It just hits me that I am alive. Sometimes it is after an amazing day spent with loved ones, sometimes it is after the sad news of another’s passing, sometimes it is just being reminded of another person’s battle.

It’s so strange to sit and think about the fact that I had cancer. That next month, it will have been seven years since I began to fight my own battle against cancer. I can still smell the hospital air as I sit in my hospital bed, waking up before the sun has even risen so that I can be drained of blood. I can thoroughly remember how much I dreaded having to be hooked up to an IV machine constantly, because I could never get quite comfortable when trying to sleep. It felt like the end of the world to have to unplug the machine and roll it over to the restroom during the million potty breaks I inevitably had to take during the night. I can remember watching Gone with the Wind for the first time, stuck in the hospital room with my mother. I can remember how stupid I had been to not take the big pills which would prevent me from getting pneumonia (thank God it didn’t bite me in the ass) and how I thought that it would never end. Most of all, though, I remember one afternoon, sitting up in the hospital bed watching whatever had been on television when I heard a knock. In came one of my doctor’s with the amazing news that I was facing just one more chemotherapy round. It was just day one of five, but knowing that I was so close to the finish line gave me enough hope and joy to make it through those last days of chemotherapy, inconvenient IV machines, the sight of my sexy bald head, and throwing up my insides. It gave me enough hope to make it through all of life’s battles seven years later, with many more to come.