One of the upsides of having had cancer...

... is that you really love your birthdays. I do, anyway.

Last night, Husband took me out for a meal. It's not quite my birthday, but the date worked and logistics seem to dominate life at this point. And I'm not fussy - it doesn't have to be the exact date. I didn't know where we were going. Husband just told me it was going to be nice, and to dress up. It was a posh gig at a very fancy restaurant in town, and there was a bill that I didn't see, but I know was ridiculously large. I don't care. I loved the evening. Loved every minute of it.

I love celebrating that I'm here. "Every year is a bonus," I told Husband. "Every year since 2009 is a bonus." I might not have had these years. That thought, that knowledge, that tremor in my bones, brings with it a deep humility and an exhilaration. I wouldn't have paired those two emotions, but in my experience, they can arrive together and get along nicely. For me they do, every birthday.

I might not have written all these blog posts (and yes, I know I'm meant to be on a blogging break, but it's my blog and I'll write if I want to). I might not have moved house, back across the Atlantic with the family. I might not have seen all those children's concerts and plays, and planned those birthday celebrations. I might not have seen my daughter in a hockey match. I might not have watched The Hunger Games with my son. I might not have helped my oldest choose his GCSE subjects. I might not have owned a dog. I might not have done ALL THAT LAUNDRY! I might not have seen the beauty of this truly fabulous autumn. I might not have been to the Isles of Mull and Skye. Most of all, other people might have carried a yawning gap in their lives.

I couldn't live life with this awareness at the surface all the time. It would be too exhausting, and would alienate me too much from daily life. When I was being treated for cancer, and life was so odd and chaotic and nothing felt right, I missed normal life. I missed it terribly. So I'm happy that the intensity of all that emotion has faded over time, and that life trots along again in its normality. But on my birthday, and at occasional other times, I dip down deep into that pool of gratitude and marvelling that lies at the very bottom of my being, and I drink from its waters. For a while, I truly love that I hate my hairstyle, and that I haven't got round to putting up the new curtains, and that there are always balls of dog hair fluff in the corners of the kitchen, and that I shout at the children when they're being annoying and then feel guilty afterwards, and that the endless untidy family clutter gets me down, not to mention ALL THAT LAUNDRY.

So Cancer, you're a beast, but you've inadvertently given me this gift of glorious birthdays. I love it, and it's a darn good excuse to spend an unseemly amount of money on a restaurant bill.

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