DEATH.NOTE

Monday, March 28, 2005

“I have two weeks to live”

Katrina, 20, battled cancer for six years—then she learned she was dying, she wanted to share her story with you in the little she had left.

I’ll live in Fort Pierce, Florida, right on the water. I grew up here with my parents and my twin sister, Tanya. We’re fraternal twins and we’re actually really different—I’m quiet and sensitive; Tanya is energetic and outgoing. But it’s true: Being a twin is a bond like no other. It’s like having a permanent, built-in best friend. Tanya and I shared absolutely everything—up until the day I learned I had cancer.

A mysterious pain~

In the fall of 1998, we were both freshmen on our high school volleyball team. Then, one day during practice, someone spiked the ball, and when I dove to get it, I landed on my knee. It really hurt, but I just kind of walked it off, thinking I’d pulled a muscle. But the pain didn’t go away. Instead, it got worse. My knee throbbed all the time, and over the next few weeks, I had trouble walking on it.

Then, on November 7, I was sitting down and touch my knee—it was hot! I’d never had anything like that happen to me, so I got scared. I went to get my parents. “Mum, this is something big,” I said when we sat down at the table. “I don’t know what—I just have this bad feeling.” She could tell I was panicked, so she called to make an appointed with my dad’s orthopedist.

A scary diagnosis

At my appointment, the doctor took X-rays. When he examined the results, I could tell by the look on his face that something was really wrong. “Katrina, it’s serious,” he said. “You have a tumor.” Cancer. My mind started to race—I never thought that word would apply to me. The doctor referred us to a specialist in Gainesville, Florida. While my parents talked about that on the way home, I sat in the back, quiet.

When we got there, we sat down in the living room. Even though I was trying to keep myself together, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Why me?” I said, over and over. “Why me?” It seemed so unfair. When I started to cry, Tanya did too. Then my dad. We all hugged for hours.

Starting chemo~

The next day, my mum drove me to Gainesville to have biopsy surgery. When I woke up, the doctor was standing over me. “Katrina, the tumor is malignant,” he said gently. “You have bone cancer.” Terrified, I asked, “What’s going to happen to me?” He said, “We’re going to try to get you healed.” Then a bunch of nurses came in and someone was rubbing cream on my arm—I was getting chemo right away. That’s when I understood how serious the cancer was. I wanted to do whatever I could to get rid of it, but as I watched the nurses put on gloves and gowns to protect themselves from the chemicals, I thought, if they have to do that, what is it going on to do to my body?

Fighting for my life~

I started throwing up right away. Then my hair fell out. But the chemo worked: when I went in a month later, the tumor was gone and I went back to my life.

Then, this spring, I went in for routine X-rays to make sure I was still in remission. I wasn’t worried—I felt fine. But on my X-ray was another tumor! I flew to Texas for the first of five different surgeries. Over the next four years, as soon as I’d recover, a new tumor would appear. It was hard to be positive, but it also made me more determined to fight.

In May, we sailed to our best friend Kacy’s house, in the Florida Keys, for Tanya’s and my 20th birthday. We spent all day in the water—and for the first time in a while, I didn’t worry about anything. But then, on our second day, I was snorkelling, and I got chest pains so bad I barely made it to the boat. By then, I knew what those pains meant: My cancer was back. We rushed home.

This time, the tumor was as big as a grapefruit. “It’s inoperable.” The doctor said—the tumor was too close to my heart. At that point, I wanted to do anything I could. I even got on a waiting list for a type of chemo that had only been tested on animals. But it was too late. In mid-June my doctor said I only had weeks left. He sent me home to be with my family. But I’m not ready to die. The sign on my wall says, “Lord, cast this cancer into the sea.” I read it every morning and pray He will. I will have faith, and I’m hoping for a miracle.

Losing Katrina~

Saying good-bye to my twin:

Katrina passed away on August 7, last year. She fought for six years and even in the end, she was still more worried about us—who I’d marry, how many kids Kacy would have—than herself. She wanted to be sure we’d all be okay.

Keeping her close:

She’ll be my twin forever: There’s a part of her in me, and I still feel her presence around me all the time. But I’m so lonely. I watch all the stupid reality show she made me sit through. I know she’d want me to keep up for her.

Planning for my future:

We both loved the ocean, so I’m studying marine biology at college. Now they are doing research on marine life that may lead to a cure for cancer. I want to be part of it—and make Katrina proud of me.

DEATH.PEN 2:02 PM