Friday Favorite –– Three Pink Roses
Today is another anniversary, a particularly defining one I’ve always believed. Because it was on November 29, 1974 that three pink roses followed me into my hospital room after knee surgery.
I’ve shared the relevant excerpt from Standing Tall: A Daughter’s Gift in a previous post, so I won’t repeat the details here. But when at 14-years-old you’re diagnosed with bone cancer… when you enter an operating room not knowing if you’ll leave with two legs or one… when the doctor’s eyes light up with joy above his mask because the healthy bone he sees when he folds back the skin on your knee can’t be possible but somehow is… and when three pink roses follow you into your hospital room and your parents are smiling because they know their prayers to St. Therese have been answered… Well, when these things happen, they and the months of recovery that follow, have a lasting and profound impact on the person you become from that moment on.
When I awake on November 26, I know it as the day of the diagnosis. When I awake on November 27, I know it as the day I entered the hospital, 5’ 8 1/2” tall and about 90 pounds. When I awake on November 29, I look at the scar that wraps around the side of my left kneecap as I sit on the side of my bed with two feet on the floor. And I smile as I head to the spin bike or the elliptical down the hall from my bedroom.
Because it is my three-pink-roses miracle day.