My dad just had surgery. On my birthday. I'm an adult now. I'm 37. I just faced the first illness of one of my parents. That's not really true. When I was much younger my mom had back surgery. I was too young to be worried. But this, with my dad, was cancer. In the realm of cancer, not a terrible one. But then again, is there a good one.
I'm glad the surgery was on my birthday. I felt a bit liberated in a wacked out sense, thinking of someone else. Not really caring about presents and cake and all the trappings of the normal celebration of our expulsion from the birth canal.
This time I thought about the people who should be celebrated on my birthday. The two folks without whom I would not be.
My Dad is fine, the docs say the surgery went well and hopefully that will hold true at check up.
Happy Birthday to me.