Today is National Cancer Survivors Day.
There are over 15 million of us in the United States
and well over twice that many in the world.
Events have taken place all over the country but, on this
particular national cancer survivors day, I am celebrating quietly.
There are no scenic hikes, epic bike rides or long runs in
my plans for today. There are no dinner celebrations and there will be no cake.
I am celebrating being alive with a decidedly mundane day. Coffee and a good
book, apricot picking, apricot dehydrating, refrigerator cleaning out and
crossword puzzles. The day is warm and gorgeous and I could be Out Living It
with other cancer survivors and supporters but not today. Not for me. Today I’m
sitting with my own no evidence of disease, relishing the fact that I am here
and alive enough and healthy enough to be unabashedly boring.
Facing my own mortality in such an abrupt manner at the age
of 40, triggered an almost manic response to life. Most days I feel compelled
to make the most out of every single moment. While living out loud has certain je
ne sais quoi, it can be, and has been, absolutely exhausting. Today I need a
break. And today I feel entitled to take that break.
No one in my family has recognized the day and, honestly,
that feels like somewhat of a relief. Four years ago, the diagnosis was so fresh
and the fear was so overwhelming that I couldn’t imagine a time of normalcy
ever settling on our home again. Basically,
the fact no one besides myself recognizes this day makes me feel finally out of
that needy inner circle and grateful that, in at least a few ways, my children
and my husband have moved on from cancer.
I say in a few ways because we will never outrun cancer, the
collateral damage it foisted on each one of us or the resentment of the fear it
still holds on our household.
Today may be boring but I am celebrating. I am celebrating
my life and the lives of others.
We have been called survivors, warriors, thrivors,
metavivors and many other intended-to-be-complementary monikers.
But we are just people.
And, like most people, we are brave when we need to be; afraid when fear dominates; angry when
cancer steals from us, our families and our friends; anxious when facing the
unknown; thrilled when we achieve milestones of NED and stability. We are all pushing
forward, many of us hand-in-hand. We are there to celebrate each others’ cancerversaries,
catch each other when we stumble, kvetch about the less-often discussed aspects
of cancer and absolutely there to comfort each other when the world comes
crashing down.
In Cancerville, so much needs to be addressed, so much needs
to be corrected. More communication, more collaboration, more research, more
support. But that is not what today is about.
Today is a celebration for over 15 million people, their
families and their friends. Today is a celebration of life with all its
imperfections. I am celebrating quietly (and deferentially with those unable to celebrate heavy on my mind) but I am celebrating.
A little bit of boring goes a long way, and enjoying my own
breath will amuse me for only so long.
Tomorrow definitely requires a more overt celebration... and perhaps some flourless chocolate cake.
Tomorrow definitely requires a more overt celebration... and perhaps some flourless chocolate cake.
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