Today is my birthday.

But it is also something more.

Today is the anniversary of the day I moved from the ICU into a regular hospital room.

I hold this day very dearly in my heart because, for me, it marks the moment I went from super critical to something more like:

Okay… maybe she is going to be all right.

That is a pretty big birthday present.

For the past three years, I have celebrated this day in different ways.

The first year, I went to a Broncos game. I had never been to a real NFL game before, and I LOVE the Broncos, so it was absolutely perfect.

The second year, I spent my birthday with my patients.

That year, I wanted to give something back to people who were going through some of the same fear, pain, uncertainty, and loneliness I had experienced. If I could bring somebody even a little joy while they were in the hospital, that felt like a pretty wonderful way to celebrate being alive.

This year?

I kept it simple.

And honestly, simple felt really good.

I woke up to so many beautiful “Happy Birthday” messages, which immediately made me feel loved.

I had been too tired to watch the Broncos game the night before, so I warmed up some pizza, grabbed a Pepsi, settled in, and watched it.

Unfortunately, the Broncos apparently forgot they were also supposed to participate.

They were thoroughly spanked.

It happens.

At least the pizza showed up.

I am newly back to work after my latest surgery, and I am still learning what my body is ready for.

Some days I am in a lot of pain.

Sometimes my mind starts playing tricks on me. I convince myself that my insides are moving around, something has come undone, or the surgery didn't work.

Fear is funny that way.

Once your body has betrayed your expectations enough times, every strange sensation can start sounding like an alarm.

But then there are other moments when I can reason through it.

I look at my stomach and realize how dramatically different it looks compared with the last three years—and honestly, even compared with many years before that.

I HAVE A FIGURE AGAIN.

My 26-year-old self might actually be jealous of my 48-year-old body.

HA!

Take that, youth.

Apparently, we still had a few surprises left in us.

So today has been wonderfully low-key.

I took care of my animals.

I watched football.

I ate warm chocolate lava cake.

And I spent some time dreaming about all the things that are still ahead of me.

That may be my favorite part of birthdays now.

Not counting the years behind me.

Looking at the ones still waiting.

I have never been someone who needed huge gifts or extravagant parties.

I am not a clubber, although I will admit that there was a time when I could go to the Grizzly Rose and dance all night.

I still love dancing.

My knees may eventually submit a formal complaint, but the spirit remains willing.

And don't misunderstand me—I like presents.

I am not going to stand here and pretend I am morally opposed to someone handing me a beautifully wrapped box.

I'm just saying it doesn't have to be anything big.

Give me something you made.

Write me a note.

Bring me a silly little thing because it reminded you of me.

Give me a dandelion.

Especially a dandelion.

Dandelions are my favorite flower.

I know some people look at them and see weeds.

I look at them and see sunshine.

There is something about them that has always brought me comfort. They seem to say:

Today is beautiful. Pay attention.

And really, dandelions are rather remarkable little things.

They have medicinal uses.

They can be eaten.

They can be made into tea.

Although, for the love of all things holy, read the box first.

Some dandelion teas are not meant to be casually consumed like a cozy little cup of Earl Grey unless you have cleared your schedule and developed a strong relationship with the nearest bathroom.

Consider that my public service announcement for the day.

Someday I am also going to make dandelion wine.

Because apparently surviving ten surgeries was not enough adventure.

But beyond all of that, I love what a dandelion becomes.

First, it gives us sunshine.

Then it closes into something that reminds me of moonlight.

And finally, it opens again and becomes a tiny universe of stars, waiting for the wind.

Sunshine.

Moonlight.

Stars.

All in one little flower that grows almost anywhere, survives almost anything, and keeps coming back.

Maybe that is why I love it so much.