It’s amazing how quickly radiation is passing, especially in comparison to chemo. As of today, I have completed half of my radiation treatments.
Fifteen down. Fifteen to go.
I feel good. I don’t feel tired, the way people have warned me I might. My skin looks and feels like a mild sunburn.
My body is recovering well from chemo. My hair is growing back (everywhere). I welcome it. I appreciate the need to tweeze and shave my healthy, annoyingly fast growing hair. My eyebrows are finally making a comeback, but only after they fell out… COMPLETELY. Today I pulled out the remaining few hairs from my old eyebrows. They were hanging awkwardly from unnatural angles, waiting for a breeze to come and blow them away. I just gave them a gentle tug with my fingers and ended the waiting. Eyebrow makeup works very well and nobody seems to notice.
Now, how am I doing mentally?
Hearing about Nalie’s relapse last week shook me to my core. It triggered me. It uncovered feelings of dread that I forgot I had. Feelings that seemed to have been destroyed with the administration of chemo. I had accepted a full recovery as the only possible outcome.
It might seem naive, but I had accepted my misfortune as some sort of divine intervention. Something made the tumor hurt so I would catch it early. My cancer had a purpose. It was a catalyst for change.
I could see the the changes happening around me. My life was shifting and evolving into what I always dreamed it could be. The wedding. The house. The timing.
And then just like that, with Nalie’s news, my confidence was blown to bits. I was alone in a Godless world.
I’m trying to get back on track. The fear is dissipating, finally.
I’m trying to focus on happier things.
The wedding is in three months.
The home inspection is tomorrow.
I have only 15 treatments left.
I have things to look forward to. BIG things.
All I can say is cancer is not invited into the next chapter.