40, Fabulous, & Still Fighting

Everyone asked me all week: “What do you want to do for your birthday?”

I couldn’t answer. Not because I didn’t care, but because I genuinely didn’t know what I needed. I wanted to be at Founders Day, a soberfest event here in Connecticut, especially because I missed it the last few years due to illness. The plan was to go, just park the RV, run the A/C, let Nicky nap in the cool while I soaked up the sun, the people, the sobriety, the life. But on Friday, I got slammed with a full-body flare-up that completely took me out. And just like that, the decision was made for me.

I couldn’t even be mad about it. The RV dream was out, and a tent on the summer ground with a puppy and no spoons? That wasn’t happening. Still, it stung. I was really looking forward to being there this year.

David had planned a whole weekend of sweet things for us to do together, but when Saturday morning came, I realized what I really wanted. I had a vision of a perfect morning: sunrise beach trip with Nicky. She’s never been to the beach, and I just wanted to see her run through the sand like a little nutball, splash in the waves, and chase the wind. I wanted sunrise pictures of the two of us, wrapped in gold light and wet paws. David offered to come take pictures—he gets it. But the sky said no. It was gray, damp, and drizzly. And honestly? That’s an adventure for a life day, not my birthday. I want her first beach moment to be perfect.

I still thought about going down to Stratford, where David lives, but he—being who he is—tuned in. He realized that all the plans, no matter how sweet, would leave me exhausted, and Nicky alone in a crate. That’s not what I wanted. So instead, we flipped the plan and he came to me.

And when he showed up… oh, you guys.

He asked if he could borrow my wagon (immediate suspicion activated), and next thing I knew he was wheeling up my stairs with a wagon full of birthday. Not diamonds. Not spa gift cards. Not something shiny for Instagram. But things I love. Things I need. Things I had mentioned weeks ago in passing—he had written them down. He heard me.

Inside the wagon:

• Two giant bouquets—roses and wild blooms—because he knows how obsessed I am with flowers. (I dry them, or make paint from the petals.. and use them in art, duh.)

• A massive family-sized box of Lucky Charms. Judge away, but listen: this is my nightly ritual. Late-night, THC-mellowed, ‘tiny’ (right..) bowl of cereal magic. I’m five years old with a medical card and a leprechaun complex.

• A Costco-sized bag of frozen pierogies and tortellini, because some nights, boiling pasta is a full Olympic event. He gets that. I need food I can microwave or I’ll just… not eat.

After presents, we rested. And then—because obviously, even on my birthday I’m crafting—I worked on my Father’s Day tree. Last month when I ordered my ornaments i had the choice between a 40th birthday tree, or a fathers day tree - and because i love my family (even when i dont appreciate their behavior) I chose to decorate for fathers day. My dad loves his boat, so the whole tree is nautical themed: starfish, anchors, fish, lighthouses, and ornaments that say “Happy Father’s Day.” David sat on the couch and tied twine loops on ornaments with me for an hour and a half. I know that’s not how he imagined this day would go... But he stayed with me in it. That’s love.

My tree toppers this month? A Happy Birthday balloon and Nicky’s blue octopus. Obviously.

We ended the afternoon with massage—head, shoulders, back, all the busted-up places. Between his targeted work and the posture therapy exercises, I’m finally, finally seeing improvement. I don’t say that lightly. Nothing else has worked.

Later that evening, I met up with my mom. She came in by train and had planned to take me to The Melting Pot (her fave), but recognized it might not be comfy for me right now and suggested Texas Roadhouse. I love her for trying—but steak is a no. So we landed on Cracker Barrel, which is basically a cozy Southern diner with a gift shop attached. Win-win.

We ate, talked, smiled. Nothing fancy. I wore a dress—because hello, 40. It was sweet, and quiet, and calm. We’re doing nails tomrrow, maybe lunch. I even gave her my car for a few days (stop laughing at me), because she needed it more than I did. She dropped me off in New Haven and headed to her hotel. I’ve got neurology Monday anyway, so I’ll snag it back.

But here’s the thing about this birthday that I really want to remember:

David understood something most people never have. He saw that everyone wanted to celebrate me, but the performance of a party, the expectation to sparkle for everyone else’s good time—that’s not what I needed. He didn’t ask me to smile through it. He didn’t buy me glitz. He didn’t try to fix the parts of me that are hurting.

He just showed up. As I am. Where I am. In my little apartment, with my dog and my cereal and my chronic pain and my handmade holiday tree.

And that… was the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky