The first Friday in March will always be Tumor Day.
Eight years ago, a small crowd of doctors and nurses came behind my curtain in the emergency room and told me it was large. It was in my chest. It was on top of my heart. And it was probably cancer.
One week later, on Friday the 13th, we got the name: Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
My cancer-at-31 story is MY story and in many ways, it’s Milagro’s story. I don’t believe Milagro would exist without it.
The awfulness of cancer changed me in so many ways.
All my little fears gave way to the only one that counts: the fear of regret.
My heart became quieter, so I could listen more for hurt.
My words became more considered, since I have so little to complain about.
My time became more valuable, since I was given more but others weren’t.
My compassion for people increased while my tolerance for bull$&!# decreased.
And the seriousness with which I take life is surpassed only by the vast amounts of sarcastic humor I use to deal with its outstanding ridiculousness.
These days, I’m just grateful to be here. I’m grateful for Milagro. I’m grateful for you.
My hope will always be that your time at Milagro reminds you of what’s most important.