On September 9th I celebrated my five-year cancerversary. Five years to the day that I had a lumpectomy, and kicked out Ethel. On September 10th, I celebrated.
I threw a party, invited everyone I knew...(Golden Girls reference there, you're welcome). The theme of the night was "Death by Chocolate....not Cancer." I invited everyone to bring their favourite dessert and eat with me until we all felt sick. Or hated ourselves. Or both, I'm not picky.
I though the party theme struck the perfect balance of dark humour and slightly tacky references to death. It was a great night - it felt light, and fun, and loving. Exactly how I would want any party in my honour to feel. I didn't give any speeches (too heavy) or make any grand gestures (too much work). I just got to spend an evening surrounded by people that I know care about me. There were quite a few people that I know care about me that couldn't make it (it is both a blessing and a curse to have my friends and family spread across the globe) but I had a family make a video from the other side of Canada showing how they celebrated. It made my heart happy.
Five years seemed such a far way off back in 2011. I wondered if I would make it to that milestone. I soon realized the odds were in my favour, but still, I did some deep soul searching while waiting for test results. Even after all that I debated celebrating, because I'm not always comfortable asking people to do things for me. Even if those things are coming to a party. But in the end, I decided if you can't celebrate five years in remission, what can you celebrate? It's a pretty big deal. It's a wonderful thing. It certainly deserved a little cake. Or, in my case, enough cake to fill two tables.
I'm a lucky lady.
I threw a party, invited everyone I knew...(Golden Girls reference there, you're welcome). The theme of the night was "Death by Chocolate....not Cancer." I invited everyone to bring their favourite dessert and eat with me until we all felt sick. Or hated ourselves. Or both, I'm not picky.
I though the party theme struck the perfect balance of dark humour and slightly tacky references to death. It was a great night - it felt light, and fun, and loving. Exactly how I would want any party in my honour to feel. I didn't give any speeches (too heavy) or make any grand gestures (too much work). I just got to spend an evening surrounded by people that I know care about me. There were quite a few people that I know care about me that couldn't make it (it is both a blessing and a curse to have my friends and family spread across the globe) but I had a family make a video from the other side of Canada showing how they celebrated. It made my heart happy.
Five years seemed such a far way off back in 2011. I wondered if I would make it to that milestone. I soon realized the odds were in my favour, but still, I did some deep soul searching while waiting for test results. Even after all that I debated celebrating, because I'm not always comfortable asking people to do things for me. Even if those things are coming to a party. But in the end, I decided if you can't celebrate five years in remission, what can you celebrate? It's a pretty big deal. It's a wonderful thing. It certainly deserved a little cake. Or, in my case, enough cake to fill two tables.
I'm a lucky lady.
