Fifty-five months since diagnosis. (That would be four years and seven months.)
Five more months until I finish my fifth year of survival!
I hit those milestones on the 12th.
Many of you know that my lucky number is thirteen, because our son was born in the thirteenth year of our marriage, in the thirteenth hour of the thirteenth day of March.
I'm really not into numerology, but I started associating the number twelve with unlucky things. Cancer diagnosis on December 12 (12/12). Tumor progression detected on October 12.
But as with everything in life, it's all in the way we look at things. I also had neurosurgery on 12/12, and emerged high-functioning that evening. The October 12 tumor progression led to the use of Avastin, which worked well enough to keep me stable ever since. And it finally occurred to me (after all these months) that I keep looking forward to another "12" on the calendar. Another month of survival. (In fact, so many now, that it seems silly to count survival in months!)
It's pretty darn lucky!