Smile

of my 39th birthday.

I feel…. grateful. Grateful to have made it this far. It seems like every time I go to the doctor, according to them, I lose a decade (+/-) of my life’s expectancy.

I feel relieved. For weeks leading up to this day… do I represent myself as 41 or 42?? Since I’m practically there anyway? And then there’s the stair stepper… should I program the stair stepper at age 41 or 42. (Apparently the difference is I’ll have to go a minute longer to burn the same amount of calories)

I feel empowered. Almost 2 1/2 years ago, after my first MRI, they (the gods, the doctors themselves) told me to go home and get my “affairs in order”. I did just that. I have a complete, up to date duplicate set of all my medical records, as well as cd’s of my MRI’s. I document appointments, what was said at these appointments, lab results and films. I make sure my follow up appointments are made. I’ve taken control of my future. They are NOT Gods. They are human beings, that yes, have been known to make mistakes. I help them to keep track of me. I am the squeaky wheel.

I am not a “case”, I am not “the 3:30 appointment”, I am not the “42 year old female with a macroadenoma”.

I am Mike’s wife.

I am Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ daughter. My biological mother could not keep me, but I was special and adopted by 2 very loving parents.

I am Cindi’s sister.

I am someone’s friend.

I am Jake and Taylor’s Aunt.

I am 6 kids (all cats, but they think they are humans trapped in fur suits) mother.

I am 42 today, and I am strong!

Smile