On my morning walk, a few hours before my last oncology follow-up, I found a heads-up penny. I instantly pocketed it, believing it would bring me good luck.
When my nose itches, I preemptively kiss Jim, wanting to be on the right side of “have a fight or kiss a fool.”
Twitching left eyelids, itchy palms, moths in the house, cardinals in my yard-you might call them superstitions. My Italian mother taught me they are signs of respectively; good news, unexpected money, and souls in my midst.
The number 1017 is another very personal sign. It may not mean anything to you. For me, 1017 will only ever mean the day my father died.
Since being diagnosed with cancer last year, I cannot tell you how frequently I see or hear the numbers 1017—on the clock, a ticket stub, cash register receipt, an address—countless times and ways the numbers 1017 show up. And, every time they do, it feels like a sign my dad has my back.
One day at a time, I'm adjusting to this stage “beyond” cancer treatment, trying to shove cancer so far behind me, I stop fearing its return. The exception--my follow-up oncology visits still freak me out.
Finding that penny the morning of my last oncology visit was only the first sign. A couple of hours later, as I stoically got ready to leave the house for my appointment, Jim looked up from the newspaper and said, “Wow, it’s already 10:17. Where did that last hour go?”
He could have rounded back to 10:15 or up to 10:20. The fact that he said 10:17 felt like my dad telling me we had this and my visit would be fine.
And, it was.
Does this all sound eerie and far-fetched? Or, like me, are you a sign-believer, too?