I am thirty years old. I have just turned thirty years old. It is no coincidence. Today, the 24 May, happens to be my birthday.
Great Stuff. Super. Cool..
I would prefer if it were not my birthday today. I would have said the same thing last year, but I will say it again, I no longer feel like celebrating my birth. Sure I like the cards, attention and presents but I have cancer to fill that void.* My birthday to me, represents not that I am getting older but that I am getting closer to my death. You might say that this is the same for everybody, for that is what ageing is. I think, the difference is that myeloma odds tell me, I have had more birthdays than I am still to experience and that is not something my peers can say. I do not feel like celebrating that.
. Don’t believe the stats, don’t believe the stats. Hypothetically, if I were to allow myself a brief period to fully embrace the stats, the birthday would be the time to do so. Along that line then, I have eight birthdays left. Eight whole birthdays. Add in a milestone birthday into this mix of negative thinking and what do you get?
I have experienced over three quarters of my life and I have a mere quarter of it left.
This of course, then begs the question about whether I wasted my first 30 years. I am sure it is normal to go through some sort of reflection, even if it is only to consider the cause of non-existent wrinkles when one turns 30. I have tried to go through the usual, getting older type of reflection, but the problem with reflection is that it leads to planning or some sort of hope, and I cannot do that long term.
I cannot buy a house, have a family, maintain a garden if I had a house and I am perpetually single. There are so many aspects of my life that on the face of it, makes me look like I have not grown up at all. Some of these things are not caused by My Myeloma, but they are not helped by it. Going forward, they will prove much harder or even impossible to get and that is because of myeloma. When I reflect, like I am today because I am forced into it by the date, I would say that I should have got myself these things when I was ‘healthy’. It is all one big cycle that I do not need to bore you with. Needless to say, it does not make me feel good about myself. It usually ends with me being jobless, single and living with my mother supported by the State, before I die prematurely because that is what myeloma does. It kills people as well as ruining their birthdays.
I have received many nice cards and in some, the sender has asked whether I can believe I am thirty in the way I put it in theirs. The answer to the question is a yes, I do believe I am 30 but I do not believe I will make it to 45.
And that is the 24 May.
Anticipating these fine thoughts, I decided the best thing to do was to invite myself to Berlin today. I can almost trick myself into thinking that that is what my day is about.
Happy Trip to Berlin Day. I’m going to the airport!
* I think I need to be absolutely clear on this point. I may not enjoy the act of my birthday nor the reminder that it hammers to my forehead about my life being different now, but, the attention and messages one receives on their birthday are welcome.
It’s complicated and I am needy.