The first thing I’ll do is wipe off the damn purple marker. Despite my best efforts, it has persisted. I hate being marked up like a prize hog. But the techs insist it’s required. I already have the tattoos. It’s still unclear to me exactly why the purple marker is required too.
Anyway, today is my last day of radiation. My last day of what I’ve been calling active treatment. I’ll have final reconstruction surgeries in about six months and I’ll have to take a hormone-suppressing drug for at least seven years. But the worst of the treatment is behind me.
So here we are.
After this past year, it all feels rather anti-climactic. There are no scans, no official declaration of remission. I’m not one for participation trophies, but a certificate of completion would be nice.
My oncologist says I’m considered cured after 10 years without recurrence. Maybe by then I’ll have stopped looking over my shoulder wondering if it’s coming back. I doubt it.
Physically, I’m skating in on fumes to this non-existent finish line. The burns from radiation are getting pretty bad. It’s hard to get comfortable and I’m tempted to create a vat of aloe gel to lie in for a week or so.
Going through radiation means you have a favorite aloe vera gel. The “radiation creme” with lavender smells nice but made me itch. The stuff with the MAXIMUM STRENGTH lidocaine doesn’t feel any different from the regular gel but it makes everything sticky. Sticky is bad. The best stuff comes in the samples from the doctor’s office. It’s just right.
As I peeled off a layer of skin that had stuck to my shirt this morning, I thought about my relationship with my Dignity this year. If you were to ask me and my Dignity, we surely would define it as “complicated.”
One of my expanders has flipped upside down (yeah, internally) and I’ve needed Sean’s help to move it back into place. Twice. I of course can’t feel anything in my chest so I can’t do it on my own.
I’ve had a cough since the air quality was bad from the forest fires. My radiation oncologist says that the radiation is delaying my healing. The cough is annoying enough, but ask any mom how terrifying a coughing fit without warning is. (Moms, I know you feel me on this.) I have several of these a day.
Radiation never really got much easier emotionally, either. I had a couple of sessions with one of the techs who was such a breath of fresh air. She couldn’t have been lovelier and I felt compelled to thank her afterward. I ended up crying, I was so relieved.
Turns out she is the supervisor of the team. It led to more than a few conversations with her and my doctor about feeling like my humanity was being lost. Pity the medical team who gets someone who has made a career of giving feedback. It’s been a whole thing. I’m sure I’ll write about it in my book.
But the flip side of all of this is that the experience during radiation has lit a fire and for that, I’m truly grateful.
I’m officially relaunching HRuprise soon and I’ve never been more focused or clear with the vision. Check out the website and let me know what you think.
Onward, indeed.