write each of you would tax me beyond my limited stamina.   

There is just so much to be grateful for.  Please consider this letter one of those “If the shoe fits” affairs, and please do not ask for a list of recipients.   

So let me say, 

If I ever laughed with you, thank you for the lightness of heart and for making fun of the people I needed you to make fun of.  You humored me in every respect, and it will no doubt add minutes to my life. 

If you went to school with me, thank you for not being one of the ones who found me too skinny, too unattractive or otherwise inferior.  I don’t mind that you copied my paper. 

If you ever invited me into your home, thank you for your hospitality.  I’m sure I never saw any dirt or disorder and I felt honored to be so embraced.  (If you still have the wine I gave as a hostess gift, please send it to Anne.  I think she is going to need it.) 

If you ever wrote to me, thank you for reminding me that there are people out there who love me, and that it is still worth the time to put actual pen to paper. 

If you ever laughed at my Christmas letter and told me so, thank you.  I put a lot of work into those little missives, and it’s hard to capture the weary attention of those besieged by holiday letters recounting one banality after another.  Thanks for reading it at all. 

If you ever cooked for me, thank you for nourishing my body and spirit.  You undoubtedly know my resistance to all things kitchen, and every meal offered was gratefully received and probably cleaned to the glaze on the plate.  I will remember my gratitude at all subsequent sayings of grace at the table. 

If you ever let me take pictures of you or your family (I include pets) thank you.  Taking pictures, in focus and out, has been one of the great joys of my life. 

If you ever commented on my writing or my stand-up in a positive way, God Bless You.  (And if you actually attended a performance or reading, I will petition the Great One to allow you free roam in whatever heaven you believe in.) 

If you ever got drunk with me, thank you for forgetting everything I said and any items of clothing that might have been shed.  I appreciate your discretion. 

If I ever had sex with you, my body thanks you for the pleasure, and in some cases for the opportunity to see how wondrous are the powers of the antibiotic. 

If you ever worked with me, please know that it was the people at work who made earning a living something short of purgatory.  I apologize for standing too long in your cubicle to chat when you had a meeting to prepare for.  (It WAS fun, wasn’t it?) 

If you are four-legged and ever sat purring on my lap or walked at my side in the park, bring your leash when you follow me over and we’ll roam together again. 

If you ever taught me (and this is probably everyone reading) thank you for not rubbing my nose in the lesson and for being patient.  There are some things I have resisted learning and I may still have some remedial work to do on the compassion and humility chapters. 

If I ever married you – even by Common Law – thank you for tolerating me, for keeping me company day in and day out, and I should tell you that PMS improves over time.  Who knew? 

If you came from my womb, I will adore you forever and I will come back to this plane to assist and celebrate if such visits are allowed.  I’m sorry I was so hard sometimes.  I really did mean to help. 

If you are married to either of my offspring, good luck and thank you for tending to these women I love so well. 

If you ever make the effort to tell me honestly something that you disliked about me, thank you for loving me enough to bother.  I was probably not very gracious at the time. 

If I ever insulted you, well, consider the source.  If you are on this list, you didn’t deserve it. 

If I ever told you I loved you, believe it.  And believe it will still be true when I am no longer visible to you. (Let me know if you want me to meet you at the border when it’s your time, and I’ll get it into my PDA right now.) 

If I ever failed to say I love and appreciate you, let me say it now. Time is always shorter than we know, and the hour glass is right in front of me. 

Every person reading this has touched me in some way, healed me deeply, and helped me understand what life is for. 

That’s it.  I needed you to know that “you rock”  in each of your respective ways. 

Kate

            Three weeks later when I sat in the doctor’s office, I knew what he was about to tell me.  Anne, bless her heart, was sitting beside me because she knew enough to trust my intuition.  I had my calendar with me for scheduling the follow-up treatments.

The ultrasound was normal. The endoscopy and CT scan, ditto.  The blood work was negative.  No cancer, liver or otherwise. 

“But, then?” I looked at the doc across the desk. 

“Hard to say.” He shrugged, “Maybe just a little sludge in your gallbladder? Sometimes adjusting to lower estrogen creates pain in unusual places...  If you have anything -- and truthfully, I don't think you do -- it's not life-threatening.”

I left feeling like I was just about to wake up from a wacky, scary dream.  Wake up and have the rest of my life.  Maybe years.  Maybe many years.  Or maybe I’d get hit by a bus.  But I didn’t have liver cancer and I wasn’t scheduling chemotherapy.

I looked at the pile of stamped letters on the front seat of the car.

I pulled my pen out of my checkbook so I could write, “Turns out I’m fine – but the letter is still true” on each one.  I wondered how to draw a sheepish smiley face.

“Pull up at the post office,” I said to Anne, “I have something to mail.  Then we’re going for ice cream.”