I am feeling uplifted.
It’s the only way I know how to describe it.
I’m tired as fuck but I don’t care.
My boob is deformed but I don’t care.
My hair is short and mostly grey and I love it.
I’m going to NYC next week for an amazing impromptu visit with some of my favorite people. One whom I’ve never met in person. And I don’t even care that it’s going to be cold. (I hate the cold. Almost as much as breast cancer.) And I’m going to cry. Tears of joy.
In a few weeks, Fred and I are going to celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary by renewing our vows. Ten years. And we’re doing it in super, not-so-secret style. And I’m going to cry. Tears of love.
The week after, we head down to Key West to celebrate Thanksgiving with my brother and sister and their kids (Hi Benyameen. Giant Baby is coming for you.) And my kids. And my parents. Key West. How fun is that? And I’m going to cry. Tears of thanks.
Then it’s my birthday. Again. And it makes me think of my birthday last year. My 50th birthday. My Las Vegas, clubbing, light-up jacket wearing fantasia. You know, the one where I actually felt like I was on top of the world but it was really just on the ledge at a VIP table in a club. Surrounded by some of my absolute nearest and dearest. And even though I won’t be in Las Vegas this year, I’m going to cry. Tears of I’m still here and I’m cancer-free.
Because six weeks after my 50th birthday, I found the lump and was thrust into what’s been my reality for the last nine months.
Fear, chemo, surgery, radiation. Cancer, cancer, fucking cancer.
But my reality is changing. Rapidly. So much to look forward to. So much good in my life. And I guess that’s why I feel uplifted.
I’m not back up on top of the world again. Yet. But I’m on my way there.