Monday, January 26, 2009


I lost my cell phone this morning, so didn't receive the phone calls from the radiation staff - notifying me that the machine was broken. Now, that sort of scares me, to think this humongous piece of equipment is broken. Did it fall? Okay, that's MY fear. I won't project it forward. lol

Those thoughts do cross my mind as I'm laying on the table. The machine is large and I imagine it weighs a significant amount. As the big radiation part moves over me, I pray that the weight on the other side stays in place. Just silly I know.

Anyway, no radiation today. My radiation end date is now February 3rd. No missing those 16 zaps. Today would have been No. 11.

Once the radiation therapists left the room last Friday, tears came out of no where. I couldn't stop them, nor could I wipe them -- had to lay still until the radiation ended. It always amazes me when the tears seemingly come out of the blue.

When the sweet therapist came back into the room, she asked if I was okay. I had to acknowledge that the tears just come when I allow myself to think about all that my body has gone through -- surgery, chemo and now radiation. Why do we not give ourselves permission to be sad or angry? Angry at the cancer beast?

As one lady said, who happens to be on her 2nd round of breast cancer, "they can poison us, they can cut us, and they can burn us, but we still survive". Amen!

During the first part of this triathlon - surgery - I felt like I was a breast walking on two legs. That didn't occur during chemo since no one looked or poked or cut the breast. Now with radiation, this feeling is back. Radiation people don't cut, but they poke, write on it and look at it for any side effects. Just flop that baby out for all the world to see.

Listening to Josh Groban's, You're Still You, on the way to radiation, may have started the tears. I have so many mixed emotions about the end of this phase of my treatment. I'm excited, happy, nervous and scared. I am so willing to have a few more rads or a few more chemo treatments. I want the assurance that the beast and the beast's mini-cells are gone - gone 100%.

So back to Joshy. This was the last thing I heard before walking to the building on Friday. It was in my brain, entered my heart and waited until I was relaxed to break through and allow the tears to flow.

You walk past me
I can feel your pain
Time changes everything
One truth always stays the same
You're still you
After all, you're still you

I'm still me. This beast didn't destroy my core beliefs, it didn't destroy who I am. I'm still me!
A loving, darn funny, creative and intelligent creature of God.

You're Still You



  1. R,

    Thanks for the hugs for Mom. She's doing much better at home. It's damn hard to make non-chemo patients (even nurses at the hospital) understand that chemo patients need their anti-nausea meds right on time. Not 1/2 hour late. Amazing.

    I'm there with you girl on all these feelings. I'm done with chemo now but was it enough? And I told Bill last nite that for the very first time, I felt like a cancer patient. I feel wrecked and worn out.

    I can't listen to your song because I started crying just reading your post. Keep your chin up, sugar. You're coming down the home stretch. You've been such an inspiration to me, as have all our blogging friends. You're almost really, really done! Thank God! And then you can begin really healing the way that you want to.


  2. Thank you Sharon!

    It helps to have others who understand all the emotions, feelings and side effects. It will soon be over!