Two

Today marks two years since the day I laid in that hospital bed at 4 a.m.—an empty shell, closer to death than I care to remember—peeking up between fatigued eyes at the nurses who were finally bringing me the donated bone marrow that we desperately hoped would give me new life.

We prayed my body wouldn't reject this precious gift from my only remaining eligible donor in the entire world—an imperfect 9/10 match, but close enough to roll the dice with transplant. What if it didn’t take and I never again stepped foot outside of that hospital? What if this medical experiment to give me one last chance to live failed?

 Day after day passed, and just when we became increasingly worried about graft failure, my new immune system settled in and started doing its job. After a month, I got to go “home” to my Aunt and Uncle’s house and reunite with John and then fifteen month old Caroline just in time for Easter.

 "It seems like forever ago" one friend said as we talked about this re-birthday approaching. Another commented, “Wow, it’s already been two years!?”

Yes. To both.

 It was only yesterday. I can still see, hear, smell, and feel everything about it so vividly.  

But today, I woke up worlds away. In my own home, with my beautiful family. Next to my rock of a husband, whose strength, optimism, and love for us knows no bounds. And to a smiling, stubborn, silly, too smart for her own good three year old, who now has at least some memory of me to carry with her in life because we’ve been blessed with an extra two years together.

 Things have slowed down a bit now—not in the everyday, hustle-and-bustle-of-life way. I am a wife, the mom of a three year old, and have a full-time, demanding job. My days will always be busy and full.

 But now they are also a bit longer because we savor them. A bit calmer because we are easily reminded that the small stuff doesn’t matter. More meaningful because we’re together. More meaningful because we understand now more than ever before that we’ll never get the same moment twice.

Like everyone, I still need to reset my priorities at times. I still waste time dwelling in anxiety, grief, anger, and negativity. I also worry needlessly about my health and things that are beyond my control.

 But most days, I am hopeful, focused, and very, very grateful—grateful for more time; grateful for the silver linings; grateful for everyone who lifted me up during those darkest days.

 Two years later, things are very different in a really good way. I had a very aggressive form of leukemia that frequently relapses even after a transplant. But at two years post-transplant, my risk for relapse just made its most dramatic decrease since Day 100. The doctors won’t call me “cured” until five years out, and even then everything is in God’s hands. But it always has been, hasn't it?  All of this has been nothing short of a miracle.

 Every day, and today is no exception, I try to make the most of my time here and with each of you. I have and will certainly fail at times, but my eyes and heart are wide open now and my will is strong.

 I’ve said it before but it bears repeating—thank you from the bottom of my heart for the countless ways you’ve shown your love and support. This day is yours to celebrate, too.

 Cheers to two years!