LAST TREATMENT

   It’s over.  I am done.  After your last radiation treatment, there is a bell you can ring that is in the waiting room.  I told the valet's and one man that had been guiding patients wherever they needed to go that this was my last day.  He is a "redcoat" and we got to know one another over the course of six weeks.  His name is John and he said he would come down for the bell ringing.  After treatment, I got dressed and the two wonderful technicians that did most of my treatments came out.  Lisa and Dan.  They are so young and yet so aware of how delicate the situation is. John came down.  They gave me this to read aloud. 

       Surrounded here by family and friends,

       One Journey has ended, another begins,

       I ring this bell for treatments ended,

       I ring this bell for wounds now mended.

       For those who listen, my story I tell,

       I celebrate life by ringing this bell.

  I banged that sucker hard. 

   So many friends have taken me to appointments to see doctors and Paul, my housemate/landlord took me to two radiation treatments as well as different doctor appointments.  I had many offers from people to take me, but I was doing so well, I didn’t think I needed anyone around. I forgot about the emotional part.  If I were to do this again, I would have asked someone to come with me for this last day.  I could not hold back the tears.  Lisa cried as well.  I didn't imagine it would be so hard.  I truly missed my mother at that moment, and sort of felt the bell ringing was a shout out for both my parents who died of cancer.  Once again, letting them know I’d be ok.  I had to see the doctor afterwards.  The doctor is in a different building but easy to get to.  He checked the skin and I am burned, but I am fine.  A little sunburn is expected.  Some people have much more severe side effects.  They say I got away easy.  The elevators were not working, so I took the stairs, came out a different door, and walked a block to get my car.  It was so beautiful outside.  A delicious breeze and the sun was out.  I gave as many valets that I saw, a small tip to say thank you for all they have done.  They were so gracious.  They wished me luck and with that, I left.

 

TWO MORE

    I would think I’d be happy about no more radiation treatments.  I thought I would be thrilled.  But I’m not.  I am depressed.  I will miss my friends at the Cleveland Clinic.  Not only the professionals, but the redcoats that guide you wherever you need to go.  And the people I met while in the waiting room.  One couple is from England.  The wife is so sweet and she looks so scared.  And of course, the valet parking men.  I feel like I will just go back to my old ways.  The old eating habits, the old “not always exercising” habits.  And the worst, not looking for work in a more proactive way.  I do work when I can, but I have made a mess of things that way.  The jobs I have gotten in the last several years have taken it out of me physically or emotionally, and I either get fired or I quit.   I never took the real risks to get the “stuff” I want.  Too scared.  I am ashamed to be so old and so immature.  There are some real health issues that I deal with on a day to day basis, and I’m not talking about cancer.  And that makes working very difficult.  When I was diagnosed in December with cancer, I called a friend and through my sobbing I said, “I just need a break!”  She said, “You got a break Chris!  You got to walk after being paralyzed!”  I know she’s right, but today I don’t feel very good about me or my life.  One more treatment after today. Wish me luck.

STUFF

   Before I moved, I took two years and purged so many things.  My friend Linda helped a great deal.  (I also paid her to clean and do laundry)   First, she took things to a women's shelter.  Then later, she met a lady that sold whatever she found out of her van to make money.  The lady was young and on disability and this was a little supplement money.  Linda said she met her when she saw her waiting on the side of the road and needed gas for her van.  And Linda being Linda, stopped and helped her.  So much of what I gave away went to this woman.  I am sure I could have made a few bucks had I sold things, but I was too tired to worry about that.  It's good to know someone is being helped by my recycling.  Since my energy is so limited, I don't want more "stuff" to clean or think about.  It's easier for me.  But it does something else.  It frees up my mind.  It calms me down.  When my friend Angie was helping me pack, she looked down at a box of glasses and suggested I ask myself if I really wanted them.  I didn't.  If I had my druthers, I would have even less. Linda kept saying, "You're making room for something new."  I did.  A new home.  After I gave Linda the last of everything I could, I realized I gave something away that my mother gave me and I wanted it back.  Linda suggested to call this young lady.  I didn't.  I was heartbroken for a few hours, and then it simply passed.  When I gave Linda my mother's spaghetti bowl, I cried about that too.  It wasn't the original one from when I was a kid, but I still cried.  Then the crying just stopped and I felt fine.  I don't need kitchen utensils at this new place.  So many things were sold or given away to cousins after my mother and father died. Everyone was so appreciative of it all and wanted something to remind them of my mother.  They loved their Aunt Eva.  My friend Lona took a huge and cumbersome hall tree to our friend Jan.  Jan had the perfect place for it.  I got scared that one of my brothers wanted it.  They didn't.  In fact my brother Joe said, "Oh how great someone you know gets it and can use it!"I still have things from my parents. Things with great meaning.  Last week, my cousin Joyce asked if I wanted the love seat and chair that was once my mother's.  It never ends.