When I was first diagnosed with cancer in 1987 I wondered to myself whether I’d ever get to see my next birthday. It’s been many birthdays since then, so that fear is now in the rear view mirror.
Personally, I don’t get really excited about birthdays, but I’m happy to be celebrating them. Being vertical is just fine for me; it’s hard to top the gift of life. A lot of people don’t like birthdays, but they should get over it; when you stop having birthdays you’ve got a big problem on your hands.
When I was growing up, I’d ask my mother how old she was and her answer always was 39. I’m not sure what was so great about 39 for her because in my case the year was Y2K. Thirty-nine years old must of been her ideal age before peaking and going downhill. All I know, it got weird for me when I was in my 40’s and she was younger than me.
I’d be home sitting up late worrying while she was at the bars partying with my friends all night. Her birthdays were tough on the house since my Dad was a bit forgetful when celebrating anything. Every year he’d forget to get her a gift, a card, or even a slight mention. Trust me, the house went into a deep freeze for at least a week every mid-October.
It’s impossible to remember all of your birthdays, especially as you grow older, but I have some important ones without a doubt. When I turned 16, I had a party for 16 of my closest friends in the cabin next to our house. To come to the party you had to bring a case of beer.
Picture it — 16 teenagers with 16 cases of Molson Golden Ale; you know this ends poorly. Back then, the New York state legal drinking age was 18, so two years later, I was getting jacked up for my official legal day.
Instead, I got the flu and was stuck in bed all weekend. When I went to college in Indiana the state drinking age there was 21, so I had to wait 3 more years until I hit the legal limit. Once again, I got the flu and stayed in bed all weekend.
Last year when I turned 60, Diane threw a massive party for me. Thankfully, I didn’t get the flu because after all the chemo and radiation treatments I’ve received, viruses avoid me like the Nightmare on Elm Street.
Diane is a birthday fanatic even though her birthdays growing up were highlighted by her Dad bringing home a dead deer on the hood of his truck. As a result, Diane doesn’t like hunting, but she loves birthdays and goes over the top celebrating birthdays for family, friends, pets, and even strangers. (“Did you know today is General Patton’s birthday?”)
The challenge with her gusto is how do you possibly match it? For her 50th, the celebration was a birth year, then the following year narrowed back down to a birth month. A few years later after her official birthday week was exhausted, she said, “I’m so sad that my birthday is over.”
I countered with, “listen, from now on every morning I’ll wish you a Happy Birthday.” I’ve stuck to that routine everyday except for Jesus’ birthday and mine which were inserted following numerous heated negotiations.
Every year on my birthday, I think about growing a year older and I’m happy for it. I also think about a lot of people I know who glumly look at their birthdays like they’re suffering some Greek tragedy. Stop it. Life is too short not to celebrate your birthday.
Even if you’re alone or in some unpleasant spot, at least raise a toast to yourself you made it another year. Remember, everything in life is relative. At least you’re not a deer strapped to the hood of a truck.
Slainte.
— Pete Lawson is a six time cancer survivor, grew up in Ticonderoga and writes the weekly cancer survivor blog The Irish Cockroach (www.irishcockroach.com). He married his wife Diane in 1986 and they raised three Irish triplets Devin, Dillon, and David. Pete’s entire career has been in hospitals and healthcare organizations starting at sixteen years old in the hospital laundry and growing into an EVP of a Fortune 500 company. He currently provides strategic advice to health systems.