She was dying when our friendship began. We both knew it. Only because she didn’t look sick, somehow I was able to compartmentalize the information. To pretend in some way that it wasn’t true. After all, a woman in her thirties with two young children isn’t your typical candidate for the Grim Reaper. Except that she was.
All that remains of our friendship is this beautiful ornament and my memories. I’d told her that one day I’d write about her. That I’d tell some of her story, and the other day it struck me, that here was a place I could.
When we met she was in the final months of her life, and in a cruel counterpoint, mine was really taking off. I was finishing university, madly in love and looking forward to taking on the world. I often wonder how it must have felt listening to me chat merrily away, in an effort to distract her, as the drip in her arm delivered whatever nameless treatment she was having at the time.
Kym was married and her dream had been to have lots of babies. When she and her husband had stalled at two children they’d gone in for some testing. Nothing showed up. Then she started to experience bloating and cramping. More tests. Nothing. Then it became progressively severe. It was at that point they found the Stage 4 Ovarian Cancer that had by now spread to such a point it was inoperable.
She and her husband had moved interstate for a few months, which was how I met her at my dad’s surgery where she would come sometimes for treatment.
Kym showed me that seizing and squeezing every drop you can out of life is a great viewpoint to have. And about courage. She told me about her little girls and how much she was going to miss them. How she missed the babies they could have had and the life she should have had.
I’d often babysit her children and the oxygen tank and rows of medication lined up in the kitchen hinted at the ongoing pain she endured, which was belied by her cheerful smile.
The anger she had felt about what had happened to her had passed by the time I met her. Instead she showed incredible grace and courage at a time when must have often been gripped by fear and pain.
In that little back room I’d pass her tissues while she cried. Not for herself, but for her husband and her little girls.
The end when it came, was sudden. She’d sent her husband on a short trip with their two little girls. In some ways she needed them to go in order to give herself permission to die. She slipped into a coma and her husband made a frantic dash back to be by her side. She died peacefully in his arms aged only 35.
This was nearly 15 years ago. It mystifies me that we have made such huge advances in technology, but have not yet found a simple test for this insidious, horrible disease. It’s the 9th most common cancer in Australia and second most common gynaecological cancer as well.
I hope that if anyone reading this, has any symptoms they press for a second opinion. Never be afraid to advocate for your health.
I miss you Kym. xxx
