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I am ready. It’s time to celebrate! I know, I know, I put up such a fuss just a few short months ago, so anti-celebrating anything. But not only is the 2011/2012 two-part hell year over, but so is 38! I turned 39 on February 9 and I feel like I have a new lease on life – and hopefully it’s a long one!

Of course, 38 couldn’t let go without a fight, so my birthday weekend featured a blizzard and not a lot of downtime, as there was much to do for work – I went from a utility where I had storm duty, to a biomanufacturing plant that must stay running 24/7, regardless of the weather. Snow days never mean much to me! Luckily, the governor lifted the driving ban my birthday afternoon, so a few of us braved the roads and went to dinner to officially mark the occasion. Thanks to Kevin and Tara for trekking and joining Nick and I!

The rest of the month was mainly a blur: lots of snow and sickness, I’m afraid. I’m not a huge fan of the white stuff, and it dumped more than what I consider our fair share on New England this month. And I caught a bad cold/sore throat that has lingered for three weeks now and just won’t let go. I was actually really looking forward to running what I thought was going to be my first (almost) 5k back on Rare Disease Day (see last blog post), but with still having a sore throat and barely running at all this month, I didn’t think it would be smart – especially with next week…

Oh, what’s next week, you ask? Why, the continuation of my celebration! In sunny Florida – Walt Disney World, to be exact! Several of my family and friends are joining us for a few days to celebrate so many things: It being 2013. Turning 39. The end of treatment (other than tamoxifen). And, it just happens to fall almost exactly a year from when I found the first lump. Happy Anniversary to me. So I’m going to take some time out, head south to the warmth, bask in the sunshine, enjoy some family and friend time, reflect on a tough year successfully concluded and focus on my fabulous future! I am so thankful for everyone in my life, and that I HAVE a life. I don’t want to take any of it for granted, and I want to not only appreciate it, but truly enjoy it, and the people who make it worth living! Cheers to you all!!!

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We know all the sayings:

  • Every day is a chance to start fresh.
  • Every day is a new beginning.
  • Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
  • Make every day count.

We hear them, but how often do they resonate? We take days for granted, as if they are a guarantee. We either waste days by rushing through them at the speed of light but not necessarily absorbing or accomplishing any one thing (yup, me) or by simply doing nothing. “After all, tomorrow is another day,” my cousin and I love to quote Scarlett O’Hara.

But today I realized tomorrow may never come. Today I learned of three cancer deaths. None personally close to me, but they all hit home. Particularly looking at pictures of two of the three, both in their late thirties, smiling petite brunettes who had – you guessed it – breast cancer. That could so easily be me. And the third, an older gentleman, but unexpected, sudden cancer-related. It can happen any time, to any one. I am lucky that I am still here.

But for how long? It seems more and more common for people to have a recurrence or develop a new cancer. My fellow breast cancer survivor Janie was lamenting the other day how so many people feel the need to constantly share these stories lately: “I wish some people could understand that telling a cancer survivor that they know someone that had breast cancer too and was a survivor for 5 years then they had a recurrence, lung cancer, liver cancer, brain cancer etc…… and they didn’t survive it…Is sooo incredibly sad!!!! It Breaks my Heart!!!! Also on another note sooooo incredibly stressful as that is our Biggest fear…… We are all Survivors!!!! Whether we just started our fight, are in the middle of our fight, have finished our fight or those who are now Angels watching over us.. We understand what its like to fear what might happen next but we also know what its like to appreciate every minute as life is so very precious!”

She’s right. It’s my biggest fear. (Well, my biggest ‘me’ fear – I worry about my son every time he goes out the door!) I wouldn’t have cut both my breasts off, gone through 24 weeks of chemo, six weeks of radiation and now five years of Tamoxifin and soon reconstructive surgery if I thought I had a choice. I will fight as long as I have to, as hard as I have to, to have more days here with my loved ones.

I am not trying to depress anyone, or bring them down from their optimistic perch – I am usually right there with you. I will never stop planning for the future, never stop looking forward to tomorrow and probably never stop quoting Scarlett. But what I will do is take just a few moments more each day to cherish life. To be thankful for each moment I do have. To make sure that the people around me know I appreciate and love them. I want to make every day, every moment, every breath, count.

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I was called into the Healing Garden at Dana-Farber today. Not literally, but something beckoned me to go through those doors, although I haven’t been since my very first visit to this facility last March. And the second I walked in and felt the peacefulness wash over me, between the lush garden, sweet scent of greenery, subtle lighting and bird musac in the background, the floodgates opened. Clearly I don’t mesh well with relaxing and peacefulness – another thing I need to work on.

I know it was – is, as I’m still sitting here amongst the flowers and the tears writing this blog entry on my iPhone – more than that, though. It is remembering that first time here, how scared and clueless I was about what really lay ahead. It is mourning the person I was before I stepped through these doors. It is the wondering about the different path my life could’ve taken if I hadn’t discovered that lump – and the people that may’ve still been in it – for better or worse. And sitting here, looking through the bamboo branches, out the window at the hospital across the street where we kept vigil for days and then lost my grandfather, in the midst of it all, just 8 months ago. It is the fact that this is the last time I will be here (barring any more lymphedema flair ups) for four whole months. And while that is something to celebrate – as is finally being ‘even’ again after today’s procedure (which really hurts but is worth it) – it is also hard. As change always is, even when it’s for the better.

But I will adjust. I am still struggling to figure out who this post-treatment me is. And I will get there. Maybe I just need a little more time in some healing gardens…

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