I couldn’t stop smiling as I sat in the stands at Coors Field. I was attending a Colorado Rockies game for my 40th birthday, and the evening had been amazing so far. Planning to ride our bikes to the stadium (to avoid traffic and the parking fee), Doug and I had parked our car about a mile away.  Just as we were about to unload our bikes from the roof rack, a massive storm blew in and we watched lighting streak across the Denver skyline as hail pummeled our car. Once the storm ended, we jumped on our bikes and cruised downtown, breathing in the wonderful spring smell of rain-soaked ground and blossoming trees.

We arrived at the stadium an hour early, so we stopped to enjoy drinks at the Irish pub next door. I was halfway done with my Strongbow Cider when the waitress surprised me with a free birthday shot. I have no idea what was in the fruity purple concoction, but she assured me it didn’t have gluten in it, so down the hatch it went. This was a little more than I would normally drink on a mostly empty stomach with my ostomy, but hey, it was my birthday. Time to throw caution to the wind. My stomach wasn’t empty for long. As soon as we walked over to the stadium, I indulged in one of my favorite treats. I hardly ever eat hamburgers due to having celiac disease (and the fact that they are not that healthy), but Coors Field has a special gluten-free concession stand. Soon I was in my seat, huge burger in hand and eagerly anticipating the game.

Nature even provided some pre-game entertainment for my birthday. Perched on the balcony railing above me, a male house finch was singing his heart out. Over and over he belted out his melodious tune, and I kept thinking that there had to be a female baseball-fan-of-a-finch listening somewhere in the stands. I hope he finds her. There are certainly many great places to tuck a nest in the stadium and then the pair can watch every home game as they raise the next generation of Rockies-loving finches.

If this amazing start to my birthday evening wasn’t great enough, things got even better. The Rockies were clobbering the opposing team in one of the best games I had the pleasure of watching. In between watching unbelievable plays, my mind cycled through memories of being at the stadium so many times before.

It was on a previous visit to Coors Field that my final UC flare first made itself known. I am sure many IBDers know the feeling of thinking they have finally found the magic bullet of probiotics, diet and medication to keep their illness in control, only to have their body fail them yet again. It was during a night similar to this one that I was having fun watching the Rockies when one such disappointing moment came. I got up to use the restroom during the 7th inning stretch and noticed a tiny speck of blood from my intestines on the toilet paper. My heart sank. I left the bathroom and tried to focus on the rest of the game, but all I could think about was the fact that my four-month remission was over and my UC was back. At the time, I had no idea that those initial specks of blood would turn into the massive flare that would cost me my colon. When I look back at my photos from that evening, I see a woman who is blissfully unaware of the major life change that is about to happen. If you would have told me that night that I would have an ostomy a few months later, I would have said you were out of your mind.

Sitting in the stadium on my 40th birthday, I realized that I still had no idea what was around the corner. But if there is one thing I have learned in my 39th year, it is that this uncertainty is okay. Tomorrow would be on its way soon enough, but right now I was enjoying watching the players slide into bases and hearing Doug yell GO TODD at the top of his lungs every time Todd Helton was up to bat. Right now I was having fun singing Take Me out to the Ball Game and seeing the people around me laughing and goofing around with their friends and family. Right now I was smiling as I blew out the candle in my birthday cupcake and made my wish for the year. Right now I was happy that my ostomy had allowed me all these moments.

For me, turning 40 wasn’t something to be sad about. It wasn’t about all the things that I hadn’t done or about goals not yet achieved. Turning 40 was about celebrating all the things I had done. It was about lightning and skyscrapers, house finches on balconies, bike rides through puddles, baseball players getting out of pickles and every other great memory I have from that day and all of those before.