Today is bitter sweet. It would have been my grandparents 59th wedding anniversary. It breaks my heart that Grandpa is gone, and it breaks my heart even more to think about my Grandma, alone. But today also marks my seven year mark of being cancer free. At first I felt badly being happy today, but I know Grandpa is celebrating. He was one of my biggest supporters and helped me fight the disease. I wish he could be beside me as a survivor, but unfortunately God had other plans. I feel guilty being happy over my milestone knowing that Grandma is hurting today because her own husband lost his cancer battle, but someone said to me, "You should be happy and embrace the celebration, because it means your family didn't lose two of you to cancer."
And they're right. So I'm embracing my happiness. Working at the "Dream Job" has opened my eyes even more to just how amazing of an accomplishment it truly is. I know this anniversary is worth a celebration. Tomorrow marks my 29th birthday. And birthdays are a huge deal to cancer survivors. Take a look at the American Cancer Society. They are the official sponsor of birthdays, because they know how huge it is. We see the birthday song as a victory song. Birthdays, to a cancer survivor, symbolize a fight won.
A lot of people dread getting older. And while I'm sad that it seems time goes by faster the older I get, I am not one of those people who hates their birthday. Yes, 29 feels old, but I'm happy to be turning 29 years old. It means I've made it another year without cancer rearing it's ugly head and taking my life. A lot of people didn't get the chance to turn 29 because of cancer. My life could have been cut short at 21 years old. I remember going in for my scan on November 20, 2006, just one month after finishing my last treatment. I knew the severity of my disease. I knew our only hope was the past seven months of treatment. That if that scan showed evidence of disease, it was pretty much a death sentence. It's just the nature of Leiomyosarcoma. I sat in the waiting room on that November 20th, scared out of my mind. I was far from excited about my birthday the next day. I found myself wondering if it would be my last.
I'm happy to say that wasn't the case. I'm elated to say I've now had seven birthdays since that scan in 2006, and I'm about to celebrate one more tomorrow. I embrace 29. I celebrate seven years of being cancer free. I celebrate my Lifeaversary. It's the day I realized my battle had been won, my life would not be ending anytime soon, and as we cancer survivors see it, we are given a second chance at life. A new life we call 'life after cancer'. A life where everything is different, sometimes harder, but most certainly more beautiful.
I know this celebration and importance might be hard for some to understand. And I don't expect others to. I know there are some reading this, rolling their eyes. And it's okay. I don't mind. It's hard to understand unless a doctor has told you that they didn't expect you to make it. It's hard to understand unless you knew the odds were strongly against you. There are certainly situations I do not understand, because I simply do not know what it's like. During this time, I lean on my cancer buddies. The friends I've made through this wonderful blogland, cancer forums, support groups, Facebook groups, and of course my family and friends. You all understand me. And I'm so grateful for that.
I celebrate because I realize, sadly, not everyone is as lucky as I am. Like my dear Grandpa. I beat the odds and I survived. But unfortunately, that's not how every cancer patient's story ends. I lived a life of pure hell. I still deal with numerous complications. But this day, seven years ago, I learned that cancer was no longer in control of my body. No longer shutting me down. I had won. I was going to live to see my 23rd birthday and many more after. I could finally begin to adjust to life after cancer; to my new normal. I could finally celebrate.
And so today, and every November 20th, I celebrate.
How? Nothing extravagant. My celebration is really just me high-fiving myself. It's the time I feel really great about myself. I reflect on where I was, what I endured, how far I've come, and what I still deal with. I'm truly proud of myself and the strength I had to make it through it all. The determination to endure surgery, recovery, radiation, more recovery, chemotherapy, and all the side effects. Add in continuing to go to school and work part-time as a preschool teacher, while traveling back and forth from CoMO to St. Louis. It was so hard but I did it. And I am damn proud of myself.
And because I don't want you all to think I'm beyond pathetic and celebrated by myself with just a self high-five, Nick did celebrate with me. Per his usual tradition on this date, I received white roses, symbolizing purity and cleanliness.
Nicholas also took me out for dinner to celebrate.
{I'm always so fascinated by the fire and of course the volcano onion, that suddenly becomes a "choo-choo" train chugging along across the grill. What can I say, I'm a child at heart.}
So.Much.Food. Does anyone ever really finish all their soup (that Nick and I determined had little sperm floating in it. Don't worry, I included that picture for you), the salad, the rice, vegetables, and meat?!
Of course no celebration is complete without wine! (But if we're being honest, no day in general is complete without a glass of wine.)
Dinner was delicious and we left with full bellies. Despite the fullness, we made a stop at the grocery store because I was craving some chocolate donuts. (That I ended up eating in bed).
And my five year old child of a husband spent a good 15 minutes debating what type of fruit snacks he wanted.
And that's all we bought. No shame.
It was a wonderful day. Thank you to all my friends and family that sent me cards, messages, texts, and phone calls. It truly means so much to me to wake up in the morning and see my inbox and Facebook wall flooded with love and support. I truly am blessed for all the amazing people in my life.
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