April 3, 2009

April 3, 2019

Today marks the ten-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, the day some strange doctor—not my regular one—told me about ten times in a thick accent, “You have advanced cancer.”

The picture on the left was taken three hours later, right before my family’s scheduled road trip to Angel’s Camp, California.

I thought for sure I would die within six months; maybe with a little luck, I’d make it to Christmastime. God had other plans.

Ten years. I can hardly believe it.

Not only am I alive, I have a good life: a wonderful husband who stuck with me through thick and thin—cancer was definitely one of the thin spots, I must say—and three great children who make me proud on a daily basis.

On top of that, I have countless friends, friends who drove me to my chemotherapy appointments, friends that were there for me when I wanted to quit, friends that were there for me when other situations in my life tried to knock me down.

I’ve been grateful to be part of a church family that has held me up over these past ten years, scraping me off the floor way more than once.

I’m going to continue to live my life, happy and content with every extra day I am given.