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June 11 - July 8, 2018
I was constantly in a rush to be somewhere other than where I was at in any given moment. And it was exhausting.
But if the events of the past two weeks had crystalized anything for me, save for the fact that the Universe was totes evil and praying was a complete waste of fucking time, it was that Kit was it for me. He was my family. My best friend. My soul mate. My comedic partner. My travel companion. My cuddle buddy. My everything. I wanted—no, I needed—to enter into this scary, uncertain chapter not as his boyfriend or partner or longtime companion but as his husband. And dammit, I was going to find a silver lining in this awful mess.
“Speaking of the ring . . . do you like it?” I asked, hesitantly, before proudly declaring, “They’re simple. And classic!” “I don’t have any problem with this ring,” he declared. “You did good.” Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.
To paraphrase one of Liz Lemon’s most iconic catchphrases, I desperately wanted to go back to there.
As the clock approached 8:45 a.m., Kit noticed I was getting antsy. We were, after all, on a relatively tight schedule. “I’m going to see what’s up,” I informed him as I began to stand. “Relax,” Kit said. “Let’s give it fifteen more minutes.” “OK,” I said, nodding as I sat back down. Over the next fifteen minutes, I noticed Kit spending more time looking up at the reception desk than he was playing Candy Crush. This was the part of the Kit-and-Mike anxiety dance in which he gradually absorbed my restlessness and paranoia to the point where we were both one big anxiety powder keg waiting to
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Immediately following the final pre-chemo appointment at Sloan Kettering on Friday afternoon, we hailed a cab to city hall and tied the knot in front of our good friend, witness-for-hire, and impromptu wedding photographer Nina Boesch. Pre-cancer diagnosis, there were no bigger marriage cynics than the two of us. I mean, we wanted the RIGHT to marry, we just had no interest in EXERCISING that right. But it’s funny how life’s little curveballs can shift one’s perspective. I’m officially married to my best friend and soul mate and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world. In lieu of gifts,
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tony
But mostly I was sad and angry and terrified at the prospect of having to say goodbye to the most wonderful person to ever step foot in my life.
AbFab
“Nice work,” I raved. “You ate pretty much the whole thing.” I gave him a kiss on the lips to formally reward him for a job well done. His eyes perked up, he opened his mouth, and much to my shock and awe, he eked out a very quiet, barely audible, but nonetheless heartfelt “Thank you.” Those would be the last two words Kit ever spoke.
I found myself struggling to see past his half-open right eyelid. Truth be told, it was actually creeping me out. It was like he was watching me from beyond the grave, making sure I didn’t do something stupid like slit my wrists or, worse yet, rearrange the accent tables in the living room.
Shortly after Kit awoke in the recovery room, I ominously informed him that while he was under the knife I had discovered blood in my urine while peeing in the hospital bathroom. To which Kit—who could smell my low-grade hypochondria a mile away—rolled his still-groggy eyes and reminded me, “You had beets for lunch, dummy.” Before starting in on the
A vintage Knight Rider poster. Whenever I’d introduce someone to Kit and they’d confusingly respond, “Kip?” he would immediately clarify, “No, Kit. Like Knight Rider.” And then he’d point to me and say, “Mike,” before pointing at himself and going, “Kit.”
neuroendocrine
