Even before we got married, The Husband and I started a Christmas tradition where we pick out an ornament together to represent the year. I did not have any preconceived notions about what this year’s ornament would be, but once I saw it, I knew it was right.
A few days after he proposed, The Husband went out for Chinese food with some colleagues and his fortune said “You will be married within the year.” We were. We got married nine months later, and we had personalized fortune cookies made up for our guests as favors at our wedding.
This fortune cookie ornament reminded me of that happy fortune.
It also represents my attitude about this past year. I feel so incredibly lucky: lucky to have such a loving and understanding husband, a beautiful daughter, and to have some of the best doctors in the world helping me battle cancer.
It’s also a great talisman to carry forward into the next year. I certainly could use a little more good fortune.
Here’s wishing you all a season of great fortune: love, health, and joy.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
I didn’t have to think very long or very hard to assign a word for this year. Cancer consumed my energy and time, but the one word I would use to describe this year is hope. Hope is what drives me, what gets me out of bed every day. Hope is what I see every time I look at my daughter. Hope is why I subjected myself to all the ick of treatment.
For what am I hopeful? A cure? Of course. And until then, I’d like to battle this cancer back, and not have any recurrence.
I’m hopeful I’ll have many more tomorrows.
I’m hopeful I’ll outlive my daughter’s childhood.
But there’s more than that – I’m 40 now, it’s about time for a midlife crisis. Imagine what happens to a midlife crisis when the universe says this might actually be the end of your life.
I’m a late bloomer: at 40, I’m still working on getting my bachelors degree, I haven’t yet started a career from which I could eventually retire, I’ve never been off this continent, I’ve just been married a few years, and my daughter isn’t even two yet. This mid-life crisis had already been messing with me when I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer.
There is so much I want to do with my life. Most importantly, I want to be the one to raise my daughter, to guide her through adolescence and into adulthood, and to be there for her if and when she starts her own family. I want to get old with my husband. I want to travel around the world. I want to finish my degree – for myself, but also as an example to my daughter. I also want to write a book, and more than that, to make a living as a writer. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I first comprehended that someone wrote the words I was reading when I was in Kindergarten. I have two big ideas for non-profits I want to get started. I want to make a mark on the world. I want to make a difference. I want to make the world a better place.
So hope it is: Hope that I can be here to raise a confident, intelligent, and compassionate young woman, and Hope that I can finish my degree, muster the confidence to start submitting my writing for publication (perhaps even some travel writing from all the adventures The Husband and I will have together), and get the ball rolling on righting some wrongs in this world.
That’s a lot to pack into one little four-letter word.
You still sleep in that half crawl position with your butt up in the air, and your face plastered against the mattress. I love watching you sleep, but I seldom get to do it anymore.
I try to sneak into your room to peek on you, but I’m such a klutz these days, and you’re such a light sleeper that you’re on your feet before I get to the middle of the room. Then the following scene plays out:
YOU: Mama?
ME: Yes, Baby.
YOU: Hug?
Whereupon I melt into a puddle on the floor.
That scene plays out several times a day: in the living room, in your room, while we’re out for a walk, when you don’t want to go to bed… Yeah, I’m a sucker ~ But your cuteness hasn’t gotten you out of taking a nap. Yet. I am, however, loving all these hugs and kisses.
To be honest, most of the time you are really good about going to bed. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Daddy and I are both night owls, so we don’t like to get up too early in the morning. That’s means you don’t go to bed till 11 at night so you will sleep in till 10 the next morning. Yay for me getting to sleep in. It was also handy for those chemo days when I wasn’t strong enough to take care of you all by myself. My friends that helped take care of you would show up around 10 or 11 and stay until you took your afternoon nap at 3. Then Daddy would come home by the time you woke up from your nap. It worked out quite well, but the chemo is no longer an issue – I’m all done with chemo! Double Yay!
But when we do put you to bed, whether for a nap or for the night, you sweetly smile up at us from your crib as we cover you up with a blanket and tuck one of your babies under your arm. Well, most of the time. There are those nights when you have very strong feelings about bed time, but they are few and far between.
Regardless of how you fall asleep, the way you wake up is a beautiful thing. We’ve taken to leaving books in your crib each night, because you wake up and read them in the morning.
You love to go outside and play, and you would much rather walk yourself than ride in the stroller. But we do try to get in a good long walk everyday.
Snow was a revelation to you. It all melted away, but still you ask to go outside (sigh sigh – also your word for butterfly) and you ask for the snow. We look out the window at the bare ground and you tell me “gone.” I hope we get a few more good snow days this winter – preferably on days I don’t have to drive here in Seattle.
If I just listed off all the things for which I’m thankful this year, the list would go on for several pages, and I wouldn’t be able to complete it in one day. As I do have plans to spend some time with my family, I’ll try to keep this short and just point out a few of the biggies:
My amazing husband who takes such good care of me, especially on the chemo days when I’m feeling so crappy
My creative, beautiful, and intelligent daughter who brightens every day and showers me with kisses and hugs
The wonderful people who came over and helped out when I had my surgery and during chemo – Mom, Dee, Sharon and Perry, Kristen, Mary Jane, Diane, Carrie, Candace, and Sommer, to name a few
Completing chemo – yes, that’s right, I’m done with chemo!
My cancer was found before it metastasized
The amazing doctors and nurses at the University of Washington Medical Center and Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. Over the years I’ve received medical care in a lot of different systems, and this is by far the best care I have received in my life.
Medicaid. I qualified for medicaid which is making it possible for me to receive this wonderful medical care. Medicaid is saving my life right now, and 18 months ago it saved my daughter’s life. I don’t know how we will pay rent next week, or the power bill, but we have food in the freezer, and I can fight my cancer. I’m not proud of the fact that we need this assistance, and I know its a source of embarrassment to my family members who fight so hard to eradicate publicly funded medical care, but I am extremely thankful that this assistance exists and makes it possible for me to battle cancer. Thanks to the health insurance reform bill, my cancer will not prevent me from getting health insurance once we get jobs, so one day I will be able to get off Medicaid, hopefully someday soon.
Here’s wishing you all a safe, healthy, and happy Thanksgiving.
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