Here it is, August again. Something very different happened this month than the previous few years. This year I didn’t toot my horn about dates. In case you’re interested though, here are the date stats—

  • As of today, I was diagnosed 11 years and 8 days ago.
  • As of May 1, 2017, It was 10 years since my mastectomy.
  • As of today, it was 4 years, 3 months and 23 days ago that my oncologist said he never wanted to see me again (?).

So why not shout them out? Sometimes I think that everyone is tired of me reminding them about my cancer. After all, it has been 11 years since diagnosis, right? And then, sometimes I worry too much. And I think that last reason has more to do with ‘why’ than the other. Let me add some perspective to that admission. Did you see the news story that Olivia Newton John’s cancer was back and metastasized? That news came out 3 months ago. Her cancer has returned after 25 years.

It was a helluva jolt to me. My anxiety kicked in. Does time really not matter? What about me? Will it come back? Is there a rogue cell just waiting to turn my life upside down? Do people feel ‘meh’ about me shouting it out loud? So many thoughts. And, as much as I hate to admit this, I went down a path of ‘what ifs’. That path can self-perpetuate. I didn’t go far. I didn’t go deep. I didn’t do it for long. I did snap out of it. Fairly quickly.

This year my celebrations have been with quiet gratitude for each day, for all my family and friends and their love and support, and with continued vigilance. I am incredibly proud and amazed at those numbers. In fact, WOW still comes to mind.

This year was quiet. On purpose. I can’t speak to the future. I’m living for today.

Oṃ śānti śānti śānti