Eleven years ago today I found myself undergoing emergency surgery. “Elective surgery,” I might add, considering the surgeon gave me two choices: have the surgery and possibly die, OR don’t have the surgery and possibly die. I chose: Surgery, and to Live. (More of that story here.)
From that day on, I joyfully observed my, “Stroke-aversary,” but as the years passed what originally seemed celebratory started to turn commemorative and then memorial, so I
renamed rebranded it my, “Survive-aversary.” (I didn’t obtain a copyright on that term, but no worries — nobody steals anything on the internet, right?)
Anyway, here we are in 2020, and we’re ALL survivors now (yeah, that’s what you are, so deal with it), and yet we can’t even get together and party.
Can you see where I’m going with this?
Who wants to join me as I, “fatten the curves?”