Too much pleasure for one day

Is there really such a thing as too much pleasure for one day? I think not.

But if so, I am overly guilty. So lock me up and throw away the key.

Here I sit. Or lounge, rather. In the late autumn desert sun, at a beautiful relaxing resort/spa with native American music playing softly. The air smells wonderful. I can see the desert mountains from my perch by the pool. Adults-only pool, meaning no laughing children or rambunctious families, which suits me just fine in this contemplative moment.

I slowly made my way into the very tranquil pool marveling at the very fact that I am here. Who would have thought that after 5 surgeries, 4 months of killer chemo, and 9 months of feeling like my world had stopped turning....that I would be sitting here in such a lovely place? Not me.

I am so very far from doctors, tubes, needles, pain and the relentless fear that has stubbornly dogged me this past year. Physically and emotionally far far away.

Or am I? Am I here on this perfect day BECAUSE I have been down that awful road? Would I enjoy and appreciate this day as abundantly had I not been in cancer treatment this year? Probably not.

Which is sad, in a way, that we don't fully appreciate the momentous gifts in our lives until we have lived with the fear that we may never have another pleasurable moment again. That every moment here on out would be filled with the anxiety and worry that comes with living with a potentially terminal illness.

As I heard someone say recently...

Get up. Be grateful. Every single day.