Certificates and celebrations

"Will you even feel like celebrating?" Bob text me.

Today was my last of 28 daily radiation treatments. We had planned a celebration dinner tonight, and a day off tomorrow with no plans other than to do something fun to celebrate the end of cancer treatment.

I waited a long time before responding to his text. No, I don't feel like celebrating. For a couple of reasons.

After almost 10 months since discovering the lump that was cancer, I don't have a plan. I now just have appointments. It's a little scary to think about. A fellow radiation patient and I were discussing this last week. After having people surrounding you with care -- weekly, even daily care -- suddenly you're done. It's something I've joked about, "what will I do now?" But it's a real feeling, almost like being abandoned.

And then there's the matter of "the burn." This past weekend things changed for me. I had been sporting the bright red, rashy burn since about the 2nd week of radiation, and other than putting the prescription goop on it a couple of times a day, it wasn't painful. But over the weekend it started stinging. And I mean stinging like pouring alcohol on a popped blister. Plus the skin suddenly looked like dirt and was sloughing off, exposing more tender skin underneath. Lovely! There's a smelly, messy dressing I was given that helps a ton. However, messy and smelly doesn't exactly make me feel like going out on the town.

They had other good news for me at radiation (she said, sarcastically). First, it won't exactly stop gaining momentum after today's treatment. It's like getting a sunburn, it takes about 8 hours to see what you've really done. The other "good news" was that it will take months to heal completely.

This ends the whining portion of today's update.

And now, for something a little more positive.

I laughed out loud when I was presented with the Certificate of Achievement. I think something like "that's hilarious," popped out of my mouth. Not the reaction one of my favorite techs was expecting. But I wasn't making fun. I enjoyed that they gave me a token like that. He told me that it IS an accomplishment, "especially since it was so rough for you." He encouraged me to wear the pink ribbon with pride.

"I don't want to cry on you," I told him, but tears did start to fall when we hugged. I became close to these people.

• This guy I was hugging has two little boys, one who just celebrated his 4th birthday with a trip to putt-putt. I had him most days. Genuine, professional, courteous. I'm positive he's raising very good men.
• His usual partner was a woman who recently came back to work after knee replacement surgery. Her limp is improving every day. She often asked me about work and encouraged me to find time to rest and unwind. She was the one who insisted that I not "gut it out" with the stinging pain and see someone that day. I hugged her goodbye today, too.
• Another of my favorites was a guy who is expecting his second child -- he shared pictures of his son who he called his "goofy little redhead who looks just like his daddy." He was right, they're both very handsome. He said he's hoping the next child looks like his wife. I can't imagine anything cuter. 
• The first woman I shared my blog with had cancer in her family. She asked if it was "okay" to share it with her family member (please do!). I didn't have her much after the beginning but I'd hear her laughing and see her occasionally in the hallway and we'd catch up quickly. Incidentally, she's probably one of the top 10 truly positive people I've ever met. 
• The woman who helped do my mapping is a beautiful, petite woman with dark hair. She popped in one day a week or so ago and I had the opportunity to privately apologize to her. She said no apology was needed, but I told her having cancer didn't make it okay for me to seem unappreciative. This is hard work they do. 
• Another woman I didn't have very many times, but she made me laugh. Sometimes they turn on the radio in the treatment room One day she was coming in to change one of the doo-dads and draw on me and she asked, "Feel like you're at the beach?" It was funny because I had actually been paying attention to the words to "Fun Fun Fun" by the Beach Boys. We had to laugh about how they don't write songs like that anymore. 

There were others I didn't get to know as well. Nurses with gentle touch, who humored me when I took my shoes off for the weigh-ins. Office people who welcomed me with a smile every morning.

Just like my chemo nurses (yes, I called them "my" nurses), I felt that they all recognize the dignity of the human person, and express it in their life-saving work every day. I'm going to miss them.

So there will be a celebration of sorts tonight. This happened:

Bob: would you be opposed to eating chicken with a breading on it tonight?
Polly: oh I guess not who cares
Bob: celebrate
Polly: with carbs. if I was going to celebrate with carbs it would be pizza or biscuits and gravy
Bob: I can go get us Oley's? :)
Polly: whoa
Bob: well?
Polly: calling my bluff. I felt like I was making a tiny bit of progress losing some of this weight
Bob:  think about it. celebration dinner for us both, but you do not have to go out. you have the rest of your life to lose the weight.
Polly: okay in that scenario I don't have to eat pizza. but I want to.
Bob: I'm not going to get pizza if you're not going to eat it.
Polly: let's do it. and salad.
Bob: of course salad. and garlic knots.
Polly: now you're pushing it.

So Oley's pizza and salads (and possibly a garlic knot) to celebrate the end of a very, very long day.

Prayers, friends.