Over three years ago, I became a certified bag lady thanks to a colostomy. Though it was the reversible kind, I suffered from PTSD–a gift(?) from my traumatic, near-death experience, long hospital stay, and rehab. The thought of reversal was permanently off my radar screen. But age interfered and I began to question the sagacity of my decision. What if there comes a time when I HAVE to have it done? Is it better to do it when I’m 75 or when I’m 85? I did it late last week and have spent the last six days in retraining. I’ll spare you the lurid details, but yes, there’s a lot of effort required to jump start an engine that’s idled for three-plus years. An old dog now required to recall old tricks.

More importantly, I reflected on the true meaning of thankfulness. (No, it’s not the make-believe story we learned in elementary school where the Pilgrims and Native Americans celebrated a successful harvest feasting on turkey. In fact, for many indigenous folk, it is a “Day of Mourning.”) My thankfulness comes from all my friends who have been so highly supportive of me through my November anxiety. Their cards, texts, and letters of encouragement were greatly appreciated. Special thanks to my Primary Care physician and family for holding my hand.

Finally, I am most grateful for my brother and sister, their spouses, my kids, and my son-in-laws for their concern and Face Time calls. Further, I would be remiss, if I didn’t personally acknowledge the 24-7 expertise of A and B. This dynamic duo took Cadillac care of this old, broken-down jalopy, without even the benefit of a Thanksgiving feast. I owe them one. Maybe on the 4th of July!

I am truly blessed with such great friends and family. Too bad it took a hospital stay to remind me of that.