Don’t Call Me Brave.

I don’t know why I feel drawn to Quentin Tarantino movies on this day, my last day of radiation. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to find an appropriate quote from a Quentin Tarantino movie to commemorate my last day of radiation but I got bogged down by all the killing and maiming dialogue. I’ve given up trying to make sense of how I should feel about any of it. Craving cursing and violence might suggest I feel angry but I’m not angry at all. I feel really fortunate. My husband keeps joking with me, saying things he knows will annoy me, such as, “You are so brave.” I know. It shows real bravery for showing up to my appointments on time. The radiation will continue to affect me for a couple more weeks and the effects on my skin will be around for months to a year or more. This chapter, however, is closed!

I walked into the Radiation Oncology suite for the hopefully the last time as a radiant candidate today. Felt pretty damn fine. The London Tube map has faded away. No more cat fights over locker # 13. (I maintained that locker steadfastly the entire 30 visits!) I should have swiped a “washed 1000 times” hospital gown, just for old time’s sake. Who will look at my boobs five days a week now? Do you suppose I will miss it? (showing my boobs to strangers on a daily basis). I may just start walking around topless, for old times sake.

P.S. This is my 100th post!