...before I am officially past my statistical expiration date!
I was really careful today, making sure my seatbelt was fastened when I drove, and chewing my food very carefully before I swallowed! I'm not a superstitious person, but this date (exactly fourteen months from my cancer diagnosis) was always hanging there in the back of my cancer-riddled mind, like a big cartoon piano waiting to fall on me. Fourteen months was the optomistic end of the prognosis range that I was given.
HA! They were wrong!
One of these days I've got to put on my clogging shoes and dance on what ISN'T my grave!
(Or just dance--because I can!)
I'm not dead. I'm not a vegetable. I'm not wondering who my kids are. I'm not tone-deaf. I'm living and working and singing and dancing and planning trips and birthday parties, and hugging my family and playing Scrabble and looking forward to my first book signing, and enjoying every minute of it all!
This is a good thing. I had to caution myself against believing the statistics about this date. Whenever it would haunt me I would tell myself that it would just be all the more exciting when I pass it by, still going strong. I have heard that some Australian aborigines or members of a certain Kenyan tribe are known for subconsciously willing themselves to die if they believe it is inevitable (like if the "bones" point to them). Sometimes people just die quickly from the shock and despair of a devastating prognosis. And sometimes people are feisty enough to live longer than expected. I was born feisty, so I guess that finally paid off--along with good treatments, a lot of prayer and the good will of God, who has seen fit to let me stay here for now!