Today marks the second anniversary of my craniotomy. Honestly, it’s a bitter sweet day. I’m grateful to be alive, grateful that treatment worked enough to put me in the position I am in. But, I also feel like I should be farther along. I should be “better-er.” I think most people in my position feel this way. I feel lucky to be alive at all when so many other people I’ve met on this journey aren’t anymore.
At the same time I feel so much doubt over what I’m doing with these years. Am I doing enough? Since my life will likely be shorter rather than longer, am I squandering these “good” years? Am I doing what I’m supposed to do?
The truth is that I don’t have any concrete answers. I have struggled and continue to do so. I fight with myself over what I am able to do and being happy for it and not disappointed in myself. I agonize over what other people must think of me. But, at the end of the day I come back to some thoughts that bring me back around.
No one is guaranteed the years. I remind myself that I am doing what good I can in the way that I can. I am spending my time, however long it may be, with the people I love and love me. We are living a normal life and not forcing making memories. I am still the intelligent person I was before I knew there was a mass in my brain. I am still loved by the people who matter to me.
Anniversaries are important in some ways. They help us mark big moments in our lives. But, my surgery anniversary needs to be more like my marriage anniversary. It needs to be something marked and perhaps celebrated, because what I’ve been through is worth celebrating. It needs to be less of a benchmark of what I “should” be doing and more of a celebration of where I am. Every year when my marriage anniversary rolls around we celebrate, but neither of us berate ourselves because we haven’t met some false goals couples should hit by 5, 10, or 20 years. We just celebrate that we have been given another year together.
I am going to endeavor to look at my surgery anniversary the same way. It isn’t a day to look back and mourn the things I cannot change, though I’ve tried. It should be a day that I look back and see the hills I’ve climbed and the people who helped me. It should be a time to look forward to the time I will have.
It’s ironic in a way that you mention all of these questions doubting your years. I think, healthy or not, we all go through stages in our life when we hit milestones we ask ourselves these same questions, brain pond or not. Love you 🙂