I am such an optimist that this is the last thing I expect from me. But I am coming up on one year since my diagnosis. October 31st was the mammogram turned into an immediately scheduled biopsy the next morning. Then November 4th, four agonizing days later, came the call "Sorry, you have cancer." Just in time for me to contemplate that for my birthday on November 6th.
I had already become leary of my birthday. I embrace getting older but lately... In 2002, 2007 and 2008 I was tossed out of my job (layoffs) a week or so before my birthday and in 2004 I had to share that special day with G.W.'s 're-'election. By November 6th 2009 I was re-employed and November 6th 2010 I crossed the finish line of my first IronMan triathlon, so it hasn't been all bad. But 2011 was a doozy.
And so maybe that is why I write this post from my bedroom floor, after having so recently lain there sobbing, winter and summer clothes piled all around me in mid-transition, a blanket pulled off the bed wrapped around me helping me hide my tear-streaked face from the kids, feeling so overwhelmed and so devoid of any hope or purpose that only the dawning thought that this anniversary might be at its root could I sit up and begin to tame it with words.
I guess I'm just scared of what tomorrow will bring. And my only strength, at this moment, is in being able to admit that.
