I wanted to come up with the perfect thing to say for Thanksgiving. The perfect thing that would be even more perfect than anything, anyone else out there could say this year. Day and night I’ve been thinking about it for the past couple of weeks and especially the last few days and still, nothing seems right. It’s not that gratefulness is hard to talk about – I know we are grateful to be alive, to be out of the hospital, to have answers to our questions, to have a family, friends, plans and a chance to fulfill our dreams, a second chance at life – it’s that I struggle to convey the magnitude of that gratefulness in just a few words. And while I am thankful for all of these things, my heart is full this holiday season with gratitude that goes far beyond myself, my family and my own recovery.

I am grateful for the George’s of the world. Who is George, you ask. He is the person behind the scenes, if you will, who makes this blog worth writing. He is the person who is always there in the support forums with an encouraging word for others, including myself, even when he’s not feeling his best. George is the one who tells it like it is with all the clarity and compassion and empathy he can muster. He’s the one who shares this site again and again and again. He screams it from the street corners, “You are not alone! You’re not the only one going through this! Look! Read this!” He asks questions, he engages, he doesn’t take no for an answer. When he wants to give up, he keeps on going; he reaches out, he asks for help, he doesn’t conceal his pain or anger or frustration at the situation we have all been catapulted into without a moment’s notice. When I want to give up, when I think I’m not making a difference, when I think nothing I have to say could possibly make an impact, George is there to sit me down, look me straight in the eyes, and tell me that yes, what I do actually does matter. He doesn’t take no for an answer and he won’t settle for less than my best. George, my friends, is you.

I am grateful for the comments and posts and emails that take my breath away and move me to tears when I least expect it. I am often overwhelmed with the amount of people who come forward to talk about how a blood clot has impacted their own lives. Tales of survival, of loss, of heartbreak and of joy – I have heard more stories than I can count. But, not more stories than I can remember. I remember each story I encounter, even if it is just a detail or two. Something always stands out behind the author – a true voice to the story being told. There are times I want to give up talking about blood clots, give up writing about recovery and give up this whole thing – the stories you have shared over these past two years and continue to share keep me going when I feel like giving up. As long as there are stories to tell, my work at BCRN is not finished. As long as people’s lives are being impacted by DVT and PE, there is more to say and while it may not always be easy, either is recovery, either is talking about it, either is sharing what has happened in your own personal triumphs and tragedies and yet, you still go on talking about it. So too, must I.

I am grateful for abundance in community. While it isn’t always easy to see, there are significant changes being made to raise awareness and bring DVT and PE as major public health concerns to the forefront. The community you have helped to build here grows stronger everyday and is widespread. I am grateful for athletes like NASCAR’s Brian Vickers and Olympic Speed Skater Rebekah Bradford, who have spoken out about their personal encounters with blood clots. Through stories such as there’s, we continue fighting to raise even more awareness. I am grateful for organizations like the National Blood Clot Alliance who fight to bring awareness to everyone. Our community is great, it is strong, and it is growing stronger each day. I am grateful for the opportunity to keep this community growing in abundance and change the way the public, medical professionals and the lawmakers think about blood clots. More needs to be done to stop blood clots and save lives. Together, we can make a difference.

I am grateful to be able to say Happy Thanksgiving to you all. I remember my first holidays after me PE – they were miserable, nothing mattered. I didn’t feel good, I didn’t think I would ever feel good, and I felt completely alone. I was sad, I hurt and not even a beautiful turkey (even though I’m pretty sure the turkey was just normal that year), dinner with my family or glittering Christmas tree could make me feel better. There was no way to fix it, no way to speed it up, no way to change it. Happy Thanksgiving did not come out of my mouth to anyone, not a single time. To you, the person that is hurting, that doesn’t see a way out, that isn’t enjoying dinner or doesn’t even have a dinner to enjoy, Happy Thanksgiving. To you, the person who is alone in a crowd or alone in your bed, Happy Thanksgiving. To you, the person whose leg hurts, whose lungs burn and who doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring for your health, Happy Thanksgiving. To you, the person who is recovering well, but just can’t forget the ones who are not yet, Happy Thanksgiving. To you, the outspoken individual who has shared your story a million times already and to you, who is still too unsure to tell it, Happy Thanksgiving. To you who has lost your job, or to you, who is wondering how you will pay for your medication next month, Happy Thanksgiving. To you that has found stability and is trying to move forward in your recovery from where you have already been, Happy Thanksgiving. To you who is grieving the loss of a loved one and to you, the one that wonders why you’re still here, Happy Thanksgiving.

And to you, George, Happy Thanksgiving.

Reader Writes In. How are you giving thanks this year?

There is hope for healing and you are not alone,