I awoke with an intense burning in my left hand from a clogged intravenous needle. Limbs heavy from the anesthetic still coursing through my veins, I willed my right hand to my abdomen, praying for the tiny incisions of laparoscopic surgery As I fingered the bandage from pubic bone to navel I struggled with the grim realization that the massive tumors removed from my pelvis had tested positive for cancerous cells. Tears flowed unchecked.
It had been a hell of a year. I turned 60. My 30-year marriage ended on a sour note. I lost a job I loved. I was scammed out of $3,000 by a man I thought was a friend. My home was in foreclosure. After six months of soul-crushing unemployment I grabbed the first job I could find and hated it. I thought the final blow was when my precious dog Gracie and I were hit by a car while out walking one morning, leaving each of us with a broken leg. Now I was dying of ovarian cancer.
During my week-long recovery at home, mostly alone except for the comfort of Gracie, I compiled a list of regrets. There were places I had not seen and things I had not done. There were friendships that were neglected, and relationships that had disintegrated. I was wasting time at a job I despised so I could maintain a house I no longer wanted, tending possessions I no longer cared about. There is nothing like dying to bring focus to living.
The first catalyst to my amazing adventure was finding out I’m not dying. Not yet anyway. The tumors were cancerous, but of such low malignancy potential that I did not even require chemotherapy. What lit the fuse was a call from the attorney handling the suit against the errant driver who ran over Gracie and me. The settlement was larger, much larger, than I could have hoped. The universe was presenting me the time and means to right the wrongs and change the regrets to memories.
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