Life Unfinished

By: Katherine Itacy, Esq.

Dated: March 20, 2018

At this time, one week from now, I should be lying completely flat in my hospital bed, starting to recover from my second tethered cord release/laminectomy/complex lipoma removal neurosurgery. That’s if all goes well.

This surgery comes exactly thirty years (down to the month) after my initial neurosurgery. And with each passing day, I am more and more grateful that I remember very little from the initial surgery. Thank heavens for a four-year old’s limited memory retention!

In my continued pursuit of full disclosure and an authentic voice, I thought you should know: I’m scared shitless.

As most of you already know, I’m a bit of a surgery veteran at this point in my life. I’ve undergone well over forty different surgeries and procedures so far, and the majority of those occurred within the last decade. I’m not new to anesthesia or to operating rooms. I’m also relatively accustomed to high levels of pain.

I’m not scared of needles or IVs (I mean, come on: I’m a thirty-year Type I Diabetic!), I have no problem being in a hospital and I have complete confidence in my neurosurgeon.

But I’m scared shitless.

I just have this strong sense that I may not wake up from the procedure; at least, not in the same state of mind and soul. And I’m almost creepily calm about the possibility. I have all of my advanced care directives in place, ready for the hospital staff to receive and review. My family and close friends know what I would like to have happen if I pass (donations in lieu of flowers; body donated to Brown Medical School for cadaver study, followed by cremation and destruction of the remains; a fun, upbeat party instead of any sort of funeral or wake, etc.). And because I am very open and direct with others about how much I care about/love/appreciate them, it’s not really so much about not having closure with my loved ones, should I expire.

I’m a pretty practical and prepared person (how’s that for alliteration?!), so I have a lot of the paperwork and legal contingencies already in place. The statistical probability/possibility of my untimely death is totally understandable to me.

In all honesty, what’s bothering me the most is that I haven’t finished my life’s purpose yet.

My social/civic activism and criminal defense career (both of which I saw as my collective calling in life) were shut down so quickly, so dramatically and so completely since my spinal cord started re-tethering over two years ago. I’ve been working so hard to make peace with that reality, and with the fact that I may never use my legal mind ever again. But through this process, I felt the strong pull towards writing a memoir about my life’s success and struggles, particularly dealing with a diseased body. I’ve now written 210 pages of that memoir, and have begun to start the editing and peer-review process. Sadly, there’s no way it’s going to be finished within the next week, and that really frightens me.

What if I poured my heart and soul into this project, only to leave it unfinished and unread because my body finally got the best of me?

Thankfully, I have a wonderful and talented friend who has agreed to take over the project and submit it for publication if I pass or become incapacitated, and that’s a huge relief. The thing is, in the end, it still wouldn’t be one hundred percent my voice and my vision.

I’m not so self-absorbed that I think I’m the only person who’s ever felt the need to pass on their little gems of wisdom or insight into life’s fragility and unfairness. It’s just that I would never be okay with leaving this world without doing more for its betterment. I haven’t done enough. Frankly, I’ll have never done enough, but come on – ten years of activism and indigent defense cannot be my entire legacy.

If only I believed in an afterlife, my ghost would be stuck in limbo, in perpetuity, for all of my unfinished work.

Alas, I don’t, so you’re all probably safe from seeing my spirit hanging around.

And hopefully, my fears over next week’s surgery will all be for naught in the end.

But just in case, please know that I’ll be leaving this world (or my conscious mind) with these wishes and intentions:

For every single person to find warmth, comfort, love and passion; for everyone to live in good health, with pure hearts and compassionate souls, living to make their lives and the lives of those around them better; for everyone’s life to count for something substantial, and for each person’s life to have less pain, no hunger, a sense of peace and a clear and positive place in this world.

Each one of you matters, and each one of you deserves better. The world deserves better. Be better.

All my love,

Kate