Unity Over Uniformity

Today’s post is a topic I don’t typically write about. It’s about my faith journey and relationship with communities of faith throughout my life.

I slowly exited the Catholic Church, with an enormous amount of guilt (shocking) in my 20s. And when I say 20s, I mean, it truly took me years. When I was 18 years-old, my step-brother came out to my family. When I was in college, my young cousin started telling her parents, “My outside parts don’t match my inside parts.” The universal code for “I am transgender.”

As a family, they learned what this meant through research and counseling. Before Kate (the new name she chose) entered 3^rd grade, her Catholic grade school sent a letter to her home informing her family that “Ben” (her former name) was no longer welcome at the school. My cousins moved to another part of town and joined a new school and United Church of Christ (UCC). UCC welcomed them with open arms—including Kate. The senior minister of UCC reached out to Kate’s family after reading their story in the Omaha World Herald. Kate’s mom never intended to set foot in another church had it not been for this invitation.

A faith-based community was always a part of my life. I went to Catholic grade school, high school and university. It was all I knew. Incidentally, several of the priests I knew growing up were gay. The community that raised me in Omaha, NE included the parish I grew up in. When my mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer when I was 13 years-old and passed away two years later, members of this community were helping my family every day with meals, rides to sports practices, and prayers.

But as I watched my cousins go through their journey, along with discrimination my brother faced, I felt more and more distanced from the Catholic Church. I never understood the church’s stance on LGBTQ. How can we call ourselves Christians, yet exclude a part of the population? Who are we, as humans, to deny anyone the body or blood of Christ?

By my mid-20s I wasn’t going to church at all. And I missed it. I missed the sense of community that had carried my family through some very tough times. For a few years, I was entirely lost in my faith.

Then, after attending a Christmas service at Greenwood Community Church with my sister’s family, I thought, “Hmmm. That was different. But I liked it. I wonder if they have one of these in Denver, closer to where I live.”

So one Saturday evening, I googled “Denver Community Church,” which is how I came to find Denver Community Church (DCC). I started attending services, and I loved the sense of community. Michael, the lead pastor has a genuine gift from God to share His message. Michael is married. He talks about his wife and his kids. What I love the most about Michael is that he’s vulnerable. He shares his fears and faults. He’s relatable.

I joined a DCC supper club group and made a couple connections in the church. I didn’t go every Sunday, but I went. It was a step in the right direction.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, Pastor Dave and Bambi, one of the elders, were there to listen and pray with me. Every time I saw them, they’d ask how I was doing. As would Brigette, a friend from my supper club.

But as of this past Sunday, I hadn’t been to church in over six months. After reading an email from DCC about the annual Denver Gay Pride Parade in June, I was left, again, questioning organized religion. I don’t remember what exactly the email said. At first, I was excited to read it. DCC, along with other churches in the community, were joining forces to “stand guard” during the parade, in the wake of the Orlando shooting. But it ended with something along the lines of “even though we might not agree with the lifestyle of the LGBTQ community, the parade is not the time to express that.”

“We” in this instance could have meant all of DCC or some of its members. Or maybe it sounded nothing like this, and I was looking for an excuse to stop going to church.

This past Sunday, I woke up feeling compelled to go to DCC. Part of this may have been driven by just finishing a book called Angels in My Hair, where the author, Lorna Byrne, talks about how much God loves group prayer. I also had a very spiritual experience on Saturday during my reiki session, where I felt my guardian angel touching my hand. Mock this if you’d like, but they call it faith for a reason.

At the start of the service, we watched a video from the elders of DCC. Okay, I missed the video because punctuality is not my forte, but thankfully, I was able to find it online! To recap, the elders talked about how they have spent the past couple years through prayer and reflection discussing the LGBTQ community. They have concluded that as a faith community, DCC will move forward with and for the LGBTQ community. They acknowledged this is not about an issue, it’s about mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, and God’s love for all people. It demands compassion, empathy and a willingness to listen.

Michael gave his sermon. When he got to the part where he ties in his own personal story and started talking about the LGBTQ community, I laughed to God and my angels. They were certainly up to something that morning pulling me back to church.

Michael talked about a gay couple that had invited him to dinner when he was teaching at a church in Michigan. He became friends with this couple. One of the men sang one week in the church choir. When it was discovered that he was gay, he was told he could no longer sing. Michael left shortly after to move to Denver. He admitted that one of his biggest regrets in life was watching silently as this happened.

DCC has never taken a stance one way or another on LGBTQ issues or individuals. But after discussions, they are calling for full inclusion for LGBTQ brothers and sisters and choosing unity over uniformity. Michael apologized to all of his LGBTQ brothers and sisters for not supporting them in the past.

The video stated, “We want our faith community to be for you what it is for everyone—a place where you can bring your full self…where everyone can belong, can contribute, and be open to the transformative work that God wants to do in each of us.” DCC invites everyone to “serve, lead and participate at any and every level within our faith community.”

I’ll be honest, there’s a part of me that doesn’t understand why this is even in question. Perhaps, that is because I have several lesbian, gay, bi and transgender family members and friends in my life. Instead, I am grateful that DCC is committed to educating those who have not had an opportunity to understand and appreciate this amazing group of people…who are just like us. DCC is holding meetings the next four Wednesday evenings to open up the dialog for any members who would like to better understand the LGBTQ community.

We ended in prayer Sunday morning, and a man at the back of the room shouted, “Michael! I have something to say!”

Michael invited him to speak.

Through tears, he said, “I am a gay man. You have touched me today. I have never felt welcomed by a faith community like this. You inspire me to go home today and pick up my Bible again.”

How ironic, or is it, that Sunday was the day that I was drawn back to my church?

Always Stay Humble and Kind

Dear Family & Friends,

It’s that time of year again, when I reflect on all the things I have to be grateful for, particularly as I celebrate another year of being a cancer survivor. Tomorrow, November 25, marks the two year anniversary of my second diagnosis.

While 2015 was a year a physical challenges with tough treatments and frequent travel, 2016 proved to be far more difficult mentally. I started the year with a six month break in treatment. For a while there, I forgot I was even sick. With this break from doctor’s visits, needles and scans, I was able to reflect more on this journey I’m on. It’s still a lot to take in.

My perception of what really matters in life has changed. And my relationships continued to deepen with those I love. As always, Nick and Alice are my rocks. We kept very busy this year. We moved into our new home in February. We enjoyed a visit from his parents in May. We traveled to Seattle, Minneapolis, D.C., England and Ireland. I climbed my first 14’er! And we welcomed another nephew into our family.

In June, I made the choice at work to step down from management and go to four days a week. I needed a day to myself to take care of me and reflect on all that I am going through. A couple days later, tumor growth landed me in my third clinical trial at the University of Colorado.

I ended up losing my hair and several men in my life shaved their heads with me including my brothers, Chris and Paul, my brother-in-law Martyn, my father-in-law Jim, my dad, my sweet husband and my darling nephew Tommy.

Having a physical sign of cancer sure changed the way I went through my days and interacted with others. Cancer continues to teach me lessons in humility. I’m now off that treatment and sporting the pixie cut I always wanted to try but never dared.

Just like last year (and always), Tim McGraw spoke to me in one of his songs: Always Be Humble and Kind.

Hold the door, say “please”, say “thank you”
Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie
I know you got mountains to climb
But always stay humble and kind

Don’t take for granted the love this life gives you
When you get where you’re going don’t forget turn back around
And help the next one in line
Always stay humble and kind

Thank you all for your continued prayers and support during this marathon of a fight. Hug your loved ones extra tight this holiday season. Be grateful for all that you have, especially your health. And LOVE THIS LIFE.

All of My Love,

_katie

What are you in for?

 

“You know what today is?” asked the man sitting in his recliner a few feet from mine, enjoying the same treat I was, only a slightly different variety.

“What?” I asked.

“A gift.”

Damn straight. Today I had my fourth treatment, and I left the hospital feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. I spent the past couple hours chatting with an older gentleman named Ron and his wife, Gloria, whom he so clearly adores.

The dialog is pretty predictable in those halls. There are two chairs per room, and it doesn’t take long for the “what are you in for” conversation to start.

Ron was baffled with my eyeball cancer. His started as prostate cancer and metastasized to his bones. We shared secrets to fighting the side effects and book titles about nutrition. We joked about “who wore it best” when comparing our bald heads.

We talked about diet and attitude and the way you end up living your life when you’re faced with your own mortality. We shared our stories about finding the love of our lives who are carrying us through this journey.

We exchanged emails and when I got to my car, he had sent me images of some paintings he created. His wife got him started a couple years ago, as an outlet I presume. They were beautiful.

If you’ve seen The Holiday with Kate Winslet, he reminded me of Arthur. Such a beautiful outlook on life and such a beautiful meet cute.

We may not have appreciated our reasons for being there, but I sure felt blessed walking away. Thank you, Ron, for reminding me what a gift today is.

2.7 Seconds on a Bull Named Fu Man Chu

This week, the week of Thanksgiving, marks the one-year anniversary of my perspective on life changing completely – and for the better. One year ago this week, I was both diagnosed with Stage IV uveal melanoma and became engaged to be married to the love of my life. What a roller coaster it was and continues to be. As I reflect on the last year, I’m overcome with emotions.

My brother calls me fearless. It’s true; when faced with your own mortality, you become fearless. I jumped out of an airplane this year for one! I do still have some fears, however, the biggest one being: Do the people who fought for me and with me this past year know how grateful I am?

I thought I’d take this opportunity, in case I haven’t said it enough, to say “thank you.” One expects some people to be there when life throws you a curveball like cancer: your husband, your parents, your siblings, your extended family, your in-laws (official and unofficial), your colleagues, your friends, and your dentist (when you’re Katie Doble). Other people surprise you: friends from grade school, families from your neighborhood growing up, the medical professionals helping to heal you, grade school teachers, college professors, your siblings’ neighbors, the colleagues you adopted as you sought treatment in another state, clients, your dad’s patients…the list goes on.

Whichever list you fall under for me, the expected or unexpected, I am eternally grateful to you. Whether you were rearranging your life to travel with me to treatments, visiting me in NYC or Denver, contributing financially, making sure my toes were painted all year round, drinking wine with me, sending me care packages and cards, giving me therapy sessions at no charge, tucking me in every night, covering for me when I missed work, stashing my supply of trashy magazines, working from my home on days I wasn’t strong enough to be alone, taking care of our crazy puppy, or posting words of encouragement on my CaringBridge site – I could not have made it through this year without all your love, prayers, and support. I consider myself so blessed.

Family has always been the most important thing to me, and this past year, my family proved why. My parents gave me their all this year. They made me feel like a little girl that they were trying with all their might to protect. That’s the greatest feeling as a daughter. My siblings and their spouses rallied around me and made it clear I was never alone in this fight. My husband was my number one fan and despite all the uncertainties and chaos in this past year, he gave me the best year of my life.

I spoke with a lot of dear friends this year about time spent. This year has taught me how important it is to be in the company of people I love and how easy it is, once I learned how, to say “no.” I have always had a hard time saying no; I’ve always overcommitted.

This year I stopped. It was so refreshing. I slowed down. I spent more nights in and less nights out. I made more memories with my nephews and niece. I saw my friends less, but the time spent with them was more meaningful. I left work a little earlier each night. I took some very special trips back home to NE and MN. I don’t have any regrets on how I’ve spent my time in the past. But I’m so content with how I’m living my life now.

Recently, I heard Tim McGraw’s song “Live Like You’re Dying” and it brought me to tears (and laughter, as I did some of the things!):

I went sky divin
I went rocky mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds
On a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter
And gave forgiveness I’d been denying
And he said some day I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dying

I worked for a woman once who thought it was a horrible song, with a morbid message. I disagreed with her then, and even more so now. No matter how much time I have left on this earth, getting the perspective I have in the last year really has allowed me to love deeper and speak sweeter. I am so grateful for that because it is a liberating way to live.

So this Thanksgiving holiday, I thank God and all my angels for this past year and for the friends and family who have blessed me daily. God bless you.

All my love,

Katie

An Open Letter to Memorial Sloan Kettering

Thank you MSK.

A couple years ago, while searching for a surgeon to fix my ACL tear, I had an interesting conversation with a nurse I met out at a bar (crutches with a built in beer koozie sparked a lot of conversations!). She told me that she didn’t think bedside manner and brilliance went hand-in-hand – and that she preferred to have a doctor who was a real A-hole if it meant she could be healed. I totally disagreed, and she thought me naïve to care about bedside manner.

In all my health issues over the years, I’ve always sought a balance of both. I’ve been amazed at the care I’ve received from general health issues to my original cancer diagnosis to now.

This past year, MSK raised the bar even further.

I was diagnosed with Stage IV uveal melanoma on November 25, 2014. My dad is a general physician and my “agent” in this fight. He spent every waking moment, according to my stepmom, finding the best treatment option for me. It’s no surprise that landed me at MSK.

My dad, fiancé, and I met with Dr. Callahan in December to talk about our options. She was so kind and patient. She explained everything very well, and we were all impressed.

We took a couple trips to NYC in December and by January 4, I was flying to New York to spend the next five weeks getting enrolled in a clinical trial. I was scared out of mind – of the cancer and of New York City.

From the very start of the process, I was impressed by the people who work at MSK, starting with Efren, the guy who answers the phones at Dr. Callahan’s office. He was always so friendly and responsive, and we quickly became really good phone friends – in my mind at least.

During the first five weeks of the trial, I decided to stay put in NYC instead of flying back and forth every week. I had a lot of visitors during this time, but four weeks into the trial on the day the last one left, I had my first meltdown. I had developed a horrible rash on my chest, back, face and scalp. I felt like a monster! And it hurt. To make matters worse, I was getting married in three weeks and concerned about how I would look in my wedding photos.

Dr. Callahan was having a baby, so my care transitioned to Dr. Postow. I went into the doctor’s office to get it checked out. Yelena walked into the room with an empathetic look on her face, and I completely lost it. She gave me a hug and comforted me. She talked to me about some group therapy resources and assured me I was normal for being upset. This interaction created, at least for me, a very special bond with Yelena. I always took such great comfort in her presence moving forward. We went on to have some more lighthearted moments, including a time I shared a side effect with her that was so silly we were both in tears of laughter.

I was referred to Dr. Lacouture for the rash. I told myself I didn’t care what I looked like when I married my husband, but that was a huge lie. Dr. Lacouture came rushing into the room clapping his hands, shouting, “When is the wedding!!??” Three weeks, I told him. “I’ll have you cleared up in two.” Sure enough, he got the rash under control, and with the help of an amazing makeup artist, my wedding pictures turned out great. I loved that he cared so much about helping to make sure I looked good for that day.

After heading back home to Denver, I continued in the clinical trial through August, taking monthly trips back to NYC. While the travel was daunting and exhausting, I genuinely looked forward to my visits, especially the ones that didn’t involve a scan. That’s because I enjoyed seeing the key players and the rest of the staff – Dr. Postow, Yelena and Nana – my research nurses, Beverly in EKG, and Jose, the happy man who greeted everyone on the ground level. I knew that no matter what the results, I’d be handled with care.

Unfortunately, come August, growth in the tumors required my removal from the trial. This was devastating news. Dr. Postow was very careful in explaining the results and making sure we felt like we had other options. He sat with us for a very long time as we contemplated treatment moving forward. He called a previous doctor of mine to communicate the options. He offered to be available any time moving forward to discuss treatment plans on the phone. He delivered on that.

Back in Colorado, my husband, dad and I met with another doctor and found a new clinical trial. My dad called Dr. Postow after the initial meeting to run the trial past him. He agreed it was a great option, wished us the best, and again, offered to be available with any questions in the future.

A few days later, he called me to check in on how I was doing. In the coming weeks, I received phone calls from both Nana and Yelena checking in on me. I cannot tell you how much comfort this gave me.

Three weeks into my new trial in Colorado, we hit a snafu. My treatment was halted and I was offered little explanation why. I tried repeatedly to get ahold of my doctor in Denver but wasn’t able to reach him.

Using the MSK app, I messaged Yelena and Nana to see if one of them could contact me. Yelena replied right away that one of them would call me and within a couple business hours, I received a phone call from Nana.

I felt like a little kid explaining my problem to her, knowing that there was nothing she could really do to help me. She listened. She was familiar with the trial I was in, as MSK ran a similar one. She gave me great insight to the trial and why my treatment had been stopped. I felt so relieved and was able to relax. Turns out all I had needed was a little communication.

I was sad to leave MSK but know the door is always open. I would have never expected to look back on the last year and my time in New York and with MSK with such great fondness. It’s because of the people I mentioned above – among many others – that this fight against cancer was made a little easier on me and my family.

Thank you.

_catherine “katie” doble

I Found My Wedding Dress in the Men’s Section at Sears

I was 18 years old when my oldest sister Julie got married. I remember going with her to the bridal store to help her find a dress with my other sister, Nicki. There were tears when she found “the one.” From that day forward, I waited for my turn – the day I could try on white dresses for my sisters. 

I felt like it took an eternity to find myself a husband, then one of life’s curveballs had me planning a wedding in a hurry. Shortly before I started treatment for Stage IV uveal melanoma, my then-fiancé Nick and I decided we just wanted to be married…now. I could get married in jeans and a sweater for all I cared. Meeting him at the end of the aisle was all that mattered. 

Okay. I lied. 

I increasingly compared the wedding I’d always dreamed of to the wedding we were having. He was all that mattered; that part was true. But there were some little things I still wanted to be just right, like wearing a gorgeous gown – and taking his breath away on our wedding day.

After accompanying me to New York City at the start of my clinical trial, Nick had to return to Denver one Sunday night to go back to work. I wouldn’t see him for 27 days. Upon returning to Denver, we would have two weeks and one day until the big day. We had six weeks to plan a wedding, so I delegated most of the planning to my incredible family and friends. When you have the bride card AND the cancer card, it’s amazing what you can get away with.  

It would be a winter wedding – not what I ever pictured – and small, held in the wine room of a restaurant surrounded by a couple dozen immediate family members and a few close friends. It was much of what I wanted, just on a smaller scale (although not that much cheaper).

“Is it at all possible to find a wedding gown in six weeks?” a voice in my head kept wondering. I had always planned on wearing my mom’s wedding veil. And that would just look silly with jeans. 

The night Nick left, I took a gander at dresses online. A bridesmaid seven times over, I had seen my share of brides go through the planning process. I had seen enough to know you can’t find, order, and alter a wedding dress in only six weeks. And even if I did have time, I had no idea what I wanted. 

I googled “used wedding dresses.” The results included http://www.preownedweddingdresses.com. Hmmm. “Well that certainly sounds classier than used,” I thought to myself. 

The site allows you to search by size, style, color, location – you name it. So I tested it out. I didn’t limit style or color (mostly because I had no idea of my preference), but I searched my size within a 25 mile radius of Manhattan. 

Three dresses appeared. Two of them were an immediate “No.” One of them was beautiful. I messaged the bride, carefully, as my characters were limited. 

My profile listed my location as Denver. Not realizing I was currently based in NYC, the owner of the dress wasn’t quite sure how I would “try it on.” She signed her name, Anna. 

My mom’s name was Ann, and in the 18 years since she passed away, I’ve found her talking to me in ways like this – lately, more than ever. 

I told this Anna my story. 

Anna,

I wasn’t sure if it was possible to see dresses/try on before purchase. I’ve never used this site before. I got engaged on Thanksgiving and was diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma the same week. We are moving up our wedding to Feb 22 (not a lot of time!!!). I still want to have a nice dress, I just don’t have time to order/alter one. I’m living in NYC getting treatment for the month of January, and then will head back home to Denver. Your size/specs would probably fit me (I’m 5’4″ and have a torn ACL, so can’t wear heels – I’m a hot mess :)). Anyway, if that’s not a possibility, then I understand. I just wouldn’t want to buy a dress only to find it doesn’t fit. I did a search by zip code and your dress came up as close by. Let me know if that’s a possibility! 

_katie

Christina, my best friend since first grade, was coming out to meet me in New York in two weeks. If I could time it right, it might be possible to meet Anna with Christina by my side. Sarah, my other best friend since kindergarten, was overlapping with Christina for one night. If I could really time it right, I’d have one on each side.

I was also reviewing other options. J.Crew, for example, makes beautiful wedding dresses that you can order in your size and get in a couple days. The company also has three stores in the country – one in New York – where you can actually go in and try on the dresses. Suddenly, getting treated for cancer in 
the most populous city in the country had some advantages.

I called the store to set an appointment. “Miss, we don’t have any openings until the end of February.” That doesn’t really help me when my wedding date is February 22. I took a deep breath, and told my story again.

“How about January 24 at noon?”

Perfect. Christina was there that day.  

“I’ll take it,” I said, thanking her profusely.

Meanwhile, Anna had confirmed a Sunday evening meeting for January 25, the day Christina and Sarah’s visits would overlap. 

I liked so many J.Crew dresses listed online I even contemplated canceling on Anna. I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to get to her, as she lives outside the city. One additional concern: I had developed a rash on my chest and neck, a lovely side effect of the trial drug. Would a strapless dress even work? 

If nothing else, I figured, it would be an adventure. 

Christina and I set out on Saturday morning. J.Crew was great. They were very helpful, and it was so fun trying on all the gowns. One dress stood out. It was simple, elegant, and perfect for the venue. And it would go perfectly with my mother’s veil. 

They took my measurements and recommended me for two sizes. Again, I found myself contemplating canceling on Anna, but some part of me wouldn’t allow it. I would wait until after seeing her dress before placing my order with J.Crew, I decided.

I still had no idea how we were going to get to Anna. She lives at least 30 minutes north of Manhattan. I told her it would be easiest for us to take the train, and she suggested the mall off the White Plains exit. I think meeting in a public place made us both more comfortable. The total fare was $51 roundtrip for all three of us, and taking the train was way safer than midwestern girls taking to the roads of Greater New York City. 

We got to the mall early and wandered around for a bit. At 6:15 p.m., Anna texted us to meet her. 

That’s how I ended up trying on my wedding dress in the Men’s Department at Sears. 

We popped into a large, stand-alone dressing room. Christina and Sarah helped me get into the dress and as they zipped it up, I looked in the mirror, made a funny face, and started saying, “shit shit shit shit shit…” 

Sarah asked, “You don’t like it?”

Christina, who knew I had really liked the J.Crew dress, replied, “I think she loves it.”

We deliberated for probably 15 minutes. I had withdrawn the $300 it was selling for out of my bank account in case I wanted to buy it. The dress was gorgeous. It was me. And it fit me like a glove. No alterations required. 

But I wasn’t sure how it would go with the veil, and I still liked the simplicity of the J.Crew dress. Crap. 

I decided to go for it. Even though I wasn’t 100% sold, I figured I could always re-sell it online. And if I did end up wearing it, I would have the added bonus of being able to tell people I bought my wedding dress in the Sears Men’s Department. I do love a good story.

Anna came back into the room. When I told her I wanted to buy it, she talked me down to $200. We had made the trip up, she pointed out. I attempted to argue then gave up easily seeing as she was haggling down.

Christina, Sarah, and I giggled like the schoolgirls we once were the entire way home. Sitting on the train reminded us of the eight years we rode the bus together in grade school – only I was towing a giant wedding dress folded up into a Container Store bag. 

Still on the fence, I thought: if I buy the J.Crew dress, I could still have the day where I try on white dresses for my sisters. So I ordered the one dress in two sizes and had them shipped to Nicki’s house. 

I got home to my honey in Denver, and the next day, we went to Nicki’s. After five long weeks, I was aching to get my arms around my nephews and niece. Nick and my brother-in-law entertained the kiddos, while Julie, Nicki, and I snuck upstairs to try on dresses. 

First, the J.Crew dress. The larger size was too big. The smaller size fit, but just okay. It would have required more than just a hem, and Nicki didn’t think it was very flattering. With just two weeks until game day, I didn’t have time for that. 

At that point, I had a feeling Anna’s dress was the one. So I grabbed the veil and my cowboy boots and snuck into the bathroom to try on the dress with the full effect. I was so relieved when I walked into the room and saw tears, surprisingly from Nicki, the less sappy sister. Julie was more concerned with getting us all wine to celebrate. In the end, it was no contest. 

 

I am so grateful to have found my dress and loved the adventure in doing so – first trying it on with two lifelong girlfriends and then getting the stamp of approval from my sisters. 

But the best moment in that dress was seeing the unforgettable look on Nick’s face the first time he saw me on our wedding day. 

That dress was made for me (and Anna).

I Met My Husband on LinkedIn

“You were quite industrious for reaching out to me on LinkedIn.” That was the first compliment my husband ever gave me. I work in staffing, which means I look at dozens of LinkedIn professional profiles every day. So it’s not too crazy that I would find a husband there.

I started my market research (dating) when I was about 15 years-old. The first few boyfriends weren’t very serious. Then, as a junior, I met my high school sweetheart – an incredibly kind, compassionate, driven, and smart young man. Upon graduating, we chose to attend different universities but continued dating. One winter break, I flew to see him in Madrid while he studied abroad. On the flight over it hit me: if we stayed together, I’d spend my whole life following his dreams. Which would have been great, if they matched mine, but I was only 19 years old. What did I know about what I wanted to do with my life? The only thing I did know was that I still had some soul-searching to do. If I stayed with him, I’d never truly find myself.

“I’ve been dating since I was 15. I’m exhausted! Where is he?!” That’s one of my favorite TV quotes, said by Charlotte from Sex and the City. By the time I hit my late 20s, this was the story of my life.

The first half of my 20s, I dated plenty and had a couple of more really serious boyfriends. All wonderful, husband-material individuals, but again, I wasn’t ready. One day, my sister called to tell me she was pregnant with her second boy. At that moment, I finally had some clarity in my life. I needed to move to Denver.

I had a serious boyfriend at the time, and when I told my dad about my secret desire to move, he replied, “You know, Kate, when I met your mom, I wanted to spend every waking moment with her. It was the same when I met Shirley. You don’t seem to have that with this guy.”

My dad was right. I enjoyed his company, and he was perfect on paper, but something was missing. When I told the boyfriend that I wanted to move to Denver, he responded: “I don’t want to move to Denver.”

My inside voice said: “I didn’t ask you to.”

Within a few short months, I was packing my one bedroom condo into a U-Haul and making my way West to Denver – a.k.a. Menver.

I was excited about the prospects that came with a new city, and it was true, there were a lot of men. But dating in Denver proved to be far more difficult than dating in the Midwest. When a friend explained the Peter Pan Syndrome (PPS) to me, it suddenly started to make sense. PPS affects three out of five adult males, who, due to social circumstances, are never forced to grow up. It’s the fastest growing cause of old maids.

Why would a single man want to commit to having a girlfriend in Denver? Without a girlfriend tying you down, you can hang out at breweries on weeknights and spend weekends at a mountain cabin snowboarding with friends. Denver is full of adventure and good beer. It’s a bachelor’s paradise.

Despite my frustration, I held off on joining the legions of online daters. “When I grow up, I’m going to meet my husband online,” said no one from my generation ever. Online dating didn’t exist when we were little girls. And even though success at online dating happens all the time and may even one day become the norm, most people would prefer to meet their future spouse in more traditional, organic ways.

So instead, I stretched my social butterfly wings to the limit. At one point, I was playing in recreational sports leagues five days a week. I dropped volleyball and kickball in short order. They were more about drinking than the actual sport, and if I was going to try this hard to meet guys, I might as well work in some cardio. I stuck with Ultimate Frisbee and Gaelic Football. Both were fun leagues that led to great friends, and a few dates, but again, all missing the mark.

I went to networking events. I found a good church. I set my friends up with boyfriends, jobs, dentists, and hairstylists. One night over a few beers, my friend Justin remarked on how ironic it was I couldn’t meet a guy when I was the one person connecting all of Denver. Oh, but I was meeting guys…just the wrong ones.

In 2010, I finally caved and started online dating. By that point, I was seeing friends marry guys they met online, so I figured I’d give it a try.

Let me interject a little story I like to call “the worst online dating experience ever” (and that my friends refer to as “the best story ever”). After exchanging messages with a guy through a popular online dating site, he finally called to ask me out. During the call, he challenged me to a “plaid off.”

“A plaid off?” I asked. “Yeah, you know, whoever wears the most plaid wins.” I agreed, and, never one to back down from a challenge, I went all out. I’m the girl who has a giant bin full of costume gear. On top of that, I had one additional unfair advantage: my sister is a golf-pro – and we’re the same size.

The night before our date, I found myself suddenly concerned with the amount of plaid I had collected (shoes, socks, pants, belt, shirt, sweater, scarf, and hat). I texted him: “Is this like classy plaid or tacky plaid?”

“It’s a contest,” he replied.

On a Tuesday night in the middle of a blizzard, he picked me up wearing tasteful attire (given the comparison to his date) – plaid pants with a solid colored shirt. It was the most awkward date ever. The worst part was he made no mention or congratulations about my obvious win. And, of course, I ran into someone I knew at the restaurant.

There were many more bad dates, and some that I thought were good dates, where the guy never called again. All the while, I was still soul-searching. I realized I had done enough market research to know what I wanted, and I had also worked on myself and felt I was putting my best self forward.

I had finally let go and stopped trying so hard. I quit the leagues. I was truly engaged in my friends. My nephews ruled my world. I landed my dream job. And life was good.

Then, in May of 2013, out of the blue, I was diagnosed with ocular melanoma.

It has its own separate story. In short, I leaned heavily on my family and close friends during what was a very difficult time. And I made it through. I got a clean bill of health later that same summer.

Dating during and post-cancer survival is a whole different animal. One guy said to me, “Your current situation isn’t conducive to starting a romantic relationship.” He did offer I reach out to him when I was healthy again. Not in sickness, but in health. No thank you.

I knew the bar – and my standards – had just been raised even higher. This piece of my story would test the emotional capacity of any man I would meet very early on in the relationship.

I focused on work and enjoying being healthy.

Back to my job, where I spend a significant portion of my day on LinkedIn. Working in sales for a staffing company, my favorite part of the job is new business development. I love the challenge of breaking into a new company. I love cold calling companies that have job postings to see if I can help them fill the positions.

And that’s how I ended up on the LinkedIn profile of my future husband.

His company was seeking a web content writer. As I researched the company on LinkedIn, Nick’s face appeared as the manager of the Denver office. I melted. Without a second guess, and knowing full well that due to the nature of his company that it was a long shot we would actually do business together, I clicked “Connect.”

A couple of days later, he accepted my request. It got lost amidst a crazy afternoon and landed in my “low priority” email folder.

Two weeks passed before I saw the job posting again and remembered the smile of that cute guy who OH YEAH, accepted my request! I dug through the folder and sent him a message. I explained what I do, that I had a candidate who might be a good match, and ended with: “It doesn’t look like you’re from here. I hope you’re enjoying Denver.”

The beauty of LinkedIn. You can learn so much about a person before ever talking to them. From the looks of it, Nick was English and had spent time in San Francisco and Las Vegas before making way to Denver.

On the other side of this digital dance, Nick knew exactly what I was up to. Fortunately, he was equally intrigued. We exchanged a few more messages. Then, finally, I signed off one email saying, “If you ever want to grab a drink or coffee, I love networking.”

With that, he triumphantly announced to some co-workers, “I just got a date off of LinkedIn.”

We set up a “meeting” for Friday afternoon. But when Friday came, I got an email from Nick saying he needed to reschedule. I was disappointed. I responded that it was okay, suggested alternative dates and times, and never expected to hear from him again.

Meanwhile, his coworker and very good friend was scolding him for bailing on me.

He replied right away and said Saturday afternoon would work. We both had commitments later on that evening, so we planned to meet for an early drink at 5 p.m. at The Squeaky Bean.

On Saturday, I started to get really nervous as I got ready for my “networking meeting.” On my way there, I texted him to say I was wearing a reddish orange jacket so he would know how to spot me. He responded and said he was wearing a claret and blue checkered shirt.

Oh my God! He’s gay.

My gay stepbrother told me once that if a man describes something using a color outside the basic Crayola box, it means he’s gay.

“Relax, Katie,” I told myself as I laughed out loud. “He could be gay, married, who knows. You met this guy on LinkedIn. Keep it professional. Be yourself. And drop all expectations. You love meeting new people. He’s just another new person – another new connection.”

I sat at the bar waiting, early for the first time in my life, and no longer nervous. In walks Nick, very tall and very handsome. “Please don’t be gay. Please don’t be gay,” I thought to myself. We shook hands, and that was the beginning of something very special.

We talked business for a bit. He made great conversation. It moved from work to where we were from to family. I don’t think I stopped smiling the entire time. And his accent, oh his accent.

I had recently sold my scooter and in telling him about that, I revealed the reason was because I was now blind in one eye. Out came my story about surviving cancer. But he didn’t seem phased.

When the bartender presented the bill, I reached for it. Nick stopped me. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you pay tonight,” he said.

This was clearly not a networking meeting.

As he closed out, he said he hoped to see me again. I told him I’d like that.

We were both heading out to meet friends. But first, we had to walk down a narrow path to get to the street corner. He glanced at me, grabbed my hand, and led me down the path. My heart was racing. Once we cleared the trouble spot, he kept holding my hand. When we got to the corner, he kissed me. He claims I kissed him, but it doesn’t really matter.

We walked our separate ways, and I hoped and prayed he’d call.

I heard from him the next day.

Just like my dad said it would happen, we were soon spending every waking moment together. In October, we celebrated one year of dating. The next month, on Thanksgiving, he got down on one knee in front of my family and asked for my hand in marriage. I said “yes.”

My market research was finally over. It was a joyful occasion.

But it would soon take a bittersweet turn.

That same week, we got the news my cancer had returned – this time to my liver. The months that followed have been a series of emotional extremes for both of us. I cannot imagine facing what I am facing right now without Nick by my side. We decided on setting an early wedding date so we can face this battle together – as a family.

We planned our wedding in six short weeks. It wasn’t quite the wedding I always imagined, but that did not make one bit of a difference in my fairy tale. I married the man I’ve been searching for all these years – and that’s all that matters.

And every time I log into LinkedIn, I’m reminded of how grateful I am for the day I clicked Connect.

Through the Eyes of the Machine | College Essay

My original college essay was rejected by my college counselor. It was my senior year, and I was completing my application to the University of St. Thomas. The application required an essay on “someone who had inspired me” – or something to that effect.

I wrote an essay about my mom and took it to Mrs. Quest to review. She read it and responded, “I think you can do better, Katie.”

I was crushed. It was personal. I was, after all, writing about the loss of my mother. I walked away, likely mumbling under my breath. The next day, I sat at Village Inn with a couple girlfriends, probably still bitching about having to re-write the essay. Suddenly, I had an idea. And in the midst of the chaotic restaurant, I wrote this essay.

When I took it to Mrs. Quest the next morning, she replied, “I told you so.”

Thank you, to Mrs. Quest and all the other teachers at Duchesne, who pushed me to be better. Particularly Mrs. Moeschler, who taught me how to write.

___________________________________________________________

Through the Eyes of the Machine

Those delicate hands guided the fabric through me for hours on end. Her sweet voice sang along to the Country Music Awards as she worked diligently changing my needle or presser foot. I heard her laugh and cry with her friends, whether they were stopping in from down the street or Florida. I smelled dinner on her as she raced from the kitchen to the sewing room and back again. I saw the integrity and dedication in her eyes as she worked through me. She was a woman of great patience; she placed her foot gently on my pedal never rushing the final masterpiece.

I will never forget the day an unfamiliar small pair of hands threaded my needle for the first time. The woman worked with the child in the same way she worked with me. She was gentle, patient and understanding. The love between the woman and the child was represented by the stitches they formed through me.

But as the years passed by, the woman came to me less and less and the child more and more, and eventually the woman came no longer. The child now works through me everyday, some days for hours, producing her own designs or finishing the works that the woman never completed. Although the mother no longer comes to me, I can still see her through the eyes of her daughter, who is growing up to be the woman she has always hoped to be.

My mother was a beautiful, petite woman who devoted her life to her husband, children, extended family and friends. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer when I was thirteen, and she passed away two years later. When I was nine years old, she taught me how to sew. It was one of the greatest gifts she ever gave me because when I sew, I am reminded that she will always live on.

_Katie Ortman, 1999

The Best Worst Thing: Entry 5 | Eadem Mutata Resurgo

Be sure to read in order: Diagnosis PET CT Scan Scan Results Radiation Eadem Mutata Resurgo

Eadem Mutata Resurgo
___________________

In 22 days, I had become a cancer survivor. With the exception of some eyelashes, I didn’t lose my hair. I didn’t miss a lot of work. I didn’t become physically weak. It was a lot to take in. The following Tuesday I had a follow up appointment with Dr. Hovland. They covered my right eye. “What do you see.” “Nothing,” I replied. “No, even if it’s the top line, what do you see?” “I assume there is a giant E up there, but I do not see anything.” Dr. Hovland was surprised by not concerned. “Is this normal?” I asked. “Oh, Katie. You are all your own little lonely birds in this process. There is no normal.” He thought my vision might start to come back in another week or two. He prescribed some steroids. I was to wait and “see.” That night, I got angry. Why couldn’t I see? While the worst was over, I began to realize, this was going to be a long road. Dr. Hovland told me that day that I’d probably be wearing my glasses for a year. The tumor itself would take 6-12 months to shrink. I knew I had a lot to be grateful for, but I was really sad I had to wear my glasses for a year. I’m a single girl. Ironically, my eyes are what guys notice about me. My dad said to me once, “You have beautiful eyes, Katie. Do guys tell you that all the time?” “Yes,” I admitted. “You know, Kate, guys are like cockroaches. You see one, and you know there are a thousand others hiding. Basically, if one of them says it, there are a thousand others thinking it.” Here I was, feeling like my greatest asset had just gotten covered. I couldn’t wear eye makeup; I had to wear glasses. I felt so shallow being upset about that, but I was. Julie and Nicki listened. And told me I was allowed to feel upset. I very gradually adjusted to no depth perception. Luckily, my sense of humor appreciated this process. I saw a client at lunch that week and when I went to give him a hug, I nearly pummeled him. It was an “objects in mirror are closer than they appear” moment. He was quite startled and I was able to laugh. I was running into people, walls, you name it. That Friday, I had a night out with some girlfriends. Everything was still pretty fresh, but I was craving some normalcy and a night on the town. A cute guy from Nebraska started flirting with me. My friends were turning in early but encouraged me to stay and have a drink with this guy who was so clearly interested in me. He asked me to stay for another drink, so I said yes. He made sure I didn’t have a boyfriend or husband at home. I said no. He even told me he liked my glasses. He got up to go to the bathroom and never came back. True story. Come to find out, he had a girlfriend and falls under the category of men who are after one thing. I cried the whole way home and the majority of the next day. I drove to Nicki’s house and sobbed on her couch. “Why, after everything I just went through, did God put this person in front of me to do that?” I was devastated. Not about the guy, but that I was going through all this. I recognized the anger, the sadness and the process. My therapist had warned me. I would be changed. I would experience emotions at the lowest and highest. I realized I had so much going through my mind, and I needed to figure out a positive way to channel it all, to process it all. So I started to write. Simultaneously, my meal train continued. I had friends over for dinner and walks. I had one friend tear up when I described my relationship with my siblings and how it’s been affected. When I told her about the day I was diagnosed and how my sisters jumped into action, she was sad to realize she didn’t have that relationship with her brother. This made me grateful for the relationships I have with my family. Nicki’s sister-in-law, Jenni, signed up for a meal. Her husband is the one who washed my hair after 6 days. We grabbed wine and apps at a local Italian restaurant. We’ve always gotten along great, but rarely get one-on-one time. In fact, that may have been a first for us. We shared some secrets, some laughs and some tears. I went home that night so thankful for my third sister. Between the writing and the visits with friends, I started to bounce back. All the while, I was awaiting that final phone call from Dr. Hovland’s office. Many had forgotten or were smart enough not to ask, but during the radiation, they took a biopsy of the cells. Were they low risk or high risk? If it were to spread, it would likely go to my liver or my lungs. Regardless of the results, there was little that could be done. But for peace of mind, I wanted to know. It was a Thursday afternoon and I expected the call that day. It was 4:30p and I was getting ready to join my team for our afternoon board meeting. Dr. Hovland’s number came across my phone. I quietly stepped away and answered, “This is Catherine.” “Katie!” an enthusiastic voice said on the other line. “It’s Lauren from Dr. Hovland’s office. I have good news! I just got the fax with the results and literally ran to the phone to call you. The cells are as low risk as possible!” “Really?!?!?” I was elated. “There’s a 98% chance that five years out, you’ll still be clear. The data doesn’t really go beyond that because it’s all so new. But that is some good news.” I walked back to my desk as my spirits lifted higher than they’d ever been. I shouted to my team, “That was my doctor’s office. The cells are as low risk as possible. I’ve been waiting for this news.” We immediately went to get fro-yo. Just kidding. We had a meeting. But we did the next day. I did force hugs on everyone that afternoon. I had plans that night with my dear friend Heather. Sarah introduced me to Heather when we were in high school because we were going to the same college in MN. Our friendship was instant and in college we were nicknamed trouble. We were roommates senior year and post-college. Heather eventually moved to Denver, and while I was devastated to see her go, I knew I wouldn’t be too far behind. Over the years, we have shared barrels of wine. We frequently take wine walks in City Park and our timing on this one was impeccable. She’d been out of town when I got my bad news, and I was so happy to get to share my good news, live, with such a good friend. I waited until we met. My smile hadn’t stopped since getting that call and when we met in the parking lot, I told her the results. We hugged and cried. I felt like I was walking on air during that walk. Heather got to know the Durbins from their visits to me in MN. We called them together to share the good news. After that, I met my friends Roger and Veronique for another meal train. This was actually more of a booze train. Roger was an overachiever and he’d already fulfilled his meal requirement. I waited until we sat down at Lancer Lounge to announce my news. Big cheers. All day Friday I kept throwing my hands up in excitement. I was still smiling. I went to a BBQ that night at my friend Tami’s house with my good friend Patrick. My other good friend Patrick Q. was there, too. Patrick Q and I made plans for an outdoor concert the following night. It was a great show and I was still giddy as could be. We ended up downtown at the Ginn Mill after the show, and I was still beaming and dancing like I didn’t have a care in the world. A girl approached me. “This might sound really weird, but I just had to say something. You just look really happy.” “I am happy,” I told her. “I just beat cancer. Life is good.” So there you have it. I had hit my low, and here I was experiencing a life high. I cashed in on my free session with Kalli. I knew that when I was ready to talk with her, it would be clear to me. I was ready. I told her about the roller coaster of emotions I was on. She validated everything, as she always does. I was coming down from my high (leveling out to reality). She reminded me that extreme emotions like that, good or bad, don’t have sustainability. It was “cancer light,” as she called it. But it still had a profound impact on me and my perspective on life and relationships. She said “Eadem Mutata Resurgo,” a latin phrase meaning, Although changed, I arise the same. Why I love Kalli. She speaks in metaphors and breaks things down in a way that my brain is able to process. I suddenly realized that in all this, I had experienced the best worst thing that has ever happened to me. While it was scary and horrible and nothing I’d wish upon anyone, I came out okay and my quality of life is the same, if not better, thanks to my new perspective. It’s really the only way to describe it. I experienced emotions at levels I’ve never known, and I see that as a gift. Having friends and family rally around you in your greatest time of need is also a humbling experience. It makes you count your blessings and reminds you to not take people for granted. I worry about how to remember all this – to not forget this journey and to honor the emotions, the friendships and the results. Lately, I’ve noticed little things in my day to day that have stayed with me and help me to do so. I see reminders on my weekly walk to the grocery store – I recall the phone calls to the Durbins and Christina that day as I walked to get lunch. I was feeling shock then. When I hear my key unlock my front door, I remember praying to God that first night to keep me safe as I arrived home after a long, scary day. When I go to DTC to visit clients, I remember that drive down I-25 to meet my parents that next night for dinner and feeling their comfort. As I walk into my gym several nights a week, I see the spot where I spoke with Dustin, the ocular cancer survivor and remember feeling hope in his story. When I sink into my sister’s couch, I remember the sadness of my all-time low and I’m thrilled to not be in that place anymore. And when I hear Trampled by Turtles play on my iTunes, I remember that concert after I’d received my good news and that feeling of complete joy. Mostly though, when I see my friends and my family, I am reminded what a gift it is to be alive and in good company. God has put some spectacular people in my path. I don’t know how I got so lucky. I wouldn’t put 2013 in the books as the best one. I’m ready to wrap up and move into a new year, with a fresh start. I hope to regain vision in my left eye in 2014, but that is in God’s hands and I continue to trust in Him. At my last appointment on Dec 18, 2013, the tumor showed that, while very gradual, it is reacting to the radiation and starting to shrink (yay!). The blood clot in my eye that is believed to be blocking my vision is changing colors, a good sign that it is on its way out. As the holidays approach, I have never felt more grateful and blessed than I do now. I have met a great guy who didn’t run when he heard I had cancer. The sacred time I spend with friends has become even more sacred. And my family continues to be my rock. As promised in the waiting room of the oncologist on May 17, my sisters and I are preparing for a Cel-EYE-brate Life trip to Mexico come January 2. Thank you all for your love and support. The Beginning. Above card designed by Brandon Kelley. Tagline by my dad, Jim Ortman. Blog edited by my aunt, Peg Ortman.

The Best Worst Thing: Entry 4 | Radiation

Be sure to read in order:
Diagnosis
PET CT Scan
Scan Results
Radiation
Eadem Mutata Resurgo

Radiation
___________________

Christina arrived late Thursday evening. We caught up in the car driving back from the airport. I still couldn’t believe why she was here. Next year we celebrate 25 years of friendship. I don’t know how to wrap words around this friendship. We met on the bus in first grade. She had moved from Oklahoma mid-year. My sister Nicki was so happy to see her climb on the bus that morning. She was tired of me hanging around her friends. Christina looked to be my age.

Some weeks later, Nicki facilitated the exchange of phone numbers. 498.5868. I number I’d dial a million times before leaving Omaha. We were attached at the hips, and we remained that way until both going away for college – Christina to OH and me to MN. We played every sport together. We had sleepovers every weekend. We watched the Little Mermaid, ate Skittles, took trips to IA, and competed in World Finals for Odyssey of the Mind (nerd alert).

We went to different high schools. People wondered if that was the end of Oats and Grains. We still lived .4 miles away. The night my mom passed away, I asked my sister Julie to take me to Christina’s. We had just finished our freshman year. We pulled into the drive and Christina and Mama Graney stood in the doorway waiting for me. We sat on the couch and cried.

A year later, I moved across town. I remember going to Christina’s house to break the news. We sat on the curb and I told her. She said, “Ortman, if Marian and Duchesne didn’t separate us, what’s a few miles? We get our licenses soon and it won’t be that bad. And by the way, we’ll probably go to different colleges out of state and that won’t matter either.”

So here she was. By my side, having flown over 1200 miles, in my greatest time of need, as we walked into Porter Hospital for radiation.

I wore my Superman t-shirt and yoga pants that morning. Nicki was there in the waiting room when we arrived, also wearing a Superman t-shirt and yoga pants. Sisters. They called me back alone to get me changed, give me a pregnancy test and hook me up to the IV. My nurse Cheryl informed me, “You are not with child.” We laughed together.

Nicki, Kirstin, Christina and Julie went back to join me. Pirate patches and all. The pictures had started. I looked at the Facebook event and it gave me such comfort seeing my family and friends supporting me.

The anesthesiologist, Dr. Reiner and Dr. Hovland all came in before the surgery. Dr. Reiner was again so happy to see my sisters, friend and the little one.

Not once during this whole process, did I google machine anything. Ocular cancer. Melanoma in the eye. PET CT Scan. Radiation in the eye. I knew I’d read the worst case scenario and cling to that. This was my own experience and it would be mine. I trusted my doctors and they did a good job of explaining the processes and the facts. But beyond that, I had no idea what I was in for. No expectations – good or bad.

The surgery went well. Basically, they pulled back the muscles holding in my eye, tilted my eye forward, slit an opening in the envelope surrounding my eyeball, and tucked in a plaque containing the radiation. I was actually alert-ish. And apparently funny. The doctors talked to my sisters and Christina after and informed them I was quite the comedian. I bet I was telling them all my eye puns and pirate jokes.

When I left the hospital, they told me not to vomit or have any difficult bowel movements. Noted. Two things we can all control.

Christina and I headed back to my apartment. We stopped at Target to pick up lunch and my prescriptions. I was feeling okay. After lunch, I took a Percocet and that’s when it got ugly. I started puking and it hurt like a mother. I was scared that I was somehow messing up the treatment. Christina was on the phone with my doctor, my dad and my sister. She was also putting up my black out curtains in the living room to block out any light.

She finally got the doctor to call in an anti-nausea medicine, but that meant she needed to leave me alone to go to the pharmacy to get it. I was in no condition to be left alone. I told her which neighbors I knew well enough to ask to stay with me while she left. No one was home. I was started to have an anxiety attack. My arms were numb and it was creeping to my legs and my face. I was shaking uncontrollably.

It was getting late and she needed to go to the pharmacy before it closed. I asked her to call my dad. I’d put him on speaker while she went to the store.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, Kate. How are you feeling?”

“I’m so scared. Will you sing to me?” I asked.

He laughed. I cried. He started to sing, “When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, What will I be?”

Growing up as the youngest of four, one-on-one time with either parent was a rare treat. My three older siblings completed my dad’s foursome, so I wasn’t as interested in golf as the others. I spent most of my Saturdays at the fabric store with my mom. Quality time with my dad was singing Que Sera Sera while he dried my hair every night. At some point we added, “Are you ready for some football?” to the end.

In my younger days, that was followed by a bedtime story, which my dad would end with “The Beginning.”

I didn’t realize it at the time, but those are moments that define my childhood. And sometimes, even as an adult, you just need to feel like Daddy’s little girl again.

“…Que Sera Sera,” he finished. “What will be will be.” Then he shouted, “ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL!”

Christina was back in a flash. My sister Julie arrived, too, to help. I took the anti-nausea medicine and didn’t puke again. But I was still shaking pretty badly. Finally, Julie suggested I just go to bed. They tucked me in and I slept.

The next day was rough, but not as rough as the night before. It was tough to open my good eye. It hurt because turns out, your eyes move together. So when you have something anchored on the back of one eye, and you move the other eye, it feels relatively crappy.

We popped in our childhood Disney movies and I manually opened my right eye to watch. We were still sitting in a cave. Christina sat in the dark with me for the next two days. We ate Skittles, watched movies, but didn’t say much. That’s a true friendship.

Saturday evening, I reminded Christina she could help herself to wine. She said, “Girl, I did that a while ago. I’ve got a glass.” We went to the rooftop for some fresh air and I had a glass, too. One of my recurring questions to the doctors was, “Now, can I have wine during this phase?”

By Sunday, I was exhausted and just too tired to keep my good eye open. Thank goodness I was able to sleep well. I slept 12-14 hours every night that week. What else was I supposed to do? Christina flew out that afternoon. My sister Nicki was picking me up to go stay with her for the week, but there was no way I could handle a drive way east to the airport then way west to Nicki’s.

I called in a favor. So many people had said, “Anything you need, just call.” I have a short list of what I call my key players. They are the true blue friends who mean it when they say that. I called my friend Lynn, and she was happy to help. She took Christina to the airport. It was hard to say goodbye, and I couldn’t wait to see her again under better circumstances.

Nick and Nicki have a great guest room in the basement of their home. I was a resident there the week of my ACL surgery in November. Nick is also an amazing chef. Luckily, I wasn’t dealing with a loss of appetite after either surgery. By Monday, I was able to open my eye more easily. I watched several episodes of Sex and the City in the basement then Nicki invited me up to watch some shows with her.

On Tuesday, more lights were on and I could finally handle looking at my cell phone. I had been hearing that the Eye Patch Day page was a hit and there were a ton of pictures. It was so neat to see what everyone had posted. My friend Heather and her family were at Sea world. A dozen of them donned the eye patch with the caption, “See World!”

My friends Sarah and Rick had married that day. They posted a picture with their wedding party all wearing eye patches. It gave me chills to read the messages and see the support.

Nick and Nicki adopted a sweet baby girl on May 8, so they certainly had their hands full with a new born, a toddler and a cancer patient. Because of the radiation, I wasn’t able to hold Kirstin, but I could help feed her. My nephew Mikey was sweet as always. Come Wednesday, when they were both napping, Nicki was able to run an errand. I felt useful finally.

Wednesday I also took a walk and grabbed lunch. It was a little too ambitious, so I also napped when the kiddos did. Wednesday evening, Nicki and I went to Julie’s to toast our mom. It was the 16 year anniversary of her death. It happened again, that we both walked into the room wearing matching t-shirts. This time, “I run because a glass of wine has 110 calories.”

Come Thursday, I was feeling really good, despite the fact that I had not washed my hair in 6 days. Nicki took me to see Scott, her brother-in-law who owns a salon. He washed my hair. I felt like a new woman! Yet another giant favor from a key player. He wouldn’t let me pay him, and I should have paid him $1000 for that task.

I went home that afternoon and cleaned my apartment and did laundry. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Sarah had created a meal train for me, and my key players were starting to secure dates to bring me dinner. Roger had the first night. He picked me up and we went to grab dinner and a Guinness. I started to understand the true meaning of the meal train. This would be an opportunity for me to process what I was going through with my dearest friends.

Friday morning, Sarah picked me up to take me in for the removal of the radiation. Cheryl from the week before stopped in to see me. I was almost done. I couldn’t wait to get this out.

I was wheeled into the operating room and heard someone say, “Katie Ortman?” I’d only been referred to as Catherine by my doctors, so I knew it was someone I knew personally. Of course, without my glasses, I couldn’t see.

“Who is it?”

“Pat, from the Denver Gaels.”

“Which Pat? You’re all named Pat!” I asked.

“Pat Folan,” he answered.

I was so happy to see him. I asked if he knew this was going on and he had not heard. I asked him to tell our friend Tara and the doctors yelled, “He can’t!”

Pat is a surgery tech and he checked in on me after the operation. He’s always been one of my favorites in the Gaels, a Gaelic Football club I played for in Denver. Unfortunately, all this forced me to hang up my boots. It was really comforting having him there that day. My sister’s reaction was, “Of course you knew someone in the operating room.”

Julie collected me. We waited patiently as they gathered my personal belongings from the safe. I had a new eye patch on. We stopped to get me a smoothie before picking up her sons from a friend’s house. Julie’s friend was happy to help so Julie could get me, obviously a smoother process sans kids. Even people like that made a big difference to me.

The boys were so sweet and very excited for a “sweepovur.” After dinner, I watched a movie with them in the basement that involved talking Chihuahuas. While part of me wanted those 82 minutes back, I wouldn’t have traded it if given the chance. Getting to spend time with them like that is why I live here.

I turned in shortly after they did and they were very anxious for me to get up in the morning to play. They couldn’t understand why I was still sleeping. I’d been up a couple times in the middle of the night to have a snack with my Percocet.

I asked Julie and Ron if they’d be okay for a couple hours on their own. I wanted to take the boys to a movie. Of course they were. Julie dropped us off. Keeping your eye on two energetic boys when it really is singular, is quite a challenge! I had to explain to them how important it was to not get out of my sight. There was a preview for Monsters University and I told the boys I’d take them when it came out. A few weeks later, their mom asked them to see that and they told her, “No. Aunt Katie promised she’d take us.”

At one point that day, Peter asked me, remember that really cool black eye patch you wore? Julie was right, wearing an eye patch makes you the coolest aunt ever.

That night, Julie and I hosted a sip and see for baby Kirstin. Nicki’s in-laws were there and it was really great to be in their company. Nick’s parents treat me as part of the family and their support in this has been wonderful. Gigi, Nick’s grandma has some vision issues, too. At one point, she looked at me and said, “Honey, we should just sit down and have them wait on us.”

Jen picked me up from Julie’s house in Parker that night, and I was on my way home. I would start to get back into my groove. I felt like my life had just been put on pause. For how long? 22 days. 22 days from the day I was diagnosed to the day they removed the radiation. Hard to believe. I remind myself of this daily.