Two weeks of radiation down.
Three weeks to go.
Fifteen treatments left.
Not that I’m counting.
Okay, I’m absolutely counting.
Radiation is a process.
Each day starts the same way. I scan my card in the treatment waiting area to let them know I’ve arrived, head to the changing room, and trade my regular clothes for the official breast cancer uniform: a gown for the top half.
I’ve noticed something about the waiting room.
Many people sit there fully dressed. Some bring loved ones with them. I love seeing that. This week, I noticed a college-aged girl waiting with her dad. Others sit alone.
But the women in gowns?
We all know.
There are mutual glances of recognition—the small smiles exchanged between women who understand exactly why we’re wearing this attire.
Yesterday, an older woman struck up a conversation with me in the changing area. She was sweet. I noticed she had two of her best friends waiting with her.
Go girl power.
Before she left, she made a point to say, “Goodbye, sweetie.”
I’ve realized I belong to a club filled with kindness.
Even if I never wanted this membership card.
Once the techs call my name, I head into the treatment room.
It’s semi-dark, which I actually prefer. It feels less clinical.
I climb into the molded cocoon they created during my simulation appointment. It’s a custom hard foam mold designed specifically for my body, so apparently if I accidentally tried to use someone else’s, things would get weird very quickly.
A warm blanket gets tucked around me.
Honestly, that’s my favorite part.
A wedge pillow goes under my knees, my arms reach overhead to hold onto bars, and then the purple disco lights start flashing while music fills the room.
For a brief moment, you almost feel like dancing.
Alright, let’s not get carried away.
The techs gently secure my feet together with rubber bands, leave the room, and suddenly my only job is to stay perfectly still.
It never fails that the second you need to remain motionless, your body suddenly remembers every itch you’ve ever had.
Then the mini CT scan begins.
The machine rotates and whirls around me.
Pause.
I imagine the techs behind the tinted glass making sure everything looks good.
Then more rotating.
Buzzing.
Zapping.
I suppose that’s why people say they’re getting “zapped.”
Above me is a large ceiling screen displaying beautiful landscapes—tropical beaches with moving waves, palm trees swaying in the breeze, waterfalls, colorful aquariums filled with fish, sunsets, flowers.
I love these images.
I imagine myself in those places. Future vacations. Better days ahead.
My brother told me these same images helped my mom during her radiation treatments.
I understand why.
They help me too.
Every day after treatment, I coat my left chest and underarm with aloe.
At night, I slather myself in Aquaphor.
I refer to myself as a greased monkey.
It’s heavy.
Sticky.
Uncomfortable.
It ruins clothes.
Sleeping becomes a strange game of trying not to adhere yourself to your pajamas.
I confiscated one of Garrin’s old T-shirts for this nightly ritual.
Aquaphor and I have a complicated relationship.
If it successfully prevents severe radiation burns, I’ll choose love over resentment.
This week I officially started experiencing some side effects.
The skin sensitivity caught me off guard.
Everything prickled after treatment, and I assumed it meant my skin was beginning to burn.
At OT, Amy pointed out that it was probably my nerves responding to radiation.
Cue the lightbulb moment.
Aha. Nerve pain.
I’ve had that before.
Post-surgery nerve pain and I became very well acquainted over five weeks.
Thankfully, this feels much milder.
I’ll take the win.
I’ve also experienced some fatigue.
Though if I’m being honest, work has been chaotic lately.
The warehouse has been short-staffed for two weeks.
Carriers aren’t delivering.
Problems keep popping up.
Life apparently didn’t get the memo that I have enough going on.
I also haven’t slept well since surgery.
I’ve always been a side sleeper, and while I’m technically allowed to sleep on my side now, the expanders strongly disagree with this plan.
Then there are the hot flashes.
Apparently removing hormones and sleeping comfortably were not meant to coexist.
Another delightful surprise no one really warns you about.
The fun of this journey.
I’ve learned and experienced more than I ever wanted to know.
Hopefully sharing some of it helps someone else someday.
OT has been another adventure.
I only have one week left of therapy.
I had been making great progress.
Then radiation decided to irritate my cording.
Which honestly feels rude considering how hard we’ve been working.
My left arm feels tighter and sorer again.
Thankfully, Amy expected this.
I may need to return after radiation is complete for a few additional sessions to regain some of that progress.
During my appointment this week, Amy asked how many weeks post-op I was.
I realized I’ll hit the two-and-a-half-month mark in a few days.
Another milestone.
Meanwhile, life continues happening around me.
I received a jury duty summons one week post-op.
Apparently the universe thought I needed one more thing on my calendar this year.
Fortunately, my physician provided a medical excuse.
While I think jury duty could actually be interesting under normal circumstances, this was definitely not the year for civic responsibility.
Then our state tax return became one of Michigan’s lucky winners.
We unexpectedly received a letter stating we owed thousands of dollars.
After several moments of panic, we discovered it was actually a state error involving quarterly tax payments.
Thankfully, it was resolved.
My nervous system would appreciate fewer plot twists.
I also found out a family member is facing their own cancer diagnosis and receiving radiation treatment with Dr. Chapman.
We ran into each other during treatment.
The world suddenly felt very small.
My father-in-law and stepmother-in-law had to say goodbye to their dog the day after my mom’s service.
Sometimes it feels like the hits just keep coming.
There have been good things too.
Last weekend, Garrin and I explored trails near Potter Park Zoo and walked all the way to Michigan State’s campus.
We enjoyed tacos and pineapple margaritas before making the walk back.
6.61 miles total.
Not bad.
Garrin grilled for our neighbors Sunday using a new recipe.
We finalized our vacation dates with Carol and John for next spring.
Now we just need to decide where we’re going.
We’re missing our usual family vacation to Rehoboth this year, which we would have left for tomorrow.
But next year, my dad and family are planning a Northern Michigan trip together.
The pet sitter is already booked.
I think it’s important to have milestones to look forward to.
Saturday is my birthday.
Another milestone.
We’re heading to Ann Arbor to visit a new winery and enjoy a nice dinner.
Another trip around the sun feels especially meaningful this year.
Yesterday, Garrin put on a song while we were driving home from dinner.
“We need this,” he said.
It was Let It Be by The Beatles.
We both sang at the top of our lungs.
I love to sing.
I got that from my mom.
And my love of The Beatles?
That came from my dad and all those road trips filled with music from that era.
Things aren’t always easy.
Sometimes it’s the simple things that make the hard things bearable.
Singing loudly in the car.
A long walk on a beautiful sunny day.
Good food.
A glass of wine.
Dog snuggles.
Planning future vacations.
Celebrating birthdays.
Looking forward to what comes next.
As John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote:
“Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.”
Maybe wisdom doesn’t always come from having everything figured out.
Maybe sometimes it’s simply learning when to hold on, when to let go, and when to trust that you’ll find your way through.
So for now…
I’ll let it be. ❤️
