I recently turned 40. This age is a very important turning point in my life for a variety of reasons.  

40 marked the ending of my redemption story. My 30s were turbulent.  I left a very problematic situation and got divorced.  I later met the absolute love of my life.  I took my passion for writing and scribbled all my dark, scary thoughts down for the world to see.  While I was consumed with ups and downs that naturally surface when you’ve been living dysfunctionally for too long, I knew that each day I was healing.  It felt like the dearest gift to be fully expressed, safe and working on bettering myself.  At 39 I even gave up alcohol.  I didn’t feel like it served me anymore.  It was another big, hard decision with innumerable payoffs. 

To celebrate my 40th birthday, I went to a beautiful day spa, sipped on kombucha, and took a picture of myself in a bikini.  “This is my moment I thought,” as I overlooked the city skyline while relaxing in a rock-lined, hot tub.  I felt calmed, powerful and at ease.  In my earliest memories, I continually saw myself as the underdog.  I used humor and people-pleasing to compensate.  However as I scanned the city horizon and held onto my partner’s hands, I started to settle into a life that finally felt whole.  It was beautiful really.  Life does really begin at 40.

Turning 40 opens many of us to new health screenings.  For example, I had to schedule my first mammogram.  Though I was called back after my initial scan, no part of me was worried.  The tech had warned me that most people are called back after their first one because detailed, baseline images are needed.  

A few days before this appointment, I threw an intimate Halloween party for some of my favorite moms and their kids.  We snacked on spooky cheese ball creations and shared silly stories of squished boobs and other medical inconveniences that we endure.  It felt good to be part of this collective, female experience.  As I get older I only feel more connected to others.  It’s one of the many gifts of earned wisdom.

When I showed up to my mammogram follow up, much to my dismay, I felt my nerves stir.  I walked through the medical doors and was greeted by a woman around my age who was wearing a sparkly, plastic tiara.  While she was signing me in for my appointment, I scanned her desk area and noticed some birthday balloons.  I told her, “happy birthday,” and hoped that this would absolve me of some karmic retribution.

We think life has certain rules but it doesn’t.  Good people get bad news.  Bad people get fortune.  People have their redemption story, turn 40, quit drinking, become the best version of themselves and are then told they have cancer on the spot during their second and last mammogram (more to come on that).   While the radiologist was scanning me, she flatly told me, “Oh yes this is cancer.”  This will infuriate people later because they say she shouldn’t have told me then–being that I was alone at my appointment. It made no difference to me.  However, I wish someone would have walked me out.  I was given a piece of paper, and I began my sad walk out, past the tiara-ed lady, and past the waiting room of people that could be also having the worst day of their lives.

What does it feel like to hear that you have cancer?  For me, it felt like excruciating, all-consuming, heartbreak.  Of course I was wondering how bad, or advanced the cancer was.  Regardless of the grade, stage or prognosis, I was immediately confronted with the ultimate contradiction to my redemption story.  I know it may seem silly, but I had been holding onto that story so tightly, and I used it to define myself.  Suddenly that day at the spa overlooking the New York City skyline wasn’t a victory.  It was simply a necessary respite before the next big challenge I had to endure.  

I didn’t plan for this.  I didn’t want this.  I didn’t deserve this.  None of us do.  I had no idea what was coming for me, but I can tell you this, I knew it would never be the same.