Kristen Pluntze
Lucky 13
I was diagnosed with breast cancer on Friday the 13th. I never really gave much thought before to superstitions, or the number 13, or whether or not it fell on a Friday. I may have done the precautionary things that most people do, like not flying or making any big (wedding) plans on the 13th, but I have never been one of those people to obsess over superstitions and avoid certain situations because of them. For many, Friday the 13th conjures up the most awful of thoughts: murder by an ax killer, vampires, supernatural experiences, and other horrible events. Well, for me, after really not caring much about the number 13, it became my nightmare—cancer.
After my diagnosis, I put the number away for a while and focused on getting well. My cancer was stage 3 out of a possible 4, so things weren't looking too good. I was young, just 37, with two small children, and being a good mom was at the top of my priorities. Cancer wasn't going to stop me from being a good mom, even if I was diagnosed on Friday the 13th. So I went about my business, getting the best care I could at Dana-Farber/Brigham and Women's Cancer Center. I credit my continued survival and wellbeing to the wonderful doctors, nurses, and other healthcare professionals there.
So, as I made my way through this journey of being a cancer patient, I continued to look at the number 13 with loathing and contempt. I've often shied away from it, whenever possible. A parking meter with 13 minutes left? Quick, get a quarter! A grocery bill totaling $9.13? I'll give you $9.15, if that's not a problem.
Have you ever noticed that no building has a 13th floor? Wonder why? I know why!
I never plan anything on the 13th, except a good friend's birthday that is the very same day that I was diagnosed. How can it be that a friend has that day as a birthday? My husband and his twin sister were also born on the 13th. I think there is something strange about a friend, a husband, and a sister-in-law all having birthdays on the 13th. My husband even claimed once that 13 was his lucky number. How could this be, considering how unlucky the number has been for me?
But my husband said something else, something that reminded me of what I've often forgotten through the hysteria of cancer. He told me that 13 was now my lucky number, too, because it wasn't just the day they told me I had cancer, it was also the first day in which I started getting well. I've since thought more and more about this. Could I really have the number 13 as a lucky number? I'd have to root out all my negative thoughts about the number and its relationship to my cancer. I'm beginning to do that now. It's taken some time, but I'm no longer angry at Friday the 13th. It has become my friend, and a lucky one at that. I did start getting better on that day, for if the cancer hadn't been detected when it was, I wouldn't have many 13s left to celebrate.
Now, I look at every day that I'm alive and well to be a lucky one. Thank you, Dana-Farber/Brigham and Women's Cancer Center, for making me well again. Thank you, Jim, for making me see the goodness in a day, and thank you, Friday the 13th, for saving my life. Good things and bad things happen on every day of the year. You just have to find the goodness in your own special day.
I'm working on that.
