I raise a toast – a toast to you. I know we would have done the same thing had you been here, Mom and Dad. It never gets old. I guess some of my life’s defining moments are marked by a toast. And this one is no different. If only you could be here to share this one with me – –
“I guess you are one of the lucky ones, Stacey”, said Dr. Singh to me this morning after my monthly check-up. Imagine, my CA-125 level has dropped again! You would have never guessed two years ago that I would be celebrating good health. I am diseased, but in good health. Imagine. Modern medicine is incredible. The people who work in this field are miracle workers. Not to mention those who have supported me through this very long battle against ovarian cancer. My family, my friends. I am blessed. There is no other way to describe it.
Still, I think, how odd it is to consider myself lucky while still living with stage four cancer. But it is so very real. I do feel lucky. I am alive. Every day I celebrate the morning. Nothing has to happen to make the day extraordinary. It just is anyhow. It is a day. A day that I didn’t think I’d have. A snow day at home with David, a visit from my daughter while I am playing Candy Crush upstairs in my bed to rest, a text from Ben from Thunder Bay. These are all such ordinary and special moments.
“Oh, thank God.” A text from my sister in law. I am being thought of in the deep south of Texas. How lucky am I? “I didn’t know whether to text or not.. but was sitting on pins and needles for you.”
“Yahoo! Oh, wow! Amazing.” Words from friends and family.
Flowers from my hubby to say – well done. You’ve put up a good fight, Stacey! (Okay – not yet, but this may serve as a friendly reminder, after-all)
We would have sat in the family room; Dad in his pink chair, Mom in hers, and I on the sofa. We would have marveled that we came through once again, as we always did. We celebrated life. I guess it is in my blood. We would have cheered, “sante!” (health). I guess we did that more often than not as my parents were in an out of hospital during the last few “golden years” of their lives. I do miss them. There is likely still not a day that goes by that I don’t miss them. Funny how time heals, but does not let one forget.
So, here I sit, waiting for Kevin to come home from work to entice him to toast life with me. “Sante!” I will say. And we will clink glasses to toast a life that we didn’t think would otherwise have happened.
And then – tomorrow will happen and I will remember… once again.