In April of 2017, I was honored by the Melanoma Research Foundation at their annual gala. I was given the opportunity to speak. You can view it here. Text is below.
On behalf of Irv, Courtney and Molly, thank you to the Melanoma Research Foundation for this honor.
Tonight I’d like to share with you some insights I’ve gained over the course of my four year battle with ocular melanoma. I’m going to start with an overshare. I wet the bed when I was little. But we’re not talking little, we’re talking third-fourth grade / old enough to be going to slumber parties little. It was embarrassing. And certainly not something I ever thought I’d share this publicly.
My aunt pulled me aside during a family gathering and told me she heard I was having problems wetting the bed. I hung my head in shame and mumbled yes. She told me she had an idea she wanted me to try. Desperate to find anything to fix this problem, I asked her what it was.
I want you to program yourself every night. You must keep it positive though. Say 100 times before you fall asleep: I will stay dry.
“Okay,” I agreed. I never wet the bed again. Thank you, Aunt Peg.
Fast forward to 2.5 years ago. I’d recently learned my ocular melanoma had made way to my liver. Two days after my metastatic diagnosis, my boyfriend asked for my hand in marriage. A few short weeks later, I was 33-years old, newly engaged, and alone in New York City for 5 weeks enrolling in a clinical trial at Memorial Sloan Kettering.
I had a number of visitors while I was there, and I worked fulltime out of my company’s New York City office. But when I was alone, I was completely petrified. I started feeling a stronger connection to Jesus, as I was facing this life-threatening disease at the same age He was when the He died on the cross. I felt Him walking by my side every day in New York.
I started to remember what my aunt taught me. As I lay in my noisy New York City apartment every night, I would say 50 times, Heal me, Jesus. And another 50 times, I trust you, Jesus.
That’s not to say I always maintained a positive attitude. I’m a planner, a project manager by trade. I found myself planning my funeral in my head. The recessional song obviously being “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. And how am I going to source a zebra printed casket?
Eventually, I snapped out of that. I started repeating additional mantras during the day like: “Every cell of my body is healthy, balanced, and love” and “I know what it’s like to be healthy.”
I believe these positive words have an impact on my health.
In addition to attitude, gratitude keeps me going strong.
During one my treatments here in Denver, I was in a room with a 75-year-old man named Ron. We joked about “Who wore it best” while comparing our bald heads. We got to talking about the fight and sharing our secrets to keeping alive. Before I left that day, he asked me, “Do you know what today is, Katie?”
“No,” I replied. “What is it?”
“A gift,” he told me.
I left the hospital that day feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. Ron and I still keep in touch. He reminds me of the importance of gratitude.
I am most grateful for my support system. My doctors and nurses near and far have been incredible. Here in Denver, I’d like to thank Doctors Hovland, Reiner, Nutting and Gonzales and their staff, for taking such great care of me. Dr. Hovland and his team gave me an amazing beaded zebra knowing that is my spirit animal. Dr. Nutting prayed with me before both of my procedures. You don’t get that kind of care every day, and I would know.
My parents are medical professionals and have been two of my biggest cheerleaders in this fight. I call my dad my agent. He’s done countless hours of research to ensure I’m getting the best treatment possible. He and my stepmom have both driven or flown cross country to be with me in times of need. Thank you, Dad and Shirley.
My siblings are my greatest allies in life. They have also sacrificed so much to be with me during appointments including travel to New York or to help a sibling with kiddos, so that I’m not alone during treatments. Their children light up my heart. Thank you, Don, Julie, Ron, Nicki, Nick, Jenni, Scott, Chris and Polish.
My friends have dropped everything to be there for Nick, our dog Alice, and me. They set up meal trains, take care of our dog, drink wine with me, get pedis with me, golf with Nick, and take me shopping for new lipstick when my hair falls out. Jen, Scott, Sarah, Justin, Candace, Sean, Heather, Liz and Lynn – thank you for everything.
My husband, Nick and Miss Alice. I am truly at a loss for words for you, my precious immediate family. Since my surgery, my eyes have appeared as two different colors. When Nick and I decided to adopt a dog, Alice, with her two different color eyes, was the obvious choice. I love that in all of this, you make me laugh, hard, every single day, both of you. I love our life together. I am so grateful for your love and support, you silly sausages.
My therapist asked me when I was first diagnosed to answer quickly the following question. “There is a light inside of you. Is that light going to continue to shine, or do you think it will burn out?”
I lied straight through my teeth with such conviction, “It will continue to shine.”
She said, “Good. People seem to know deep down.”
I didn’t think that back then. But through my faith, my family, my attitude and gratitude, I truly believe it now.
For those of you wondering, my past two scans have shown shrinking and stability.
Thank you again for this great honor. Please raise your glasses. I’d like to toast all those fighting melanoma – may your light continue to shine.