Day 301- When one door closes...

It was a spectacularly beautiful day here in the Pacific Northwest.  The sky is clear, the sun is shining, and by 9am I was finished with my active cancer treatment.

My last radiation was exactly like the previous 33 treatments.  Except that it was not.

Sitting here I am not sure how to feel.  If you were to walk in and see me, you would never have any idea what the last 301 days have been like for me, for Doug, for my friends, for my family.

I had a celebratory breakfast with my BFF, at the end of it she asked, "what is the one thing you take away from this whole experience?"

"Make vacation plans," was my answer.

But you really couldn't walk away from what I have been through with just one thing.  So indulge me for a moment if you would.

My incomplete list of things you learn from living with cancer for a year:

1.  Your family loves you.  While this is no real surprise, the way your family will show up for you is pretty incredible.

2.  Your friends love you.  People you have known your whole life, people you met 3 months ago, people you have not spoken to in years will do things, unselfish things, that you will begin to wonder what you did to deserve all the attention.

3.  You will have good days.

4.  You will have bad days.

5.  You will be lying in bed while your husband tucks your children in for the night, and you will hear their sweet banter, and you will beg the universe to not take you away from that.

6.  You will crack open your heart.  You will forgive that which was once unforgivable.  You will be compassionate.  You will show vulnerability.

7.  You will never say thank you enough.

8.  You will receive a lot of hats.

9.  You will look at someone having a carefree day and want to strangle them.

10.  You will look at your best friends and cry from sheer gratefulness for being smart enough to have such beautiful people in your life.

11.  You will never look at friends who have been through cancer the same way again.

12.  You will walk into your first surgery, pass someone in the hall who is being wheeled out, and wonder, "am I going to look that sick".

13.  You will write.

14. You will receive chemotherapy.  You will dread it.  You will look forward to it.  You will finish it.

15.  You will run into people who do not recognize you.  You will run into people who pretend you are not there.

16.  You will go bald.

17.  You will wear hats.

18.  You will refuse to wear pink.

19.  You will juice.

20.  You will lay in bed playing go fish for hours.

21.  You will weep on Christmas Eve.

22.  You will loose your boobs.

23.  You will reach your breaking point.

24.  You will wallow, for one day, in self pity over learning you will have to undergo radiation, and then you will get over yourself.

25.  You will celebrate - everything.

26.  You will be told, "you are my hero" more than you deserve.

27.  You will sit, sleepless in bed, thanking God, Buddha, anyone who will listen, for marrying the man sleeping soundly next to you.

28.  You will go to work.

29.  You will google.  You will read statistics.  You will absorb survival rates.

30.  You will think of your father.

31. You will love your sisters, more than they can ever understand.

32.  You will wear hats.

33.  You will disappear.

34.  You will be disappointed.

35.  You will stop wearing hats.

36.  You will be scarred.

37.  You will wonder, "what next".

38.  You will forget you have cancer.

39.  You will never forget you had cancer.

40.  You will survive.