Within the week I will turn 54
and I will honor the day I was told I had cancer. It’s a lot to absorb within a
few days but so is my life these days. I received a call from my doctor that
will forever change my life one year ago. It’s a call NO ONE wants to ever receive.
I have been told that one becomes a cancer survivor the day they are diagnosed.
Since, I have spent 38 weeks out of last 56 weeks undergoing chemotherapy, survived
three surgeries, and can now say I survived cancer. I hope it’s forever, but of
course the frightening thought that I may be among the 20% of women who will experience
a metastatic re-occurrence, will forever follow me and Liz as we try our best
to find a “new normal”.
They say, “never a better time
like the present”, and life with cancer will drill those words into your brain
like nothing else can. And so, I’m pleased to let you know Liz and I have
decided to leave the home we have known for over two decades and re-locate to
our condo in Fort Lauderdale. And it’s a good thing.
I have called the DC area home
for almost 30 years. I moved to the area immediately after college in the winter
of 1986, to work for Senator Harkin as an unpaid intern. After a few months
with no income, I moved to the Boston area and fell in love with the Red Sox – staying
in contact with the Senator’s office and hoping for a paid opportunity to work
in his office. That opportunity came in
1989, and I have lived here ever since.
I met and married my wife here, I
have filled my resume with incredible opportunities here, and conversely have had my
heartbroken professionally too many times to mention here. And I have worked
for and beside tremendously talented individuals here. I have made life-time friends
here. I grew my village here. I have lived a full life here. I also was
diagnosed with cancer here.
The decision to re-locate our
lives closer to my brother and his family, to warmer weather, to a less
stressful atmosphere, to a condo – on the wonderful intracoastal with a view of
Atlantic Ocean - we spent blood, sweat, and a few tears to remodel to our heart’s
content has been comforting. Leaving our friends, our neighborhood, the wonderful
District of Columbia and all it affords culturally and historically, and the superb
medical teams we’ve both been able to cobble together over decades will not be
easy. But nothing truly worth your time is ever easy.
Professionally, I don’t know
where I’ll go or where I’ll end up. I have been privileged to join a few Boards
and to work on a few projects with special nonprofits in the south Florida area
already, hoping to lend my voice, my experience, and my love of management to
hopefully make a positive difference. The importance to give back and to lend a
hand has surfaced to the top of my “to-do” list.
My 53rd year has been a year for the ages. It’s
been horrifically tragic and wonderfully uplifting. As it comes to an end, I can honestly say I understand who
makes up my village. I will not take any moment of any day for granted. I see the
world - my world - clearer than I ever have. I recognize that my time on this
earth is measured, and that many women diagnosed with me are not here to
celebrate another day. So I’m really happy to see my 54th birthday.
Lift a glass to me on my birthday, January 19th and again on January
24th to honor the day I became a cancer survivor.
And make plans to visit us in Fort Lauderdale! Go Vikings, SKOL!!!!
