Celebrating a fourth birthday

Dinner at the Frontera Grill in Chicopee

There was a time when I didn't think I'd live for four days, let alone four years, and when, during the first year after transplant, I was pleasantly surprised that a kidney specialist said he'd see me in three months, because that meant he thought I would live that long.

And here I was tonight, having a re-birthday dinner with Joe at a Mexican restaurant, enjoying good conversation and enchiladas, sangria and homemade guacamole, having put in a good day's work writing and looking forward to tennis tomorrow.

Although Dr. DeAngelo had said you could break out the Champagne at two years, I didn't want to tempt fate by acting overly confident, so I had coffee with friends instead.

I've watched the calendar as the four-year anniversary of my transplant approached, but again, superstition came close to keeping me from observing it. I was telling a friend that I wasn't sure what God would think, and she said this wise thing:

"God wants us to celebrate."

What a nice idea, I said, adding with a laugh, "I don't think God cares if I go out to dinner or not."

So off I went, giving thanks to my donor, Denise, on this day as on every day.