Back to Patient-Kate
Oh, the irony. I left New Orleans today after two weeks back home. Two weeks seeing loved ones and being blown away every day by their continued kindness. Two weeks of boiled crawfish and days back in the office and squeezing in a lunch with some decades-old friends. Two weeks of being the real Kate again.
(If I didn’t see you, it’s not because I didn’t want to. Two weeks is not nearly enough.)
And then it was over, and I left my home under a Blue Moon, to go back up north and become a patient again.
The scary part is now to come.
(See you soon, pink house. I’ll miss ya daily.)
Five years ago tomorrow was the first full night I spent in my house, on April Fool’s Day. It was appropriate; I was moving into a shockingly pink house that I bought in the St. Roch neighborhood. My professional clown friend was moving into the apartment across the street.
It was run-down but I got rid of the sketchy stuff left behind, fixed the broken shower myself, painted the whole thing inside from tip to toe, and started moving my stuff in.
Not everyone saw its potential, but I did.
As I was leaving today, I saw my neighbor Mr. Ricky pulling into his driveway. He waved and I waved, but I hesitated walking over to say goodbye because I knew I’d cry. (Cancer has apparently made me a crier, much to my chagrin.)
(Mr. Ricky with his puppy, Lady, last April)
I love Mr. Ricky. He’s both the ambassador and the guardian of our part of neighborhood. Everyone knows him and stops to say hi. He saw me when I first got back and yelled down the block “Hey girl, where you been?!”
I told him I had cancer & was up north for treatment, and he got kind-of misty and gave me a series of hugs and looked down and said “Aw, naw, that ain’t right, my baby.”
He’s right. He gets it. He’s part of my neighborhood family, and he cares about me, and I’ll miss him a whole lot.
I’ll miss everything. It was beautiful this last week. I got fever-sick immediately after I got home and spent the first week recovering and catching up. The second week was shorter and was working and trying to catch up with friends. I was only somewhat successful.
And now I’m in a La Quinta in Birmingham, and Phosphor and I are making our way back up north.
On Monday, I had six long inches of hair cut off in preparation for cold-capping. On Tuesday, I had my color done for the last time in 6 months, with that in mind so it would grow out the best. On Wednesday, I got my Real ID from the DMV because by the time I come back, I’ll need it to be able to fly. On Thursday, I started taking preparatory medication to be ready for Tuesday’s doctor appointments. On Friday I got ready to go, and I fought with Humana on the phone once again. And then I delayed my departure & just slept, hard, for several hours. I was exhausted. And on Saturday I packed what I’ll need for 6 months, and I left to go back to treatment. This coming Wednesday, I have surgery to put in my port and start a year of infusions. Welcome back, cancer patient Kate.
Driving away from New Orleans was a significant heartbreak. A reality-check. I’m going back to the not-me, to go have chemo. To have more surgery and then radiation. To not be home until it’s once again cider & colored leaves season up north, meaning I’ll see all four seasons up there this year, from multiple blizzards, to a slow-creeping spring, to a short summer, to fall.
It took me forever t leave the house. I had to be ready. I almost am, I suppose. I tried to take a picture when I was leaving the city but I look like a ghost. Now I’m thinking that’s appropriate.
