Michie O’Day

I signed on to Facebook last night and got some tremendously unhappy news. My friend Michie O’Day has died. She took the last train to the coast on September first.

I suppose this didn’t come as too much of an enormous shock. I hadn’t seen any posts from her since July and, in general, her posts had been pretty sparse over the past few months. I suspected something was up. Still, reading the news was startling and I'm, of fucking course, wicked sad.

Michie and I had an enormous amount in common. We were both painters (Her, traditional landscape. Me, figurative along a German/Austrian expressionist line). We were both wild about recumbent triking. We loved to travel and solo travel was definitely a thing. We were around the same age – just one year apart. 

Into the Wild, Michie O'Day

We both have/had neurofibromatosis type 2 and our manifestations of this rat bastard disease were remarkably similar. In fact, our symptoms, experiences, and surgical histories were more alike than they were with our respective NF2er family members.

In the face of adversity (and Michie and I had/have plenty of that), we were/are obstinately upbeat. Well, she was bright, sunny, and determined to persevere. Me? I’d get pissed – you know, “NO fuckin’ disease is gonna take ME down. FUCK THIS SHIT! I will SO walk again!” Etc. etc. ad nauseam. Point is, we were both persistent bitches.

I think she stopped triking before me. Though her legs still worked, her balance had degraded too much to manage getting up and down from the recumbent trike. Solo triking would have been daunting if not full on impossible.

Why did I stop? The Amazing Bob had just died and I knew that I was too down and distracted to pay proper attention to the road and traffic. I didn’t trust my deaf self OR the careless drivers in their giant SUVs.

I believe Michie and I lost the ability to paint (as we once had anyway) at around the same time. For me, it was primarily due to my essential tremors – I just shake, rattle, and roll too damn much. For her, I believe it was her failing eyesight and the muscle weakness in her hands. She could no longer wield a paintbrush.

Michie at the Portland Museum of Art

Michie was a huge inspiration to me. She was deaf, losing her sight in one eye, and in a wheelchair but was able to thrive while living alone. WOW! I don’t know the specifics of her home arrangements but I know she had a caregiver coming in (medical check-ins? physical therapy? dunno), as well as a house cleaner, and grocery delivery. She had an active social life with dinner parties and days out at museums and restaurants.

She also contributed to this here blog, Tell Me A Story.

In May of 2022 she wrote Living With NF2 where she spoke of our special talent for growing benign tumors in our brain and spinal cord. 

Rather than talk about the surgeries, treatments and medical consequences, I want to share some of what I’ve learned over the past 39 years since diagnosis

Michie and I were/are especially talented tumor growers. Until September first we were both quite good at survival too.

In 2015 she wrote of a solo trip (while deaf and in a wheelchair – Jesus, overachiever much?) that she took to a rocky island off the coast of Newfoundland. While there she painted, did chair yoga, drank gin and tonics, and stared out to sea. I'm just surprised she didn't solve some international crisis while there too. You know, all while sipping her gin and putting the final touch on her latest seascape.

In 2016 she wrote about her beloved hearing service dog, Doc. That year, she also wrote about her transitioning to a wheelchair and, generally, needing more daily help.

Michie O’Day was a hero.