Five.

On February 11, I woke up to the news that I was down a quarter of my liver, ten inches of my IVC, my right kidney, adrenal gland, and my gall bladder. What I was left with would have to support the rest of a life that also didn't include a tumor.

Since then, I have taken a few trips to whatever fresh hell exists on earth, and I've come back. I've let go of people who no longer need to play a role in my life. I've gained others and grown connections with those who I'm lucky do accept that role. I've told a close family member I'd see him on the other side. I took aggressive measures to stand up to those intent on hurting me. I've joined a team and risen through the ranks at a job that fulfills me. I've told people I love them more. I've used the f word to others. I've said yes to the plans. I've said no to the plans that don't serve me. I've watched a truly depressing number of fellow sufferers from sarcoma pass after battles that tested every fiber of their being.

I got a tattoo on the arm that takes the IV for my regular scans, which have gotten me to five years without a recurrence of a deadly, aggressive, and rare cancer. I know the adage is tired: "I never thought I'd make it this far." But my original oncologist didn't, either. Hell, even my current oncologist looked a bit grim when I asked if the five-year mark is a make or break.

But that's okay. I'm going to celebrate the ability to picture myself five years from now. Ten years. Maybe 15. I'm going to say yes to more plans and continue to heal my body, my heart, and my brain. I'm going to stare at this tattoo every day for the rest of my life and remember that it stands for "Go Grab Life" since I've been too often scared for the last half of the decade to live.

Thank you to those who have loved me through scanxiety, scares, breakdowns, and stuck around to build me back up. Happy to be here.