A Profane and Touching Birthday Wish
If you follow this blog, you will remember my daughter as the young woman who would not be put off by my inability to attend a Yankee game with her because of my worsening cancer. It had been her Christmas present to me.
So she painted my head to look like a baseball and we had a grand ol’ time watching the game on TV.
This won’t-be-denied daughter, Maura, has now turned her birthday into a cancer fundraising event. As she describes in her pitch, she has been haunted by the spectre of cancer in both of her parents since she was 12, first my prostate cancer and then my wife’s thyroid cancer. And she is grateful for the advanced treatments that have allowed her parents to live as long as we have.
“As I’m turning 24 today, this year marks half of my lifetime spent focused on tumors, treatments, and tests. I am incredibly grateful to have had twelve full years with my parents from diagnosis to today — something a lot of patients and their families don’t get,” she wrote.
But my favorite part of her appeal is the F-bomb she drops on cancer. I’ve been wanting to say that for years.
I encourage you to read her post — and to donate. It’s what she wants for her birthday.
This is the latest installment in the blog Closing in on -30- about my doctor’s pronouncement that I have about two years to live.