Today might be my last birthday so I’ll dream of getting old and wrinkly with saggy boobs if I want to
TODAY is my birthday - and my 39th at that.
I’m a mere 365 days away from the big 40 - and the countdown is on.
Now, the annual age upgrade can be a rollercoaster at the best of times, especially for us women in our 30s.
One year it’s all great and exciting and that extra year is no big deal.
The next you’re sobbing while throwing your toys out of the pram, miserable at the thought of having to tick the next age bracket on any official forms.
I’m no different. Once upon a time the very thought of my approaching my 40th would have terrified me.
It would have sent me on a rampage of denial culminating in some pretty nasty hangovers.
Why? Because we all want life to fall into the fairytale category, and when it doesn’t we can’t help but feel a failure.
But that was all before cancer.
Fast forward a few years and my attitude to birthdays - especially MY birthday - has totally changed.
I’m like an excited kid, bouncing off the walls desperate to see my age creep up and up.
Nothing excites me more than getting older.
I long for new wrinkles (just keep them fine), (slightly) saggy boobs, (a few) hot flushes and even the odd bout of bladder weakness, if I have to.
Bring. it . ON.
To me getting older is a privilege, it’s something I do not take for granted.
That’s because today isn’t just my 39th birthday, it’s the fourth birthday I get to celebrate with incurable cancer in tow.
I count myself lucky
I’ve said it many times before but today it feels all the more poignant, I am living on borrowed time.
When I was diagnosed with stage 4 bowel cancer at the age of 35, I didn’t expect to see my 36th birthday.
My doctors warned me that only 8 per cent of people like me live for five years or more.
I’m four years down, with one to go until I get to see if I’m one of the very lucky ones.
I count myself lucky already to have celebrated four birthdays that I never thought I’d see.
But ever since that day when I was diagnosed in December 2016, I have carried the weight of knowing it’s unlikely I will get to celebrate turning 40.
It’s a mind f*** - and that’s an understatement.
I count every birthday as a milestone, just like each of my kids’ birthdays that I get to see, every Christmas I am still here.
But this year feels a bit different. I can’t help but wonder, with that grim stat looming like a dark cloud over me, if the clock has just started ticking on the last year of my life?
And that brings me to Covid.
The pandemic is another factor that makes this year different, for so many of us - in so many ways.
It’s opened my eyes even more to the fragility of life.
It’s left us all dealing with our own sh*t, be it cancer or furlough, the threat of losing our job or strained relationships, missing loved ones and mental health struggles.
It’s stolen so much from us all. But right now, I can’t face it taking any more of my most precious birthday gift, time.
When you face an uncertain future like me, when you think this birthday really could be your last, every single day counts.
The odds are stacked against me
I can’t afford to spend more time locked away, hiding from the world, scared that I might catch coronavirus.
It terrifies me, don’t get me wrong, and I am certainly not suggesting that I won’t follow the guidance. But all I have is now.
Maybe this won’t be my last birthday, but maybe it will be.
Unlike most people, the odds are stacked against me.
If anything, coronavirus has taught us how important it is to adapt in life.
When we face uncertainty we have to adapt to survive, both mentally and physically.
Yes it’s tough, but what is the alternative? Curling up in a ball and crying in the corner (which is ALL I want to do most days) won’t change anything.
It won’t make cancer go away, it won’t solve the problem of Covid.
So we have to find a balance, a way to live in the sh*t and survive the turmoil.
We have to work out how to find joy and laughter in the darkness.
For the first time since I was diagnosed, I took what felt like a huge step and six months ago I committed to something.
Life-long dream
I’ve never planned more than a few weeks before, assuming my scans would show bad news.
But this is a life-long dream, and this weekend I get to celebrate my birthday by running the London Marathon, albeit virtually.
I’m nervous, really nervous but I will be running with my best friend, my sister and my friend Emma who I met while she was having breast cancer treatment at The Royal Marsden with me.
We will be starting and ending on the steps of the hospital and we’re raising money to support the incredible teams there, the people that are keeping Emma and I alive.
It won’t be the same but it will be emotional nonetheless.
I live my life assuming the carpet will be whipped from my feet at any moment.
Covid has shown me that can happen to any one of us, at any time.
It’s a good reminder that despite the crap life is throwing at us all, we all have to live for now and seize every moment we can.
You never know, maybe just maybe my dream will come true and I will get to run the marathon properly next year, on my 40th birthday.
Maybe I will get to see in 41, 42 and 43 after that. Maybe I won’t.
All I have is the here and now, none of us can take tomorrow for granted really.
We can all live in fear of coronavirus or cancer or all the other horrible things that could happen.
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My future is today, but so is yours - cancer or no cancer.
It’s my birthday and I am going to celebrate like it might be my last - and if I’m lucky enough to see in the big 40, I’ll get to do it all again.