11 years ago today, I was hauled in for emergency surgery, told I might only live 2weeks. They didn’t know what they were looking for. They pulled 20 pounds of cancer out from the bottom of my abdomen. They said that they could possibly extend my life. Three months later, oddly starting treatment on September 11 of all days, my oncologist would tell me not to believe that. “I can cure you, but there will be a price to your body.” The price he warned me about was a lifetime of peripheral neuropathy. Just as he said it might, it came. Doesn’t matter. I’ve lived 11 years from an initial fear that I might not last two weeks.
You do not understand what grateful to be alive means until you sit in a hospital room being told you might die soon and watching your family try to hold back tears, and then still be alive 11 years later.
After the surgery, I started changing my attitude, my outlook, my disposition. I had been a horrible person in my own estimation. Now, I’m kinder and gentler by far, my faith grows every day, and my spirit is calm. All of you, my friends, have helped to make that possible.
Thank you, and thank God.