As exhausted as I am from all the whooping it up I did over the holidays, I’m contemplating throwing a huge party. For myself, in fact. It might even be a surprise party, since I don’t know exactly when it’s coming. But it’s coming. Champagne, dancing, balloons, cake, tequila shots, fabulous party dress (and shoes), fantastic food, kids falling asleep under tables, neighbours complaining – the whole nine enchiladas. The idea came as I was getting ready for New Years Eve, thinking about what I wish for in the New Year. You don't have to be particularly clairvoyant to figure it out. Obviously, whenever we get the chance to make a wish in this family, we pretty much all wish for the same thing: that I become completely free of cancer. (Well, probably everyone but Georgia, who I figure is entitled to wish for pet unicorns.) I was thinking back to all the New Years wishes in the past and how having cancer has distilled my wishes into this one thing: to live. Because just like every other family, we have lots of other stuff going on that we could wish to make better or easier or even just plain go away… but facing an illness that is sneaky and life-threatening and a giant pain in the @ss makes wishing to be rid of it kind of an easy top pick for the ol' wish list. And then I got to thinking how very sick and tired of having cancer I really am. Truly. Ca suffit, already. I got to thinking how badly I want this wish to come true -- how much I just want that life back where we didn't know what it meant to have to fight and fear and hope with such desperation and hold back the tears or let them come and just deal with it all the time. I got to thinking of my favourite dream, which is to hear myself telling and retelling a story that ends with “…and then it just sort of disappeared, and the doctors still can’t find any trace of it anywhere, all these years later!” I want to say that sentence more than anything in the whole world. And preferably sooner rather than later. And that made me think maybe I should up the stakes for this wish of mine; add a little incentive to make it come true. Put my money where my heart’s desire is, so to speak. Hence the party idea. So this year, with my one wish in mind, I am formally extending an invitation to come celebrate with me when it comes true. The day I hear that I am free and clear of cancer, I’m inviting you all to a party to celebrate cancer’s demise and my freedom from its tyranny. I’m daring cancer to make me make good on this. And I'm extending the invitation to every single person who reads this blog: you and your kids and partner and really whomever you deem a worthy attendee, capable of whoopla and hoopla and just generally givin’ ‘er. I’m not kidding. I’m confident that I can totally pull this off because I happen to count all of this town’s best event producers among my closest friends (including my mother) and when I say I’m throwing a Sayonara Cancer party, I know I’ve got the resources to back me. I may not have the space to cram you all into my house, it’s true, but whatever the venue, the theme is the same: Sayonara Cancer. Bye-bye Jerkface. Adios Gigantic Bummer. And don't you come back no more, no more, no more, etc. So what do you say? RSVP at your leisure.