Thirty-six down, two to go

Time flies, apparently even when you're not having fun. It's been seven months since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Six-and-a-half months since I had the lumpectomy. Two months since I completed chemotherapy. And almost two months since I started radiation.

When I first heard there would be seven weeks, Monday through Friday, of radiation, I thought it sounded like an eternity. Thirty-eight days of fleeing work daily, driving like I was on fire down the expressways to get from the western suburbs to the north shore suburb of Lake Forest. Thirty-eight days of pulling into one of the radiology-designated parking places and slapping the bright yellow parking permit onto the dashboard; 38 days of limping down the hospital hallways, into the descending elevator to the bowels of the hospital; 38 days of a quick change into the smock in the dressing room; 38 days of lying on the table and trying, unsuccessfully, not to stare into the overhead laser beam; 38 days of getting out of the smock in the dressing room and back into street clothes; 38 days of removing the yellow "look out, crazy cancer patient parks here" permit from my dashboard; 38 days of taking a post-radiation nap once I got home.

Well, 36 of those 38 days are now under my belt (above the belt would be more accurate, I suppose) and it seemed to go surprisingly fast. There are just two days to go under the "heat lamp". I will complete all my therapy this Tuesday. Done. Slightly overcooked, but...fini!

Sweet.