3-5 我真不相信你的话（在线收听）

I Can’t Believe You

“I can't believe you tell people your age,” my friend commented.

Hey, I don't mind. Really. In fact, I love my age, because every single birthday means more than just presents and chocolate cake.

The day I heard the word “cancer” spoken by my doctor, my life turned upside down.

“I have a test on Monday,” I said foolishly, thinking that the doctor would postpone surgery so I could ace¹ my humanities test. What I didn't realize is that I was preparing for the biggest test of my life.

Within hours I discovered that I did have cancer. It had spread to my lymph nodes². I learned at 32 years of age to face mortality³. Every time the doctors entered my room, they walked in with bad news and one more specialist. One white coat meant cancer. Two white coats meant chemo⁴. Three meant radiation. Four meant detection of another possible tumor⁵.

At one point five doctors stood around my bed. It seemed fitting because the statistics dropped to a 10％ chance of surviving five years. One doctor for each year I might live.

There were a multitude of⁶ reasons to stick around⁷ -- a husband of 12 years that I loved a whole lot and three beautiful children that were clueless to the plight⁸ of their mom and dad, but who gave me daily strength in their innocent love and handmade gifts that hung on the hospital wall.

To this day, I still have a crayon picture of me resting in bed, with a large head and larger lips, with a thermometer⁹ sticking out of my mouth. The words, “get well so u can com home” was my mantra¹⁰.

I'm thankful for cancer in many ways. Does that sound crazy? I wouldn't wish it on anybody and I don't want to go through it again, but it was a teacher. It helped me to treasure every single day. It forced me to prioritize¹¹ my life. Things that were once important seemed foolish. It pushed me off the rolling wheel this society calls sacred and let me pursue the desires of my heart, instead of my wallet. It gave me the ability to see life as fragile, not one day promised. It allowed me to treasure my three beautiful children, who sometimes brought heartache along with joy as they grew up, who are all now in college and can now spell beautifully.

When I hit my 5th year of survival, I left my job to write full time. I decided not to write one more word about anything that didn't matter to me. It was a step of faith, but it made perfect sense. Cancer taught me not to let the opportunities of your heart pass you by because we are not promised “one day” or “someday.”

On my 40th birthday, I rode gocarts¹² with 30 of my closest friends to celebrate. The numbers 4-0 hanging across the wall were a beautiful sight.

I celebrated my 10th year of survival on a boat in the Amazon in the rainforest of Brazil. I sat on the top level and watched the sun rise and from somewhere so deep inside, I thanked God for the opportunity to experience life through facing death.

You see, life has become a series of celebrations. Last month, I celebrated my 13th year of survival and embraced my 44th birthday. Next month, Richard and I will celebrate our 24th anniversary. Leslie, my oldest, turned 21 last year. My twins are 20. All young adults now, all running after their own dreams, because my bout¹³ with cancer taught them too.

I look at my friend and answer her question. Do I mind telling my age? Absolutely not. I'll shout it from the rooftops¹⁴. I'm 44! I'm thankful for all 10 gray hairs.

When I look in the mirror and notice the small lines appearing around my mouth and eyes, I don't call them wrinkles. I call them opportunities.

Every line was placed there by a smile that creased my face -- an experience, large or small, that came from living this gift called life.

注释：

1. ace [eis] vt. 〈美俚〉在……中得好成绩

2. lymph node [limf nEud] [解]淋巴结

3. mortality [mC:5tAliti] n. 必死性；死亡

4. chemo [5kemEu] （文中代指chemotherapy）化学疗法；化学治疗

5. tumor [5tju:mE(r)] n. [医]肿瘤

6. multitude [5mQltitju:d] n. 许多；a～of很多

7. stick around留下，逗留

8. plight [plait] n. 困境，苦境；境况

9. thermometer [WE5mRmItE(r)] n. 体温表，温度计

10. mantra [5mQntrE] n. 祷文，符咒

11. prioritize [prai5Critaiz] vt. 确定（事项）的优先次序；按优先顺序列出

12. gocart [5^EukB:t] n. 微型单座（竞赛）汽车

13. bout [baut] n. 较量，比赛

14. rooftop [5ru:ftCp] n. 屋顶；shout sth. from the～s公开宣布某事；让大家知道某事

我真不相信你的话

“我真不相信你告诉人家你的年龄，”我的朋友这样说我。

　　嗨，我可不介意。真的。事实上，我爱我的年龄，因为每一个生日不仅仅意味着礼物和巧克力蛋糕。

　　回想那天我从医生嘴里听到“癌症”这个字眼，我的生活完全变了样。

　　“我星期一还有个测验呢，”我傻乎乎地说，以为医生会推迟手术，这样我可以在语言文学测验中取得好成绩。我根本没有意识到，我其实已开始准备应付我生活中最为严峻的考验。

　　几小时后，我发现我的确是患上了癌症，癌细胞已经扩散到我的淋巴结。在32岁之际，我学会了面对死亡。每次医生走进我的病房，他们都带来不好的消息和又一位专家。1位白大褂医生意味着癌症。2位意味着化疗。3位意味着放疗。4位意味着可能又发现一个什么肿瘤。

　　有一次5位医生站在我的病床周围。倒也相称，因为我再活5年的几率已经下降到10％。1位医生代表我可能活1年。

　　但有诸多理由要活下去——有结婚12载、我深深爱恋着的丈夫；有3个漂亮的孩子，他们无从知道他们妈妈和爸爸的困境，但他们用纯真的爱和亲手制作的礼物给予我迎接每一天的力量，他们的礼物就悬挂在医院的墙上。

　　直到今天，我还珍藏着一幅蜡笔画，上面画的是卧床休息的我，大大的脑袋，更大的嘴唇，嘴里插着温度计。上面的字——“早日康复回到家中”——就是我的祷文。

　　在很多方面我对癌症感激不尽。这听上去像疯人呓语吗？我绝不希望癌症降临到任何人头上，也绝不想再吃一遍苦，但癌症是我的老师。是它帮助我珍惜每一天；是它迫使我弄清生活的主次，曾是重要的事情已显得愚蠢可笑；是它让我远离这个社会称之为神圣的滚滚车轮，引导我去追求我内心的愿望，而不是钱夹的鼓胀；是它让我明白生命是脆弱的，没有一天是有保证的；是它让我珍惜我那3个漂亮的孩子，他们在成长之际让我伤心过，但也给我带来喜悦，他们现在都已进了大学，拼写都很好。

　　在我得了癌症的第5个年头，我辞掉工作，全职写作。我决定不多写一字讲那些对我不重要的事情。这只是跨出的信念之步，但意义深远。癌症教会我不要错过自己内心的机会，因为没有“一天”或“某一天”是保证属于我们的。

　　在我40岁生日之际，我和30位亲密的朋友乘微型单座赛车漫游庆祝。家里墙上挂着的4－0这两个数字是那般美丽夺目。

　　患癌症后的第10个年头，我又有新的庆祝方式——乘船游览巴西热带雨林中的亚马孙河。我坐在船的最高层观看日出，从内心最深处，我感激上帝赐予我机会，让我通过面对死亡来体验人生。

　　你瞧，生活成为一个接一个的庆祝。上个月，我庆祝我患癌症后活过的第13个年头，迎来我的44岁生日。下个月，我和理查德将要庆祝我们结婚24周年纪念日。莱斯利，我的长女，去年已经21岁。我的双胞胎孩子今年也20岁了。他们虽然年轻，但都是成年人了，都在追求自己的梦想，因为我和癌症的较量也教育了他们。

　　我望着我的朋友，回答她的问题。我会介意说出我的年龄吗？绝不会。我真想公开宣布：我44岁啦！我感激我已经有了10根灰发。

　　当我在镜中凝视自己，注意到嘴角和眼睛周围出现细细线条时，我可不把它们称为皱纹。我把它们叫做机会。

每一线条都是一次微笑在脸上刻下的印记。这种经历，无论大小，都是来自享受称为“生活”的这份厚礼。