As Joy came in from walking Hope before school this morning, she asked me whether I knew what day it is. No, I said, my mothers’ finely honed instinct warning me that ‘Thursday’ wasn’t likely to be the right answer. “It’s two years since your surgery,” said Joy, “I always remember this date.” I’d completely forgotten…. diagnosis day seems to be the big day in my memory. Forgetting, I guess, is good? I certainly remembered, last year.
(Joy remembering, and me forgetting, is a good way of reminding me that cancer hit all of us pretty hard and that we need to keep on looking after each other. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I think dancing with cancer has to be an easier job than watching someone you love do it.)
So, two years since I had surgery, another three until the medical profession considers me cancer-free. I wonder if I’ll get a certificate or a prize? I suspect not. Apart of course from the Prize of Being Alive. Which I’ll settle for. I’ve had worse presents.
In the meantime, I’m going to give myself a little gift today. I’m going to enjoy the day – I will mostly be writing, so that has to be good – and not get sidetracked by small worries and things that really don’t matter. (Which is really easily done when you are still in the throes of unpacking.) I invite you to give yourself the same gift. Let’s have a Bah! to cancer easy-going, worry-free day. Maybe we’ll even get a little bit of blue sky.