If youâve followed our journey over the past year, you know itâs been a wild, painful, beautiful rollercoaster. From near-death experiences to miracle-level recoveries, Kendra has lived through more in 12 months than most people face in a lifetime. I shared the beginning of this chapter back in âCystically Speaking: We Shouldnât Be Hereââa post I never imagined writing, but one that came from the depths of fear and hope.
Right now, weâre on the other side.
Still bruised, still healingâbut here. And today? She turns 24. So in true Erica fashion, I wrote her a birthday letter. Itâs raw. Itâs real. Itâs part mommy-daughter love letter, part roast, and completely infused with butt crack jokes, fortune cookies, and Highland Cow dreams. Because if you know us, you know thatâs exactly how we roll.
Kendra,
Today you are 24.
Which is both a miracle and an emotional plot twistâfitting, really, since you are the main character in a full-blown soap opera. I mean, Iâm Erica Ryan⊠literally named after Erica Kane from All My Children and Ryanâs Hopeâso this dramatic flair? Itâs genetic. You never stood a chance.
Youâve been a pain in my ass for most of your life.
Letâs just call that what it is.
From toddler tantrums to teenage rebellion that you still haven’t outgrownâyour favorite phrases being âI do what I wantâ and âyouâre not the boss of meââyouâve always given me a run for my money.
But this year? Girl, you took it to a whole new level.
Medical melodrama. Emotional whiplash. Death-defying plot twists.
Kendrama was living up to her name and then some.
And yetâbehind that fiery, relentless, âno I will NOT do what you sayâ stubborn streak is the biggest, softest heart.
You are my walking yin and yang: push and pull, chaos and calm, fire and ice, wild and wonderful.
You fight me. You fight for me. You fight your friends. You fight for them. Girl, you fight your nieces and nephew. Full stop get right down to their level. Hah but let anyone mess with them? Right. Not a chance. Auntie Keni’s got their backs for life.
You fight yourself. So damn hard.
But most importantlyâyouâve learned to fight for yourself.
You curse at your care plan, then show up anyway.
You fall apart, then get up and do the next hard thing.
You melt downâand then rise back up, fiercer, louder, stronger.
You came off the ventilator just as hospital-acquired pneumonia started settling into your lungs.
You pushed through the vasopressors, from two⊠to one⊠to none.
You came back.
You advocated for yourselfâloudly, clearly, and relentlessly.
You said when something didnât feel right. Thatâs how they caught the deep vein thrombosis. The catheter-induced UTI. The retention issues. The second sepsisâcaught early, before it had a chance to burn everything down again.
Girlâkeep that shit up. Just don’t shit your shirt (anymore).
(Unless itâs asking for money. Then take a beat.)
But trulyâadvocate harder. Because you deserve it.
You endured so many surgical procedures I lost count.
You picked up pieces of drop foot and still fight every day to wiggle those toes.
You beat sepsisâtwice.
You told necrotizing fasciitis to sit all the way down.
You survived a brutal, disgusting, terrifying medical rollercoaster with ostomy blowouts (yes, I still have PTSD from the volcano incident), wound vacs, and enough surgical tape to gift-wrap a mid-size SUV.
And yesâwe STILL have daily insulin negotiations.
You yell. I threaten. You yell louder. I threaten harder.
Then you take the damn insulin.
Every. Single. Time.
Because underneath it all, no matter how exhausted or over it you areâyou want to live.
And thatâs what matters.
We spent months in hospital rooms, rocking the VIP suite with the mini fridge and a maxed-out swear jar.
I did wound care with more commitment than most people give their skincare routine. Heck, I’m still doing wound care, just when we thought it was all over, but we’ve got this – and byeee ostomy bye!
There were days I thought I might breakâbut then youâd crack a joke, or let me hold your hand, or give me that ridiculous âIâm fineâ face when we both knew better.
And Iâll never forget that fortune cookie from our first trip to Dartmouth.
It was the day they took off your wound vac. (And girl, good riddance to that retched smelling noisy little life saving machine – THAT was a love hate relationship!)
You begged for Chinese foodâI caved, even though I hate itâand my fortune read:
And I cried into my rice because I knew.
This journeyâthis hell we walked through togetherâit was worth it.
Because I didnât lose you.
We were doing the damn thing, together.
We got this, you and me. Dream Drama Team. Or something. Felt like Zombie Movie motions, but okay.
Now here you are.
Living in your first solo apartment. Still healing. Still learning. Still swearing (can you cut back at all?).
Still flipping off adversity with style.
You are the sassiest, strongest, most stubborn miracle Iâve ever met.
You are Kendrama, and I am your Momâforever in your corner, even when youâre rolling your eyes at me and calling me a pain in your ass.
Our storyâs not over. Not even close.
But the next chapter?
Itâs got Highland Cow therapy, sunrises, softness, and space to breathe.
Itâs messy. Itâs weird.
And itâs yours.
Happy 24th Birthday, my soap-opera Kendrama unicorn with battle scars and glitter.
I love you more than f-bombs, more than fortune cookies, and yesâeven more than wound care, ostomy AND diabetic supplies on auto-ship.
Always,
Mom
(Still the CEO of Butt Crack Careâą, now offering deluxe services in snark and cheese)
@ericabuteau Every day aim thankful for you. And each birthday I count up all the ways Iâm so proud and grateful to be your mom, but this birthday hits different- you are here and that alone is a gift Iâll forever cherish because there were days when we thought youâd forever be 23. Happy birthday my pumpkin doodle cheesecake. Take no days and no things for granted. I love you mostest. @kennid45 #necrotizingfasciitis #sepsissurvivor #sepsis #lifesupport #survivor #thatsmygirl #sheisafighter ⏠The Climb – Miley Cyrus