It's been four years and five days since I went under the knife.
I never had my tonsils out, never felt the misery of recovering from wisdom-tooth removal, never had my appendix burst.
Instead, for my first experience on the operating table, I was getting a painful bump removed from my shinbone and replaced with someone else's bone.
The uncertainty that came with that illness still stays with me. Every time I see a new blemish, every time I feel a small pain, I wonder if something could be wrong. And I'm always wondering if the cancer will come back.
I tend to be a little unsympathetic every time I hear someone whining to me about how they twisted their ankle or cut their finger. I want to tell them that they don't know what real pain is. But I realize I'm just being irrational and selfish.
I feel unhealthy because I used to be a runner. Now, since I can't do that, I simply don't undertake a lot of activity. Nothing else keeps my interest.
But after everything, in retrospect, I was lucky. After months of X-rays, MRIs, CT scans and countless doctors, I was found to have a precancerous tumor in my left tibia. It wasn't until after the surgery that the tumor was tested and the cancer was discovered.
Then there were the complications that spanned two years - infections, bone grafting, prescription changes and all the other wonderful side effects of surgery.
I say I'm lucky because I think about people who have lost hair, limbs, family, hope, dignity and friends. Illness is not just about recovery. It's about living through, no matter what, just because that's what you're expected to do.
Illness changes people. For some, it's the defining force in their lives. For others, it's a thing to shove behind, keep in the past so they can go full speed ahead.
I suppose I also consider myself lucky because I was given a second chance. I think about all the other patients for whom surgery or even treatment wasn't an option. All they had to look forward to was death and how to make their lives complete before dying.
I don't wake up every morning and thank God for the birds that are singing outside my window. I don't look at babies in wonderment and wish them lives full of good health and love. I don't volunteer at a homeless shelter.
But I do appreciate my friends more, and I am more conscious of the value of an education and the privileges I've been given. I want to make the most of where and what I am.
Other people can't do that, although treatments are getting better and research is revealing more about what the human body can do to heal itself. Scientists have discovered more and better drugs to treat AIDS, and cancer research is slowly and steadily making progress.
But prescriptions alone can't erase the effects of an illness. Sick people often feel alone, unappreciated. They need attention, support and understanding, not sympathy or pity. Often they need money for their treatment. But that's a different story.
It's been four years. I can pretty much walk around like normal, and sometimes I decorate my scar for special occasions. I've named the screws in my leg (they're Phillips head). I've kept a sense of humor about the whole thing. If I hadn't had friends to keep my spirits up, who knows where I'd be right now?
Physical health has a direct effect on emotional health, and often the healthy don't seem to realize that. For those who have been lucky enough to stay healthy, remember that you're privileged - you've never had to cut into the perfect envelope we call the human body.
It's a privilege that some don't realize. Health is not a right.