It's Good to See You Again

Hello ENERGY:

Welcome back!
It's been a while, but it's great to have you here again.
I never imagined how much I'd miss you, but life was so much harder when you weren't around.
Call me helpless, but I had trouble climbing a flight of stairs;
keeping up with chores;
and taking walks.

Since your return,
I've begun making up for lost time:
sorting laundry,
cleaning floors,
washing dishes,
preparing meals, and
shopping.

ENERGY,
here is your formal invitation to hang out for an extended visit.
I promise to let you know if you ever overstay your welcome.
And don't worry about Jeff and the children; we've talked about it.
They have already consented to having your around on a full-time basis.

I'm sorry that circumstances drove you away.
You are family, and I've missed you.
We all have.
Please say you'll stay...

...forever,
Dee

Taking My Life Back

A couple of months ago,

I met a survivor who had just completed radiation therapy.

At the time, I was between treatments and feeling great.

My new friend cautioned, "Everyone tells you how much easier radiation is than chemo. But radiation whipped my butt."

That is precisely how I feel about my experience.

If chemo was HELLISH,

then radiation, to put it simply, was OPPRESSIVE.

What began on June 18th, as a 28-day treatment schedule,

evolved into more than eight weeks of treatment, interrupted by blood transfusions, hospital admissions, and a relentless anti-body that attacked the red blood cells in my body.

At approximately 8:02 this morning, I rang the bell three times, signifying the completion of my therapy.

A poem was read and everyone within earshot, applauded.

For all that I endured, I received a certificate from Radiation Oncology,

the perishable scars of radiation, and

a chance to take my life back from breast cancer.

...and THAT was the point, after all.

A Mardi Gras State of Mind

I endured my 25th radiation treatment this morning.
Radiation was followed-up with a 4-hour infusion of Rituximab,
the drug designed to suppress the antibodies in my blood that keep attacking my red blood cells.
Needless to say, it was a long day.


As I slipped into my shoes, the phone in my purse chimed.
"Mrs. Hutchinson?" a voice inquired. I recognized it immediately.
"I'll be right down," I interrupted.
"I will meet you at the front door," Kathy responded before hanging up.


Jeff and I arrived in the Plastic Surgery Clinic five minutes later.
Dr. Martin had agreed to have a look at my chest, burned reddish-brown from the radiation.


We followed Kathy to Exam Room 1.
Opening drawers, she began searching for a gown.
"Don't bother, " I offered. "I don't want to take up a lot of Dr. Martin's time.
When he comes in, I'll just flash him."

Wonder what I did wrong? I thought. I left without a string of colored beads.

BOZO Begone!

Bonnie was loading her car when I approached her in the hospital parking lot.
She looked up, smiling.

I wanted to know if a friend of mine had contacted her. She had not.
So I quickly turned the conversation to my own hair dilemna.

Yes, I do have hair, and my hair needed a trim.

"I see what you mean," Bonnie agreed, pulling the sides of my hair taunt.
The top and front were smooth and straight, but the sides curled into short ringlets.

I said I had hair; I didn't say it was long.

"I was hoping you could cut my hair sometime this week."
Bonnie, herself a breast cancer survivor, instructed me to see her when I finished treatment that afternoon.

Priorities.

Standing over me, Bonnie examined my hair.
"The top usually grows more slowly than the sides. I can take some off the sides, and we'll let the top catch up." She paused to gauge my response. "Do you want the hair completely off the ear?"
I had to admit that I didn't have a clue, which meant, Bonnie could do whatever she wanted to.

I must have sat in the chair for about 20 minutes, which surprised me because I didn't think I had 20 minutes of hair to cut. When she was finished, Bonnie admitted that getting people to have their hair cut, when they had so little, was one of the hardest things to do.

And just like that, Bonnie removed the black cape from around my shoulder
and
POOF!
BOZO BEGONE!

Apparently, uneven, BOZO hair does not bother everyone.