Diagnosiversary Beach Day

Last Friday, I celebrated my 13 year diagnosiversary, as you may know.

It was a good day. Like most celebrations these days, it was not what I had planned, and not what I would traditionally have done. And that's OK.

(And, yes, it was a celebration. As I've said before, my wife always cringes a little when I say I'm "celebrating," and I always remind her -- we're not celebrating the day I was diagnosed, we're celebrating the 4789 days since that day.)

In the past, I have used January 15 as a day to "break the rules." I'm allowed, since it's my special day. That has usually meant staying home from work (that's one rule broken), going back to bed,  and the seeing an early afternoon movie with my wife. We'd buy sandwiches and sneak them in to the movie, breaking the "no outside food" rule. 

This year hasn't really been a "break the rules" kind of year. Most of the rules I can think of there are in place to keep me safe. No movie. Too risky. I won't go out without a mask, or get closer than 6 feet/2 meters from anyone. I needed to rethink my day.

We've all been very good about following Covid rules for months and months. Maybe this year we won't break rules, but we can at least break our routine?

We decided we'd take a little drive -- me, my wife, and the two kids who are still living at home (for a few more weeks, before they go back to school). I haven't driven longer than about 20 minutes in I don't know how long. So we took a drive to Hammonasset Beach, about 40 minutes from home.

It's the middle of winter here, and the temperature at the beach was about 40 degrees F (about 4 degrees C). That's the kind of rule I'm into breaking this year -- why go to a beach when it's sunny and warm?

But I really needed a beach for some reason. I needed to see some water. I've read that human beings are drawn to water, and being near it naturally brings peace. I believe it. I've lived near the ocean for most of my life (except for a few years in Louisville, Kentucky, which I loved despite its lack of salt water nearby). 

We stayed for maybe an hour, just walking on the sand, picking up shells, watching the birds, and talking. 

The beaches in New England (the part of the U.S. where I live) are not exactly world-class (too rocky for that), but they do the job just fine.

 

(That's me in the Cookie Monster hat.)

On the way home, we stopped for our usual sandwiches. It's not the same as sneaking them into a movie theater, but they were good anyway.

And my daughter was  good enough to make cupcakes that look like B lymphocytes (those are the white blood cells that turn cancerous in Follicular Lymphoma. Very satisfying to eat.)

 

All in all, it was a good day. Not the day I would have planned most years. But a good day.

And if cancer patients know anything, it's how to make the most of what you've been given.

Stay well, everyone.