Wow. The thought that I’ve had 27 radiation treatments with only 3 to go in a 30 treatment cycle amazes me. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t as bad as my wild imaginings led me to believe. I’m one of the lucky ones. I didn’t experience radiation sickness, my skin didn’t break down to the point of gaping wounds or anything else as hideous due to the fact that I just spent 15 minutes a day, five days a week for five and half weeks having radioactive rays shot into my breast. Again, I’m one of the lucky ones. I looked around the waiting room and realized that I was surrounded by mainly old, sick people. Every time I would walk through the door passed all the loved ones sitting waiting, I wondered if they thought I was one of the health care professionals. Then I would don my gown and sit among the sick relieving any doubt that I too was one of them. I didn’t feel like I belonged. I still don’t. I would finish my treatments and head to the gym for a weight workout, or go for a run or hike. I would head to work or home from work. Other than the time inconvenience I really have not allowed myself to be affected at all. Just a little speed bump in my life.
In fact, I am finding myself a little sad as I come to the end of this journey. I’ve grown quite fond of my team of techs. We’ve joked about socks and work and family and cancer. I’m going to miss them. I’m not used to being so vulnerable both physically and emotionally so the time I’ve spent with them has been intense and intimate. It seems weird to be going back into my super isolated, walled world. I don’t have a significant other to have shared this journey with. Nobody that I’ve shared my heart and soul with during the process. I’ve dealt with the good days and the bad days predominately on my own. Granted I have such wonderful friends and family but I keep to myself. It’s just how I am. So once again I have a scar to reflect on. A scar reminding me of a time that life tried to break me and failed.