Two years ago today, Carol's life changed, and, in turn, changed my life. We were one month short of our 21st anniversary (!). We've known each other for 25 years. During that entire time, we were never really sick. Never was in a hospital (well, I had surgery on my hand in the mid-80's, but that was just a day surgery thing).

Two years ago today, Carol had a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction surgery.

It was just LCIS - Lobular Carcinoma In Situ. Like the word "just" makes it insignificant. It was good that it was small, and in situ. The doctors kept saying it was "100 percent treatable".

100 percent.

The next sentence contained the words "mastectomy". It was not exactly what you want to hear, and I really fault the doctors for phrasing the entire conversation as "100 percent treatable" and getting your hopes up, when the treatment is a mastectomy. The cancer was in one breast, and LCIS is considered to be Stage Zero. It didn't spread - it was in one specific area.

Of course, we had another option - do nothing. but Carol's mom had died of breast cancer - a cancer that wound up being recurring and going undiagnosed until it was too late. Carol's had that hanging over her head her entire adult life. Doing nothing was not an option for her, she felt. She wanted the fear that she had been carrying to go away. For good. Doing one side made no sense in that regard. It had to be a double.

So, two years ago this morning, we were at Northwest Community Hospital in Arlington Heights. Carol sat on the gurney in the Surgical Pre-op Area, her eyes were big like a deer in the headlights. She knew what was going to happen, she accepted it, and she was still a bit freaked out.

I had been in the surgical waiting room with Carol's brother and his wife, my bud Barry and my sister Diane during the surgeries. The surgeon came in to talk to us and reassure us that everything went very well, and very quick (just over an hour) and that the plastic surgeon was now doing his thing. We waited around a bit and sure enough, about two hours later, the plastic surgeon showed up and we talked briefly. She should be out of recovery and on her way to her room. I just had to find her.

I walked into the room alone (after I had found it). She was out but she knew I was there. She said "hi", and just kept sleeping. Well, resting with her eyes closed. She barely moved. It was good to be there and see her. Alone. It makes you realize where you are, where the two of you are. Makes you realize how lucky you both are.

The next few days were amazing to a lot of family and friends. Carol was fine. Better than fine - great. Everyone was shocked on how well she was doing. Everyone. So much so, that Carol's brother and wife were convinced she was in denial. They just couldn't accept how strong she was.

But I could. It was real.

So, life goes on. Here we are, two years later. Carol has had most of the breast reconstruction completed (the rest is "cosmetic"). We're both alive and thriving.

And I'm stronger for seeing how strong my wife has been throughout all of this.

I hope she finds the flower I left for her on the front seat of her car before she sits on it. I hope she knows how much I love her and how much I actually look up to her.