I always remember it (always only being twice, so far), but never mark it. No, it’s not something I want to celebrate, and certainly not to make a big thing of with work colleagues (not that I’m working at the moment anyway, but that’s another story - I did until fairly recently).
I suppose, the only positive thing about it, from my point of view, is I think: “OK, another year in which I didn’t die, and nothing else really terrible happened…”
They reckon how you fare in the first five years is a good indication of how it will pan out overall - though nothing’s guaranteed, of course. I keep telling myself: “OK, halfway there now - 2.5 years - Manage another 2.5 the same, and, the chances are, you’re going to survive this reasonably OK…”
But of course, I’m very conscious of the “one-day-at-a-time” philosophy, too. In a way, every day nothing dreadful happens - or at least, nothing I couldn’t cope with - is its own small anniversary.
I remember being outraged either last year, or the year before, that MS Day was my birthday! I thought: “Noooooo! It’s my BD; I don’t want it being bloody MS’s day as well!”
So no, it doesn’t get any cakes from me, and I resented the one time I was supposed to share my BD with it.
What you do is up to you, though.
If you’ve ever read or heard dramatisations of Samuel Pepys’ diaries, you might know that he celebrated every year “being delivered of the stone” - which meant that he’d had a successful operation to remove a bladder/kidney stone. Surgery was, of course, a much more risky procedure in those days, so success and survival was indeed something to be thankful for. He had a little party each year. Not quite the same as being Dx’ed with MS, perhaps, but commemorating a medical event certainly has a famous precedent.
My own MS anniversary is sandwiched in between the anniversary of my father’s funeral, and my Mum’s BD (who is still with us).
So I’ve got two horrid anniversaries the same week, but then a nice one (Mum’s BD).