Peace Out, Cancer Center!

I took a nap Monday, the afternoon before my final radiation treatment, and woke up imagining what it would feel like to finish this part of my breast cancer journey. A sensation of relief began to relax my body, primarily a tension in my chest, and I thought, “What a burden this has been.” It was a recognition that I’ve been harboring a lot of stress and emotions the last six months, but a finish line was finally in reach - so close I could almost touch it from my bed.

Over the last two decades of my life, every time I trained for a long race, I imagined finish lines as miles increased and my mind needed to focus on something positive - the final turn, blocks lined with cheering crowds on both sides of the street, and a balloon arch to run under. Beginning the final week or so of radiation treatments, I began to imagine life after this diagnosis and active treatment.

On Tuesday, Travis and I went to the cancer center and approached the radiation finish line together. changed into a blue hospital gown and we waited together for a short time before staff called me back for treatment. I laid beneath the radiation machine one last time, watched it rotate around my body until it reached placement for precise delivery, and, for the final time, accepted a dose of invisible, weightless subatomic particles that I can’t feel even though I know they’re changing me.

Following treatment, Travis and I met with nurses and the radiation oncologist and I delivered nine cards - two to cancer patient friends and seven for staff who helped me the last 4.5 weeks as I went in for appointments five days a week, 21 times total. There were hugs all around, some held-back tears, and a few of my actual tears that caught me by surprise.

After my appointment, I changed from the blue hospital gown into a lemon-patterned button-up shirt that matched the yellow pants I was wearing. It’s the happiest outfit I own right now. I had Travis take photos of me in front of the tree I’ve been watching the last month - the tree that was filled with white blossoms the first day of treatment, and now is covered in brand-new lime-green leaves. The sky was blue, as it almost always is in Albuquerque. I only remember the sky changing to gray twice during the last month, even as I witnessed a lot of things evolve beneath it - primarily pink, purple, white, and yellow spring blossoms … my energy levels, a burn on my skin, and some aspects of my mind.

I held up my hands for another photo in front of the cancer center signs - peace out, cancer center! - and got a selfie with Travis. Then, we promptly drove to The Range for a celebration lunch - huevos rancheros and a pickled bloody mary for me, and chile rellenos for him. Now I can begin creating a new rhythm for my life that doesn’t involve as many medical appointments. I was running the diagnosis/decision-making/surgery/radiation event for the last six months. Now I metaphorically crossed under an arch of balloons and am training for other things. I’ll start taking an estrogen hormone blocker soon to prevent recurrence for an estimated five years, so technically this cancer journey isn’t over. However, I am in a new chapter, perhaps a new race, and I look forward to future finish lines - including those that aren’t metaphorical and actually involve me putting one foot in front of the other under tall brightly-colored balloon arches.

Here we go!