I’m sitting in my car at the edge of the golf course on a sunny day, windows down, sun-roof open, writing on my iPad. Something about this feels oddly like high school… except the car is not my shit box Chevette coup, and I have a car seat in the back. My iPad replaces a Trapper Keeper with “I love INXS” written across it, and it’s an 85* March day in Boston…

My last day of radiation treatment was last week. I looked forward to the official end of treatment, and even brought Lee in for a tour of the laser tag… I mean, radiation room. My radiologist wanted to hire him to work there, he was so excited by the technology… which I still don’t fully grasp.

I brought in a thank you card for my Radiation technicians my last day – having spent almost every day of the past six weeks with them, I felt I’d gotten to know them. The week after the Grammy’s, we listened to Adele… every day. By the end of treatment that week, I asked the ladies to switch up the soundtrack in the treatment room. I love Adele as much as anyone, but I couldn’t take it any longer. Now, whenever I hear Adele I think of Radiation. These are associations I won’t ever forget, and I felt the need to mark the passing of this milestone with a little love from Hallmark.

I’ve been running around since I returned to work, and haven’t had a chance to write, think, or process the fact that I’ve finished treatment. Wait… let me back up. I haven’t had a chance to process the fact that I a) had cancer, and b) am now a cancer survivor. The whole time you’re in treatment, you can only focus on your health, and getting better. Now that treatment is over, I’m back at work and life is getting busy again… I have little time to do the processing that I’d like to do! I miss my writing, and need to get serious about making time to write this all down. I know myself… I’ll forget the details, the little things that happened. And there’s soooo much more than what I’ve shared on this blog. If I look back ten years from now, and find that I’m no longer writing, or never went back to document those little things, I feel I may have missed the point, and not lived up to my second chance.

That last day of treatment, I walked past the front desk as I was leaving, and waived to the receptionists, as I did every day. Just as I was passing, they stopped me and came out from behind the desk.

“We have a graduation gift for you, congratulations!” they said, and both hugged me. I thanked them, from the bottom of my heart. I was SO GLAD to be done. As I walked out the front door into the abnormally warm March day, I began to sob. I ran through the parking lot, past the valet attendant, hoping he wouldn’t stare as I stumbled to my car. I’m sure he’s seen worse – it is the cancer center.

I got to my car, jumped in, and opened my present. Candies, nail polish, and a granola bar, all wrapped up with a raffia bow. I hugged my graduation gift and cried.