“What’s your date of birth?”

For the past 2+ years, we answered this question nearly every day for the first year. In the second year, it was the answer several times a week. Now, we answer it monthly.

“Ten-fourteen-ninety-eight”.

We have said this hundreds – maybe now thousands -- of times. It’s how we check in to every treatment, procedure, lab, exam. It’s not just once, at the first check in. We are asked multiple times each visit, by each of the care team members as labs are drawn, blood pressure and temp measured, chemo infused, meds picked-up, meds administered, and scans and scans.  

And here it is, today, 10.14.

This is 23. 

This is what brave looks like.

This is what resilience looks like.

This is what hope looks like.

This is what strength looks like.

This is what a fighter looks like.

This is what kicking fucking cancer’s ass look like.

This is my son. 

FUCK CANCER.

Happy birthday, Jackson.  Thank you, Jackson, for being my son. 

xoxo

/d