Katherine 2025:
Back from the edge of hell.
You're gonna have to go through hell. Worse than any nightmare that you've ever dreamed. But in the end, you know you'll be the one standing. You know what you've gotta do. Do it. Do it!
Back from the edge of hell.
-Apollo Creed
In 2014 I wrote my last book. In 2015 I wrote my last article. And shortly thereafter, I stopped posting on Facebook. And though I did try to indicate why at the time, it's been more than a decade and those reasons and posts have long been forgotten.
Instead, what remains is my silence. And that has lead people to the conclusion that I am dead.
But I am not dead.
I am very much alive.
That will make some of you happy. And that will make others quite disappointed. I understand both positions. My first book was called Telling the Truth, after all. And, according to the texts of heaven, the world is divided upon that very boundary: truth vs. lies.
If you read the Old Testatment's prophets, Jesus and His twelve Chosen apostles, you will find a very consistent message: we will be judged by the way we live. It is not who or what we believe in, but the choices each of us makes along the lines of love, lies and truth.
Did we choose to 'live and love lies'?
Or did we choose love and truth?
Wherever we live in the world, we are taught to choose between one of two narratives on nearly every subject. But each of those narratives was developed at a think tank, designed to make industries vast amounts of money while concealing the truth from all. For - the truth will set you free.
Don't think that's so?
I'm living proof that it does. Literally.
The truth lies in between these two sides they sell us on each topic - it lies in between the narratives. Each narrative has a bit of truth and a bit of deception. To seek truth is to find the answer in the middle. And that's what I did while fighting for my life. It worked out - despite a few close calls.
Katherine 2025: Back from the Dead
I did nearly die. Three times. I have a very, very rare illness that kills when patients are not diagnosed in time, especially children. I survived because of my husband, Nick, a large team of very talented and very skilled doctors, nurses and technicians, and because of the Lord and His angels.
I'd like to take some of the credit. It sure as hell wasn't easy, fighting to stay alive in those dark moments. I was stuck, essentially, in a hospital bed for nearly a decade. My body was paralyzed from my jaw down for years, and my muscles faded, my skin turned pale and I was curled into the fetal position for most of the day. My husband had to be my nurse, caretaker and provider. I had to develop hand signals to communicate because my vocal chords didn't work.
Oh, I could go on and on about the terrors I have faced these last 10 years. But I have tried sharing these with friends, and I have given them nightmares instead. And I love you. So, just... trust me, okay? I stopped writing books because I could no longer write them, not because I didn't have ideas.
For years I settled for jotting book ideas down on napkins when my hands could work so that I could write "when I healed." But then the doctors began to tell me I may never heal. They prepared my husband and I for what many of them considered 'the inevitable': my passing.
Well, they didn't know Nick and Katherine. We would scoff on the car ride home, forgetting that I was on a mattress in the back of our car because I could no longer sit up. The nurses said I needed an ambulance for all of my doctors visits, but our insurance just laughed.
Anyhow, as you can imagine, my closest brush with death was during COVID. I found myself in the ER, saying my goodbye's to my husband Nick.
But the Lord had other plans.
The Truth
The truth is, I lost my memories, my legs, my hands, my words, my ability to plan or think ahead and in the end - when I was at my worst - I didn't know what day it was, what time it was, what month it was or even the year.
I could not remember my birthdate when the doctors asked for it.
Things people take for granted - driving, using a phone, ordering online, going outside, wearing clothes, going to the bathroom when the need strikes - became impossible for me.
What filled the void? Pain. Excruciating pain.
And pain, like nothing else, alienates a person. My doctors work on war veterans and star athletes whose bodies have been pummeled into pulp. To us, an injection or a blood draw goes unnoticed. We don't flinch because we don't feel it.
When my body would relax, the tremors would come, and I would have episodes. And the episodes alienated us more than anything - even the pain.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the part of my brain that remained the most intact was the part that learns. If I selected areas of study without any memory triggers, I could read and study away. So that's what I did.
I learned about everything I'd known nothing about.
That's how I escaped the pain. Games were out. Their bright colors and flashing lights hurt and caused episodes. But studies and law briefs were very plain: black and white pages that went on for hours. And, thankfully, most filmmakers were opting for gloomy filters with very little color variation. I could watch documentaries and 3-D animations from university departments without much difficulty.
But I found myself pulled towards real-life video footage as well - from the few citizen journalists and vloggers without sponsorship deals. Once I lost the ability to leave the house, I found myself thirsting for videos that showed me what I was missing out on.
Do you know? Not many people simply post the leaves blowing in the wind or the colors changing as the seasons do. We take all that for granted. But I didn't see the Sun for six months straight one time. When we received a diagnosis and I finally went outside, I was absolutely stunned by the seasons. They seemed miraculous to me. Anything that wasn't dry paint on a wall or a bed with medical equipment everywhere - it seemed miraculous to me.
I can't tell you how exhilarating it was to put my very first dish into the dishwasher, to call for my bank cards to be reinstated (no one stops using them for 10 years and then suddenly returns to use them again), or to dress myself without help.
And now?
And now I have a diagnosis. I know what day it is. I know what year it is. I can do chores, order online and fill up the car's gas tank. Oh, it isn't easy, and I'm not always functional, but I'm not close to death's door anymore.
And best of all, I can write a paper with citations on just about any topic you can throw at me. Most people don't have the time to hunt down primary sources - or more importantly, the truth that lies between the narratives. But I've had nothing but time. So that's all I know now: truth.
Recovery is hard. It requires a ton of physical therapy, occupational therapy, patience and pain. But I've come this far. The hardest part is over.
A new chapter begins.
As does a new Katherine.
All my love and best. Always.
-K
March 15, 2025
