Happy Canceversary To Us!

 

Perhaps one year the middle of February will roll around and I'll forget that it was on the days surrounding Valentine's Day - on the 13th and 15th - that Kate and I had our respective initial cancer surgeries, but (assuming my mental faculties remain intact) I rather doubt it.

It's been eight years for her, eleven for me.

So far, knock on wood, we've landed on the life side of the odds, and every year the cancer stays gone, chances are better it won't come back for a while.

I am grateful for my sake, even more grateful on her behalf - there were so many things I wanted to pass on to my daughter; cancer at age 30 was not among them.

Once those first nightmare days of treatment passed, they left behind a so-far indelible residue of gratefulness. No, life isn't all peachy-keen, but 

I. Am. Here. 

I still get to have new experiences, to watch my grandchildren grow. I have a whole 'nother decade's worth of memories to mull over as I go to sleep at night. I still get to be alive. (I can't even think that without being sad that Libby didn't get the same answer we did. I miss her.)

These days, I feel better. I have lingering neuropathy in my feet, but it no longer affects my daily activities. I still miss my breasts. ("They" said after a year or two, I'd not even notice they are gone. "They" lied, but I'm guessing "they" also never got body parts amputated, so have no clue.) My energy has mostly returned to normal - no longer having to answer to an alarm clock has certainly helped my healing in this arena.

I have started to make plans again. There is still an element of "God willin' and the crick don't rise" behind every calendar entry I make that's more than a month or so out, but I'm making the plans anyways. Hiccups in my plans will happen. That's OK. I will change the plans if and when I need to - the important part for me is that I make them.

I am living the days I have.

This is the best gift I can give to Libby, the best way I know to honor the lessons I learned as I walked beside her on her cancer journey.

I am here.
Thank you.
Amen.