Ringin' The Bell

Well, today was the day. After 6 weeks, 30 treatments and lost skin, I have finished. There is a bell in the radiation treatment waiting room that reads:
"Ring out, ring this bell three times well, the toll to clearly say:
My treatments are done, it's course has run and I am on my way."

The tradition is that after your last treatment, you get to ring the bell three times. Today I rang the bell. Quite loudly actually. My kids and my husband were there to watch me as I rang the bell as loud as I could. (The technicians in the back told me to ring it loud enough for them to hear.) I rang it loud not just for them but for myself. After I rang the bell, there were hugs and kisses from my family. My outspoken Kyle was of the opinion that it was too loud. He dramatically covered his hears in surprise. In addition to my family cheering me, so was everyone in the lobby.

Although I didn't cry today, I have tears right now as this is all hitting me and crashing in on me. I have tears of relief. It has been 7 months of thinking about cancer nearly everyday and worrying about the next group of tasks, treatment, doctor visits, and surgery. I stressed about trying to stay focused at work and am tired of constantly trying to be positive. It was important for me to try to stay positive even when I didn't want to. It was an effort though. I see radiation oncology in June, I see Dee in August, (and every 3-4 months for the next 10 years.) That is it! Just tamoxifen everyday for the next 5 years.

Of course I would be a little more ecstatic if it weren't for burns that run from around my armpit down to approximately where my bra used to be and over to the middle of my scar. I am told that my skin will begin healiing over the next week or so and I should start feeling "normal" (whatever that is I can't remember) in about 2-3 weeks. I am alternating between silvadene cream and xeroform on the skin. It is actually worse than a bad sunburn. My skin is a fuscia color in most spots. It is warm to the touch. Luckily I don't have complete feeling back yet from surgery. I am just uncomfortable. Every once in awhile I get a shot of pain. It doesn't last long but enough to make me flinch. But, I am done and I can deal with a few more weeks of discomfort. The last 5 treatments were a boost to the high risk spots so the burn around my neck is starting to heal. The last 5 treatments took less than 5 minutes compared to the 20-30 mintures for the previous 25.

Something occurred to me the other day that I hadn't thought of before. This isn't necessarily the spot to put it but it is on my mind. My first visit to the breast clinic, as I waited to see Dr. Ghosh for the first time, I saw a poster on the wall. It had samples of different sizes of tumors, comparing them to the size of a pea and of a button etc. It was showing the importance of early detection. The survival rate for a tumor the size of a button (this was the approximate size of mine) was 25%. If you look at the glass half empty that is 75% chance of death. The poster talked about learning your breasts and doing self exams regularly. I was beating myself up over this. I couldn't remember if I had missed a month, had I felt something sooner but ignored it? Dr. Ghosh was so wonderful at that time and told me that we can not go back but can only go forward. I was dealing with it now and our goal was survival. I was in the mind set that bilateral mastectomy was going to be the best option for survivial. If I had found it earlier I probably would have planned a lumpectomy followed with chemo and then radiation. My plan would have been different and the surgeon would have never found the atypical fibrotic hyperplasia in my healthy breast. The hyperplasia would have most certainly led to breast cancer on the other side. I am certainly not advocating being non-chalant about self-exams. I am just saying that I got lucky. I am thankful for being a little absent-minded.

I'm not sure what I will do with my freedom. As I said when I finished chemo it is a strange feeling. Of course I'm glad but the people I saw everyday, I won't see anymore. As I was leaving dressing room 5 (we are creatures of habit aren't we?) to go for my last treatment, one of the technicians who I had seen everyday for 6 weeks came to see me. She wasn't on machine B today but wanted to wish me luck. She gave me a big hug. Like I said, such a strange feeling.

There is so much that has brought me to this place today. Surely a day of celebration. 7 months ago, I was so scared of all that was to come. All of the unknowns were looming out there. The fear was almost unbearable sometimes. I wasn't just scared for myself but I was scared for my family. As a mother, one doubts oneself all of the time. However, as much as I may make mistakes with my kids, at least I am there, they know I love them and will always try to do what's best for them. (they don't always agree with the what's best for them do they?)

So today I walked the long hallway past the canvases of names of survivors for the 30th time. I walked into the lobby to my waiting family and I rang the bell.