February has always been a sweet month for me and not just because of the chocolates my family members know they better gift me with either.

My husband Randy and I were married in February, and this year we celebrated 21 years of marriage. I love him dearly,  but he’s not the only baby I’m wishing a happy anniversary.  I have a couple other babies-- close to my heart, and a little more personal.

Cause-- February marks the moment when a plastic surgeon assured me that he, and my other doctors wouldn’t suggest breast implants unless they thought I would live long enough to justify their expense, and the surgical procedure I would have to endure in order to enjoy my vanity.

The way I saw it, why bother if the only time I’d get to show them off was from a casket!

Of course, when I continued to pester him he admitted that as far as he was concerned, even a year should justify their cost. He was after all a plastic surgeon and not used to women who balked at the idea of breast implants.

Guess I’m glad for once I listened …it’s been sixteen years since Breast Cancer turned my life and future into an ominous question mark. It has been a long, mountainous journey, but the challenges, failures, and even what at first glance appeared to be rotten luck, are what have made my life most interesting.

I can laugh when I think about getting implants now. My husband advised, he had not married me for my boobs, and he did not want me to come back with Dolly Parton breasts. According to my plastic surgeon, that would not be a problem—“you can’t put a watermelon in a hole made for a cantaloupe,” he said...as he aimed a needle-- the size of  the one my daddy used to use on his cattle--at me!

Cancer was the beginning of living a life where I have worried less about fear of failure, or what other people think, and more about making what time I have left significant.

This summer I was reminded once again how one moment can change a life forever, and how lucky I have been. It happened while I was skiing behind our boat. I pulled an under the breast/chest muscle and was jolted into remembering that I have implants due to reconstructive breast surgery.

My implant had not ruptured, but as my daughter rejoiced in telling me, “those implants are old.” It dawned on me that when the doctors’ advised me to get breast implants they never considered discussing replacement surgery because they never thought it would be necessary. As my Oncologist so delicately put it, “you’re odds are okay, I just wouldn’t go to Vegas on them, if I were you!”

Happy anniversary babies— should of gone to Vegas!