What a Day! My 55th Birthday Surrender

Perhaps because treatment is no longer possible and the cancer is progressing again, I rarely even have 'days where I feel okay' lately.
I only adjust my schedule for when I have to meet people, so I can manage to be energetic for the few hours I am with them.
When we meet, people often tell me, 'You look well.'
They mean, 'I'm so glad you're doing better than I thought!' but when I hear that, I have mixed feelings.
Of course, it's not a bad feeling. But it's not quite happiness either. It's a wish for myself—or perhaps a longing—that 'it would be so wonderful if I were always as energetic as you see me right now,' mixed with a small disappointment that I am not. Many different emotions swirl together. At the same time, I remember myself writhing in pain just 30 minutes before leaving the house, and even though it's my own situation, I start to feel sorry for myself.
This is just a temporary guise. A short golden time has arrived. Because I know that, like Cinderella whose magic wears off and turns back into rags, I am afraid. I know that the 'me' who is being told 'you look well' will end soon, and that the painful, difficult time will return.

Lately, I often can't sleep at night due to the pain. I start my mornings with a feeling of despair. I think starting a morning like this is bad not only for my body but also for my mental health.

In the morning, I first take my medical narcotics, place a hot water bottle—which I can't let go of even in summer—on my stomach, and wait intently for the medicine to take effect.
There are days when I have the luxury of welcoming the start of the day, but that is rarely the case. More often, I am trembling with anxiety and fear, wondering if I will have to endure this pain again today.
Of the day, if I can manage to work or write for my note, two or three hours is a good day; I spend most of the day dozing off. That's because the narcotics make me drowsy. Ninety percent of my mind is either in pain, sleepy, or exhausted.
Evening comes in the blink of an eye, and I think, 'Oh, I couldn't do anything today either.' Only emptiness remains.

My husband prepares almost all of my meals. This is especially true for dinner. That's because the time between 6:00 PM and 10:00 PM is when the pain is most intense during the day. It's fine if I managed to cook while I could move during the day, but if not, dinner time is far from cooking; it's a success if I can even sit up and eat. When the pain is too strong, I can't breathe, so there are times when I just writhe while panting.

However, strangely enough, the pain often subsides suddenly between 10:00 PM and 1:00 AM. I call this my 'golden time.' I wish this time would last forever, but the end always comes.
The excruciating pain when I wake up in the middle of the night, so bad that I can't even move my body. I start to cry when I think about how long days like this will continue, so I never think about it. That's right. I've stopped thinking about many things. I empty my mind and just endure.
The only thing I'm afraid of is, what if I have this kind of pain on the morning of a day when I have an interview (work)? That's all. So far, I've been able to adjust, but I'm terrified that such a morning might come. If that happens, that might be my retirement.

With that kind of daily life where I can't say I'm in very good health, my birthday arrived again this year. I turned 55 on the 26th.
Presents arrived from two of my best friends the day before, and I welcomed the day filled with a warm sense of joy, but unfortunately, my physical condition was at its worst.
Since I have a manuscript due on Friday, my husband and I had already talked about not celebrating my birthday on the actual day, so I wasn't disappointed that there was no event just because I felt unwell; it just became a quietly unpleasant day of facing the pain.
But my husband said he wanted to celebrate my birthday grandly. Even when I told him to wait because we would set another day for it, he kept pushing his desire to celebrate for some reason I didn't understand, saying, 'But you're turning 55!' I asked him, 'I didn't say we wouldn't do anything. I'm not feeling well today and I have a manuscript to finish. Please do it on another day,' but he wouldn't budge. Still, I managed to talk him out of it.

Then, a package arrived in the afternoon.
I wondered if another friend had sent me something, but it was a large flower arrangement.
'From who?'
'From me.'
'What?'

It was such a large flower arrangement, more wonderful than any flowers I had ever seen.
'It's the pink you like, Kaori.'
When I received the heavy pot from my husband, who said it proudly, I felt moved rather than just happy, and tears came to my eyes.
It was filled with roses and calla lilies, and it was beautiful from every angle, 360 degrees.
I'm always happy to receive flowers. They touch me more than any expensive gift. But this time, it touched me especially deeply. I was healed. Perhaps it was because I had been having such difficult days for so long. I felt as if my stress had washed away along with my tears. I felt a little refreshed.

Then my husband said he would make his 'husband-special keema curry,' which I love, for dinner.
At first, he said, 'Shall we have hand-rolled sushi?' but I gave up because the mere thought of eating raw food made me nauseous. I told him I could eat curry, so he decided to make that.
While my husband was preparing it, I was in my office on the second floor, trying to make at least a little progress on my manuscript.
I wrote until a good stopping point and went downstairs, thinking I'd call it a day. As I walked down the stairs, I happened to look into the living room and saw this.

'What is this?!'
It was such a fun space that my excitement skyrocketed instantly.
I wondered what that rustling sound was—was this it?
Oh my goodness!!
It's like a little kid's birthday party.
I ran down the stairs. Hahaha, hahaha, I couldn't stop laughing. Tears also came while I was laughing.
This man, really...
He's amazing. I really married an amazing person.

Seeing me run down with a face where I couldn't tell if I was laughing or crying, my husband gave me a huge smile. He looked happier than I was.

'What is this?!'
'I'm celebrating grandly. Because you're turning 55!'

55 doesn't have any such significant meaning, but I had already surrendered. I can't beat this man.

I got cancer at 45.
With recurrences and metastases, I've been living days that feel like a miracle.
'There aren't many people like that. Kaori, you're truly amazing,' my husband says.
Even though I'm somehow alive thanks to him, for some reason, my husband always says 'thank you' to me.
When I say, 'I'm sorry for being a burden,' he replies, 'You're not a burden. You're my treasure.'
I got cancer and lived for ten years. I was able to reach my 55th birthday, which I might not have been able to welcome.
When I thought about that, 55 really is a special birthday, and perhaps it should be celebrated grandly. For me.

In the living room decorated like a child's, I stuffed my face with my husband's special keema curry. It tasted truly delicious and special.
Besides, there's no way I wouldn't have fun in a room like this.
The pain didn't blow away, but my gloomy heart cleared up in an instant.
What a wonderful and fun birthday!!
I felt from the bottom of my heart that I was glad to have been born.

Seeing me happy, my husband looks satisfied. And he says,
'The celebration doesn't end here. Next time, we'll go out for a delicious lunch and go on a trip. Okay?'
Having already surrendered, this time I nodded honestly.