Fifty

A letter I wrote last night to a most exceptional nurse practitioner and friend, Kathleen Madden of NYU. She is part of the amazing team that helped make it possible for me to reach the age I have today.

Dear Kathy,

I hope 2021 has gone well for you. Although my year began with a Crohn’s diagnosis and is ending with the certainty that I’ll need to undergo cataract surgery in the new year, I really can’t complain. I can’t complain because I get to still be here. Tomorrow, December 13, I turn fifty years old. (Sometimes it is good to have a late birthday, and watch your peers get old before you do!)


It wasn’t a given that I’d get to see fifty when I was diagnosed with melanoma at age 41. And it was through unbelievable good luck, which included being referred to NYU to the care of incredible people like you, that I am still here.


While I seem to have reached the more permanent phase of survivorship these days, I will never stop being nostalgic for the days when I got to come in and see you and discuss life, the universe, and everything (and most especially Generation X). Those visits, full of truth and hugs and plenty of laughter, were the brightest spots of a terrifying and unsettling time of my life. Thank you for meeting me there and reassuring me things would be okay. They have been.


From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Happy holidays and all good wishes for you and yours for 2022.


Love, Deborah

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