Hi Reader,
I was not optimistic about Kath's big interview.
A few hours before it started, I watched a tear slide down her cheek. She'd never done anything like this before.
She had nerves. Lots of them.
That's when I decided I'd better put on a good shirt because there was a fair chance I'd be pinch hitting.
Let me back up here.
When Kath was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, I asked how she wanted to handle this. Privately? Publicly?
Her answer:
"Publicly. Through you, Andy. I'm not good at this."
Kath is a woman of many talents. Expressing what's on her mind is not one of them. Listening to her is akin to watching a verbal spirograph—a little all over the place.
When she met her oncologist for the first time, she said I would be doing most of the talking as English is her second language.
Our Colombian doctor raised her eyebrows. "And your first?"
Kath shrugged. "Still looking for it."
The arrangement was working fine. Together, with your help, we raised money and awareness—Kath standing silently by my side.
A month ago, The Patient Story, a prominent cancer storytelling platform, reached out. They wanted to interview us and we agreed.
I'd seen some of their videos. I was impressed with the quality and wanted Kath to see too.
That's when I made an unforced error.
"Kath, look at that. It's got 500,000 views."
"Whoa. This one's over a million!"
As you might imagine, for an anxious speaker who's never been in front of a camera, this information was decidedly not helpful.
I get it. That was my bad. I'll own it.
But we were doing the interview together. She could lean on me. All would be fine.
Then, as the interview got closer, it became clear that the folks at The Patient Story really weren't interested in hearing from the sidekick. And rightfully so.
They wanted Kath.
I told her it was fine to say 'no.'
She was quiet for a while then nodded. This was her story and she would tell it.
A few minutes before the interview, I smiled and told her to have fun with it.
"You'll be great," I said.
I was lying. I didn't think she was going to do great.
This was going to be a train wreck.
I sat down, out of view, on our new 'cancer couch' as she prepared for the interview.
We got the couch a couple of days after Kath was diagnosed. It's green. And stupid expensive.
I learned the hard way. Never take someone with a terminal diagnosis shopping. Not only do they not respect prices, they are very difficult people to say 'no' to.
But the 'cancer couch' is very nice. Real leather too.
But I digress.
It was time. Kath leaned into her laptop to greet the interviewer. She inhaled and closed her eyes.
I saw her power coming back—a resolve I've seen so many times before.
She had the interviewer—and me—laughing and crying. She had us wrapped around her finger.
Not because she'd suddenly become a storyteller.
Because...
Kath showed the world what her heart looks like.
And it's so damn beautiful.
Here is the video.
Meet Kath.
Happy Friday!
Andy
P.S. We got the results back from her latest PET scan. With the exception of a pea-sized area in her lung that the radiologist thinks is inflammation, there was no evidence of active cancer anywhere!
