I think the title of this blog post really speaks for itself, but in case you need me to spell it out for you…
It’s been nearly five-fucking-years since my first seizure.
I know most people living with cancer recognize the date they were diagnosed, but in my weird circumstance I did not receive an official diagnosis until nearly two and half months after my first seizure.
Due to a delayed diagnosis I choose to celebrate both dates: seizure and diagnosis. And it is convenient to recognize the date of my first seizure because it occurred just seven days after my 29th birthday. So yes…
Happy birthday to me.
I am now 34 years old.
I never want to be a woman who hides her age. Every year I am older is another year I am alive. I am living with this disease.
On my birthday a woman told me that it is great getting older. I should trust her, she expressed, as a woman older than me, to listen to her wise advice. I said, “Yes, I know. Getting older is great. I like getting older.” She didn’t seem to believe me. I almost said, “Dude, I get it. I know how precious life is, blah, blah, blah… I have brain cancer.” But I didn’t go there. I must really be maturing.
Honestly, I am lucky as hell to be living with a grade 2 astrocytoma. This is a slow-growing malignant tumor. SLOW GROWING. Yes, I have brain cancer, but other people have it worse than I me.
So I am in a weird gray area (pun intended) where I have a disease to freak out over, but I also need to be humble and recognize that others are worse off.