Kicking cancer's ass - day 523

Today is Groundhog Day.  (Six more weeks of winter, people!)
It's also my birthday.  I am twenty-nine.

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Ok, I'm thirty-nine.

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{sigh} I'm forty-two.

I'm forty-two years old.  How can I be forty-two?  I still feel like a kid!  

Well, except for the whole husband, kids and cancer thing.  Honestly, does anyone else wonder how they became a grown-up?  I know I went through a rough year and a half (40 isn't all it's cracked up to be!), but where did these wrinkles come from?  Where did my energy go?  Why is my hair more gray than brown?  My knees crackle when I stand up, I gain weight just by looking at a piece of chocolate and I rarely sleep all night.  

When you're a kid, birthdays are right up there with Christmas.  You get a party.  You get cake, and you get presents!  Once you hit the milestone 21st birthday, things kind of settle down.  Birthdays aren't as exciting.  You start to dread the big 3-0.  Then you realize that wasn't so bad, and then you start to dread the big 4-0.  In my case, I should have dreaded it a little more!  Things went downhill fast for me when I turned forty.

Funny thing is, in the cancer world, forty is young.  Very young.  I can't tell you how many times I've heard "For someone your age" from a doctor or nurse.  So while my body seems (to me) to be falling apart, all it takes is one trip to the cancer center and a look around the waiting room.  That makes me feel like a kid again.  It makes me grateful that I am "young" and that I was healthy before I got sick.

One thing is for sure...after you've had cancer, birthdays are right back up there with Christmas.  I don't care about the party or the presents.  I care about being alive and well.  I try not to worry about my scars or how my meds make me feel.  Instead, I'm grateful for each day.  

And I care about the cake.