Radiation: Day 23 of 33

Almost done, almost done, almost done. That's what I keep telling myself as I'm applying a new gel specifically formulated for "radiation dermatitis."

The burn is becoming unpleasant, and having to wear clothing against certain areas of skin leaves a lot to be desired. Unfortunately I have to go to work, so I have to wear clothes. It's a temporary no-win situation!

But it'll be over soon enough. Dave and I sat and talked tonight about what a haul this has been. There were tough days and there were days that were harder than I ever imagined possible. All along the way there were indications of what was to come but I'm not sure I actually heard a lot of what was said to me. I think I blocked a lot of it out of my mind, because, if I'd really been focusing on what was coming I'd have had a much harder time going through with it.

I'm not sure whether that made sense. It's difficult to explain. I've done all the things I've been told to do (exams, tests, procedures, surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, countless consultations) and it never entered my mind to say "No" to anything that was recommended or ordered. I've done hours of reading and research, and even through all of those things, I'm convinced I tuned out the unpleasantness and concentrated on the good outcome I fully expect will come of all of this.

I said back at the beginning of this, and I'll say it again and again--I knew that one day I'd develop breast cancer. I just knew it was going to happen to me. Now I'm working hard to put myself into the mindset that says "It won't happen to me again."

I've compartmentalized my breast cancer sally. It's a three-part process.

1. Diagnosis. Been there, done that.
2. Treatment, a three-part process: surgery, radiation, drug therapy. Four chemo sessions. 33 radiation sessions. Five years of drugs. That's 1,826 days, give or take.
3. Living with this history for the rest of my life.

Just when I think it's almost over, I'm reminded of how much longer it's going to go on. Forever.

I can't have my blood pressure taken on my right arm, or have in injection or blood drawn from my right arm. That's the side my cancer was on, and I have to protect that arm from anything that might cause lymphedema (localized fluid retention caused by a compromised lymphatic system, a condition that doesn't go away once it occurs).

I'll freak out a little every time I have a mammogram (and if you think I was dedicated to having them regularly before, watch me in the future).

I'll worry about everyone I love (myself included), others I know, and those I don't and hope no one ever hears those nasty words, "Yea, it's cancer."

So, it's almost over, but it will never really be over. That's just the way it is.

I haven't said this for a while: Life is good, and I'm lucky.