I Was Diagnosed with Cancer 13 Years Ago Today. Here's What It Taught Me About Celebrating Life Milestones.

From “Sober Birthdays” to “Organ Anniversaries,” How People Mark Their Personal Turning Points

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I remember three things most clearly about that day.

One, I was walking when I got the call that I might never walk again. It was a Wednesday. I had just received an MRI of my left leg, after a bone scan had shown a growth in my femur. I was pacing York Avenue in Manhattan when my doctor called.

Two, she used the oddest expression. “The growth in your leg is not consistent with a benign tumor.” I stopped walking. It took me a second to convert the double negative into a single, much more horrifying negative.

I have cancer.

Three, what happened next. At my doctor’s request, I stopped by her office to get some crutches. I went home and collapsed on my bed. Just then, my three-year-old identical twin daughters, Eden and Tybee, came running into the room, performing this dance they had just learned, twirling faster and faster until they collapsed on the floor.

I crumbled. I kept imagining all the walks I might not take with them, the ballet recitals I might not see, the art projects I might not mess up, the aisles I might not walk down. Would they long for my approval, my love, my voice?

Me, with my identical twin daughters, Tybee and Eden, in 2008, three months after I started chemotherapy

Today is the 13th anniversary of that day. As a friend of mine joked, “My cancer bar mitzvah!”

One thing I’ve learned in the intervening years is that many people remember the most minute details of days like this. Those days might involve a diagnosis, a surgery, or a searing event – a heart attack, an accident, a failed suicide attempt, sobriety.

Psychologists call these types of events peak experiences and say our memories are heightened. But while there’s convergence in how people remember these events, there’s wide divergence in how people mark these milestones later, or whether they mark them at all.

I divide people into three camps.

1.Ignorers

My mother, who’s had cancer twice, is among the people who want nothing to do mawkish commemorations and would be content never to discuss the topic again; my mother-in-law is the same. Any minute ignorers spend discussing their ordeals, their months of treatments or lasting physical side effects, is a minute they don’t spend ignoring their frailties and moving on with their lives.

2.Celebrators

Many people do mark these occasions. They take vacations. Eat cakes. Drink champagne. And these days, they post on social media. The author Glennon Doyle posted a rapturous photo on Instagram of her partner, Abby Wambach, on her sober anniversary.

“Today is my wife’s three year-sober birthday. Sobriety is when you became who you are.” Doyle concluded, “Thank you for doing hard things, so that we could have such a beautiful thing. I love April 2nd. And I love you.”

When I asked people on Facebook how they mark their milestones, my friend Carol Becwar shared a touching story about reaching the end of a long treatment. She commissioned an artist to create “a depiction of the dark and the hope that broke through.” Carol was kind enough to allow me to share the painting, which now hangs on her wall.

3.Contemplators

The final group may not host a celebration, per se, but they still feel compelled to mark the occasion quietly. For some, that involves a prayer, a walk, a telephone call with a loved one who was supportive along the way, a moment to pause, look at photographs, or run a finger along a scar.

If there is one common ingredient among all three groups, it’s that many people who remember a medical turning point often use it as a spur to avoid the next one. They get a checkup, arrange for a scan, schedule a check-in with a counselor, a coach, or a sponsor.

Gratitude is powerful. Proaction is power.

As for me, I’m a combination of celebrator and contemplator. After a brutal, two-year ordeal, including 18 rounds of chemotherapy, a 17-hour surgery to rebuild my leg, and nonstop physical therapy for the last 13 years, I am cancer- free. I have a leg discrepancy and a limp, but I can move around, travel, and take walks with my daughters, although they’re teenagers now and often don’t want to be seen with me.

But there’s still one thing I try to do every July 2nd: Go for a bike ride. So this evening, as the sun sets and the heat cools on Cape Cod, I will hop on the saddle, strap on my helmet, and, if the past is any indication, somewhere along the Shining Sea Bikeway, shed a tear.

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You might enjoy reading these posts:

Introducing: The Nonlinear Life. A Newsletter About Navigating Life’s Twists and Turns

The #1 Secret of a Successful Life Transition

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Meanwhile, do you have a milestone that you celebrate? If so, how?