A Very Merry Unbirthday

I don't mind birthdays as a rule, though I totally forgot mine this year. Seriously. Until the beau called last night to cheerfully wish me a happy one, I'd totally missed the notion that I'd be turning another year older today. Then came all the phone calls and the well wishers via social networking and a tidy stack of birthday cards that I'd somehow opened and forgot, sitting in my mail basket downstairs. I stared at the pile thoughtfully as I sipped my morning coffee and, per the established ritual, ignored the puppy's frantic attempts to batter down my sliding glass door to get back inside. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, there are no terrorist squirrels inside the house today; I would not lie about something as important as terrorist squirrels. 

One of us, at least, was not in a hurry this morning.

I've never been huge on birthdays but one might think that with advent of surviving cancer, I'd be much more apt to mark the day, but in fact, it's entirely the opposite. Birthdays have become even less important than before. You see, every day is a quiet celebration unto itself, a mini birthday, in fact. Every day I am still here, healthy and active, is better than birthday cake and candles and, yes, even presents. Of course, I'll take a win by the Sharks tonight as a personal favor and quietly celebrate this weekend with my BFF, as we always go out to a nice Italian restaurant, but aside from that, no big fanfare, no huge celebration. I've had fireworks a-plenty in the past few years, so honestly, if the Phillies would just retake the world series for the boyfriend and the Sharks would take the Stanley Cup for me, I'd be golden.

Clearly, I don't ask for much.

It's a funny thing about having your health. You never know its full value until you lose it. When you have it, you take it for granted and, probably, at least in this country, abuse it. When it's wrenched away, suddenly and viciously, as it was when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, you learn nearly instantly that your health is everything. This means that I cherish and treasure the days that I feel like my old self and am reminded on days that I'm exhausted or the meds are taking their toll, to slow down, chillax and simply stop and take especial care of myself.  I no longer coast on my genes or assume I'm going to be fine.

I take nothing for granted, which is why tomorrow, I'll be celebrating, and the day after that and the day after that.

Every day you get to stick around after surviving cancer is simply tantamount to one huge, ongoing unbirthday party.