I’m one treatment away from reaching the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel or grabbing the brass ring on the merry-go-round. It’s an achievement I’ve worked at for almost six months total; and, truthfully, it feels strange to be at the end.
Of course my skin needs to heal from the radiation, the bills will continue to arrive occasionally, and I’ll have to keep watch for signs of concern the rest of my life. But for now, respite is in sight.
How do I feel? Somewhat excited, but not elated. Somewhat tired of the whole thing, but not exhausted. Somewhat relieved. No, greatly relieved. That’s the overriding feeling.
When cancer patients finish their radiation, they are invited to ring a bell. I’ve been in the waiting room when others have rung it. Some ring tentatively; others clang. I plan to ring loudly and long. I’ll wear my lucky Fargo sweatshirt, and Earl will be there. He wants to take a picture, but I don’t need one. There are plenty pasted in the scrapbook of my memory.
I’ll relinquish my “job” as parking permit police person, thank everyone for their kindnesses, and we’ll walk out the door. Regardless of the weather, the sun will shine.
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