A Graduation of sorts.

On February 8, 2002, I woke up with what looked like a golf ball lodged in the middle of my chest. I remember the date clearly—not because it was the start of a 9 year adventure—but because it was the morning of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, and I was hosting a huge party complete with a 10x20 foot projection screen for watching the event. The party was awesome...and when I woke up the next morning, the lump was still there. By Monday morning, I was sure that lump wasn't a figment of my imagination, and because I knew I hadn't swallowed any golf balls, I decided it was time to go see a doctor. My doc saw me that same day, and sent me straight from her office to an ultrasound. The ultrasound tech uttered the words that changed my life, “It is a tumor.”

I was blessed to live close to one of only two doctors in the entire world that specialized in treatment of my type of tumor. He removed my pectoral muscle, some lymph nodes, and part of my rib cage—my body was clearly ravaged, but my spirit held strong. I relapsed in 2003, and again in 2004. Each time, my amazing doctor treated me with dignity, careful skill, and optimism. It is because of him that I have remained lump-free for the last 7 years.

Today, that same doctor uttered these words: “You've graduated.” No more trips to Hopkins. No more tearful nights before my trips to Hopkins worrying about whether the tumor has come back. No more worrying about 'what if' the tumor comes back. Of course, I know that there is a chance that I will relapse again. But I've beaten the odds by making it this far. I beat the odds when I stood under the chuppah on my wedding day. I beat the odds when my Tatiman was born, and again when Finny Bo Binny joined our world. I intend to continue beating the odds every day, for the rest of my life.

No graduation is complete without a speech. So here goes:

At my brother's wedding, I gave a toast that started with this saying: When you love some one, it gives you strength. And when you're loved by someone, it gives you courage. I want to thank my friends and family for supporting me all of these years—I haven't forgotten the 7-layer cookie tray, when you saw my butt through the hospital gown and laughed, or the times you picked me up for drives on sunny days. I especially want to thank my amazing husband and my two beautiful boys. You make every day I beat the odds worth it. You are my strength and my courage.