Hey everyone, this is Maria. A few days ago Katie gave me permission to draft an update for her since she hadn't posted in a while and although she's been meaning to do so herself, her energy level and capacity to manage this have been low. The update I had drafted and then read aloud to her for her more-or-less approval is below. To be frank, in the days between then and now, Katie's health has unfortunately declined rapidly. My family and I are really focusing on cherishing the days we have left together with her.

SO I'm posting this on her behalf while she's asleep in bed. In truth, these words are much more mine than hers, but I've done my best to share what I think she has been feeling lately in addition to her deep tiredness...

"Well it's official, I'm apparently as famous and talented as Jimi Hendrix,  Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain and Janis Joplin because the doctors tell me I'll be joining the 27 Club, too. Truthfully, I'm still processing how I feel about this. 

Just over two weeks ago on November 1st -- exactly one year since I first drove myself to the ER after severe headaches and bouts of my face and limbs sporadically going numb -- my doctors read my latest scans and the results were, let's call it, less than savory. Not great. Quite bad actually. About only 2-3 months left type of bad. 

My doctors filled me in that the Hail Mary treatment I have been taking for the past month hasn't worked in the way they'd hoped. We've all been hoping for a miracle, but I'm starting to get used to the idea that unless one shows up on the porch soon along with all my friends, blankets, soups and kind messages, it's safe to say that I'm about to join this special club. Bottom line: my scans showed that my cancer has grown, and it will continue to take over. Quickly. In late July, it took away my ability to walk within a matter of three days. While we were optimistic that it could be reversed, that turns out not to be the case; I've been wheelchair-bound ever since. Lately, I have been rolling rather than strolling. 

Over the past year, my team of doctors at MSK have tried to overpower my cancer with everything under the sun. It's been a tough, taxing, and tiring battle...for everyone. But, particularly for me. I've done my best to stay positive, to focus on the real and the understandable. My science analysis mind clung to the ins and outs of the diagnosis and scans.  I appreciated the honesty of my doctors as they did their best to explain to me what was happening. 

Throughout this journey, I've constantly kept my sights on the light at the end of the tunnel: I've truly seen myself back in the mountains of Utah, skiing, climbing, biking, and living my best life with my friends. Yes, it would be a challenge to get back to that from where I've been recently, but I really saw it. I was manifesting it. That happy future bubble has been popped, yet I'm still trying to hang on to what I can while I can thanks to my family and friends.

There's been a lot of ups and downs -- more downs than I'd like. And now it seems that we're only moving down. And, I've understood why my doctors haven't given a prognosis.... I can't blame them, I am special: my cancer is 1 in 20 million. They're only human doing their best to help me. I have the best team I could ask for at MSK. Even so, with 1 in 20 million odds, how could they know how much time I have left? 

Now as I face the sooner rather than later end, I have realized a few things...  The first being that perhaps I don't really have any regrets. Yes I might have had what I consider 'privileged problems' that really weighed heavily on me at formative times in my life, but I am proud of what I have achieved in my 27 years despite them. 

I have traveled, challenged myself, loved deeply, experienced great failure and even greater success. I have laughed loudly, gone to great heights on mountains and dived deep in the ocean. I have enjoyed lasting friendships and seen others fizzle out. I created a mountain life for myself that brought with it so much joy and self-growth. And now I can find some comfort knowing that my experience will be useful for science and hopefully then help others affected by the same unique tragedy I have. 

While there are still breweries I wish to tour, national parks I will never get to hike, countries I'd like to visit, mountains I want to ski again, waves I'd like to surf, and friends and family I wish I could share more laughs and hugs with, I have run out of time. I do not feel like this has been enough, but I am proud of myself -- I am proud of who I am."