Yes, we passed another twelfth. Fifty-nine months since the word "malignant" was pronounced upon me. We're practically on top of that five-year survival mark that seemed like statistical zero at the time of diagnosis.
In fact, we're already five years from the time of my first "seize the day" episode. November 13, 2005, was the Sunday morning when I had a seizure while getting Emma dressed for church. We had no idea what had happened. Three days later, on the 16th, I had a series of episodes that led to a wrong diagnosis by an over-confident ER physician. Finally, on November 21, 2005, we saw an MRI scan with some kind of abnormality that looked like a tumor. We had no idea what it was until surgery on December 12 revealed that it was a malignant tumor. I knew then that I had cancer. And on December 14 our worst fears were realized when the cancer ended up being a grade IV glioblastoma. Statistically speaking, five year survival was considered a miracle at that time.
So we're counting down to December 12, when we can celebrate the completion of my "high-five" year of survival.
We're also counting down what I call the "blast-off". As in, my final radiation blast is tomorrow morning. And hopefully we'll get all that blasted glioblastoma blasted off into oblivion!